Diverging Paths

Mizzy and Brian and the Cooley's Landing gang during Kokopelli's renaming ceremony

Tonight we said goodbye to our good friends Mizzy and Brian for what is probably going to be at least a long time, if not forever. Their plans take them to the southern Caribbean and then on to Mexico and back through the Panama Canal and returning to New Zealand in a few years. Since we pretty much have no plans to get that far away from grandkids 9, it's likely that our paths have diverged for the foreseeable future.

Some cruisers complain about the goodbyes being the hardest part of cruising and, while they are indeed difficult, we take so much away from these fast, deep, rich friendships that we have no complaints. We met Mizzy and Brian the summer of 2014 in Cooley's Landing Marina. They had just bought their new-to-them Hylas 46 and were beginning to unravel the truth about "cruise-ready" boats. We were there with our kids helping them to survive the Floating Bear disaster (if you're a recent reader and unfamiliar with the story, you can play catch-up by reading the posts around May 2014 to September 2014). We were both suffering from boat-inflicted physical, emotional, and financial wounds and were able to support each other with the occasional laughter, sundowner, and hug when needed.

Even after parting ways at Cooley's, we kept in touch and frequently ran into each other. We spent a good bit of the summer together at Oak Harbor sharing boat projects and introducing them to new friends there - David and Nancy and Sue and Wayne - with whom they would go on to become deep friends in their own right. The eight of us blend well and have continued to spend time together whenever we can.

Us with Wayne and Sue of S/V Skimmer

Some of the Oak Harbor gang

If I had to qualify cruisers with one word, it would be easy: generosity. Mizzy and Brian have opened their hearts to us without hesitation. We have shared meals, buddy-boated, rafted up multiple times, worked together and laughed together. They have come to typify the relationships we have found since going cruising. Always the cruising community is ready to give whatever is needed. Someone's dinghy goes drifting in the anchorage and it is immediately scooped up and returned to the owner. Need a tool? A quick trip around the anchorage and you'll likely find the one you need ready to borrow. Need some help along with that tool? No problem. And in times of much, much more duress like the recent passing of Tim's father, the cruising community comes together like a well-oiled machine as evidenced by the transportation miracle that got us to Pittsburgh for the funeral. I could tell countless stories of cruisers helping other cruisers, of cruisers coming together to help the people of the Bahamas hit hard by the hurricane this past summer, of cruisers coming together to help with the Syrian refugees, or to volunteer time to tutor kids in a Bahamian school. Always, generosity without a thought, without any need for recompense, with a smile. It is an amazing gift, and one we have been privileged to receive time and time again. And while Kokopelli  and Kintala may not share an anchorage for a very long time, the crew of Kokopelli will be carried along in our hearts.

Thanks, Mizzy and Brian. Fair winds and following seas.

Count down ...

By this time tomorrow the plan is to hanging on the hook in Middle River. At least two other boats, Happy Dance and Jade, are planning the same thing. We have been on the dock for so long that it almost feels like heading out for the first time again. I keep running things through my head, what have we forgotten, what should we have done that we didn't do, what kind of problems might we have getting off the dock and through the bridges … all stuff that was old hat when we left the Islands, all stuff that feels like new hat again. Yet we are only going a few miles and will still be in the heart of Fort Lauderdale when we get there. But once there the distance between us and land will be too far to step over. And for some reason that makes all the difference in the world.

It is likely different for those who have been doing this a long time; a few months on the dock in this part of the world, then a few months on a dock an ocean away on the other side of the world, all part of the life. But we are still short of being out a year, just barely getting comfortable with being cruisers when The Thing, The Bear, and The Dock nailed us down for nearly 5 months. Yep, that means half our cruising life hasn't been cruising at all. Still, there is hope that the learning curve will not be nearly as steep this time around, that in a few weeks we will be back to the comfort level we knew crossing the Gulf Stream for Biscayne Bay. At the moment though, I am feeling like a newbie once again.

Deb is out taking care of a few last details, the most frustrating of which is the Hack that caught Home Depot also caught us. (You guessed it, Home Depot for boat parts … gotcha!) Like a lot of gypsies the few bills we do have are auto pay, to a credit card that no longer exists. So we are living on the little cash we had stashed away while the plastic gets straightened out, and at least it didn't happen while we were out of the country.

The dink in on deck, the Merc coaxed to life and now hung on the aft pulpit. (Friend Robert has an interesting comment on my last post about the Merc. You should check it out and see if you agree.) The Beast has been warmed up once more and all fluid levels checked. The bilge is as dry as the bilge ever gets. Even the lazarette is mostly under control, and there is some more room in there since we unloaded the sails we were never going to use.

The foredeck is, well, I think is is about ready. The truth is it has been a while since I set it for being under way, and there are a lot of details up there. But the next few weeks will be easy, short trips and a good shake down for an out-of-practice crew. I'm feeling pretty good about our chances of getting going again.

It's about time ...

Freedom is in the air. Renewal. A new awakening with the realization that we are in this together, the future holding promise of peace and cooperation. Fantastic new insights lie just over the horizon and while there will be challenges, the human community - of which we are all a part - will meet them with innovation, even joy.

Kintala is ready to leave this dock and join the cruising community once again.

You thought I was talking about the country or the world? Please, take another look. Those people are screwed.

We will not be going very far at first. There is still some hurricane season left so we will lurk in places with little fetch and good holding for now. And we will not be leaving the dock for a couple of days yet. The bill is paid through the end of the month. Waiting to the last day to add water, pump out, and stock up seems a good plan. We are out of practice with balancing the level in the water tank going down against the level in the holding tank going up, and being somewhere to take care of them. The anchor hasn't been wet since we left the islands so I'm likely to fumble around our foredeck like an addled monkey at first. Our foredeck has always been a tough place to work and we have added a second furling system, control line, and permanent stay to the mix. And though I haven't been loafing these past few months, anchor lifting muscles are likely a bit out of shape.

All of which reminds me, any who are still outfitting a boat for cruising might think hard about having these three things on board; water maker, Lectra/san head system, and a powered windlass. I know this is not the “go simple, go now” kind of thing. They are expensive (which is why Kintala has none of the three) and maintenance heavy. But they are things that can help one stay away from land longer without worry, and I wish we had them on board. And I really wish the powered windlass we don't have had a remote switch at the helm. I am completely jealous of those of you so equipped.

This will be our second season exploring the south-east coast of FL, maybe our last if the new anchor laws take effect. I am looking forward to a much more relaxed experience than we had last year. We know our way around here, at least a little bit. There are some places we missed last year, some we didn't even know about, that we want to see. Biscayne Bay will get a thorough looking-at and we hope to spend many a night on the hook out in its clear and placid waters. And when the waters are not placid, we know places to go and hide.

There is also hope that friends, now north and heading this way, will find their way close enough to Kintala to share sundowners and stories. It is a bit weird being here and knowing the herd is heading our way, instead of trailing along at the tail of the pack and shivering our way south.

In any case we are getting ready to go cruising, and its about time.

Sure they will ...

Yesterday was a good day. The Beast came to life and Kintala was a going concern once again. But the engine run came late in the day and didn't do much more than prove the Beast still had life in it and that the cooling system wasn't spewing raw or fresh water everywhere.

That last was a bit of a concern and the reason the engine run had come so late in the day. For, earlier in the day, spewing fresh water had proved a bit of a set-back. It wasn't spewing really, more like drooling out of the seam between the exhaust riser and the heat exchanger. The seam held together with the shiny new studs and supposedly sealed with brandy new, high-tech, gaskets. It was also the very first thing assembled and thus at the bottom, if you will, of the pile. Getting to it meant taking everything off that we had spent the day before putting on. That was the bad news.

The good news was that, when it comes to mechanical things, the second time one does a thing often goes much, must faster than the first time. I indulged in a few moments of deep depression while watching the drip of cooling fluid, heaved a sigh and a few choice words, then accepted my fate and reached for the ½ inch wrench to start the proceedings. An hour or so later the unit was back up on the bench. A couple of hours after that it was hanging back on the engine.  With the hope of avoiding taking the thing apart a third time to fix a drool, two low tech, home made gaskets were installed and reinforced with ...

Permatex 

ULTRA BLUE

No Leak Silicone Gasket

Guaranteed Not To Leak.

It says so right on the tube twice – just in case you didn't see the “NO Leak” subtitle.  It wasn't clear if they really meant it, or if they were just trying to convince themselves (and me) that it would actually work.  But the short engine run at the end of the day proved the advertising.  The wet stuff stayed in the wet stuff tank.  No drips.  No drools.

So today started with a longer run to: a) check again for leaks and, b) warm up the oil for changing. The oil change part didn't happen because it was soon apparent the engine was getting too warm. In spite of the impressive spouts of water gushing from Kintala's port side exhaust, the water temperature gauge climbed right up to 200 degrees and showed no inclination of stopping there. Cue the deep depression once again.  (All gauge readings, by the way, were confirmed with a CEN-TECH infrared thermometer. That thing has become one of the “go to” tools when it comes to troubleshooting. Don't leave the dock without one, even if you don't have a WesterBeast hounding your life.)

Ed Note: And you might want to buy two so you don't have to rescue yours from the galley where your admiral finds it extremely useful to test bread making liquids and pizza pan temps...

Careful to let things cool off a little (the engine, not me) before removing the cap, I did a post run check of the coolant level.  (Having boiling hot and pressurized fluid explode out of the expansion tank of any hot engine will really spoil a day.  I speak from painful experience suffered years ago - and still grimace a little when popping the cap.)

The level was down a little.  Not unexpected. Getting the air out of old marine diesel systems, both fuel and coolant, is a constant source of problems. We really struggled with the engine in Nomad, that thing driving me to near distraction with the gymnastics required to get all the air out of the cooling loop. Something Deb kept reminding me of as I jumped to my normal conclusion that the Beast had come up with yet another way to ruin my day.

Something I grew more sure of with a top off and another run … with the same results. And again. Finally, with a bit of a desperation showing though my normal cheery self, I pulled one of the hoses off the engine that feeds coolant to the boat's water heater. Green stuff was pored in the open end until it flowed all the way around and back out of the engine. It didn't take very much, but it did take some. Then, with the engine running for the fourth (or fifth – I lost count) time, I bled a little air through the valve at the top of the thermostat housing. That puppy gets hot and sits close to a running belt. Some care is needed to get all of ones fingers back whole and unscorched when playing this game, but it worked. The engine settled at 178 degrees, even dropping a little with added RPM.

So tomorrow, with just six days left before Kintala needs to get out of Cooley's, we will try once again to heat the oil and get it changed.

I'm sure things will go just fine.

Sure they will.

Let Autumn reign ...

The Beast is tamed...

Today is the official first day of autumn. With it comes the official end of the Summer From Hell of our first year of cruising. Even better, the WesterBeast rumbled to life today on the second turn of the crankshaft and settled into an easy idle. Buckets of water pulsed out of the exhaust. It may be just wishful thinking on my part, but the Beast seemed as happy as I have ever seen it. Maybe the new exhaust gasket along with a steady flow of raw water and the fixing of loose this and butched up that, actually did some real good. There are still things to do but, as of this evening, there is no reason to regard Kintala as anything but a ready-to-go cruising boat once again. In addition to a happy Beast she has a solid foredeck and new furling system on the staysail. Better again, we have eight days before the ax falls on the dock fees. There are oil changes to do, stuff to clean, and the normal trial of trying to get a boat that has been sitting still way too long, ready to be under way once again. But those are either routine or just good stuff.

The Summer From Hell was not all bad, of course. We spent months with Daughter Eldest, Son-in-Law, and Grand Sons Two. JJ and I sang “BOOM” at the sky. Christopher sat with me and sanded boat parts. We motored up the ICW from Dinner Key to Cooley's with the boys on board, saw a manatee, and went swimming in the ocean. The Family lore that will be passed down long after I am gone has some new chapters in it that will be hard to beat. Between The Bear and the work on Kintala we have seen some ugly and taken a real beating, that can't be denied. But we have also had the chance to share the kind of love that costs. Which, in the end, may be the only kind of love that matters. As difficult as it was, as long as it may take to recover, it is hard to say that it wasn't worth the price. Tonight I am content to accept it for what it was, hope that we did the best we could, and let it be.

Back in my old life the first day of autumn was always a good day. I like the change of seasons and autumn was my favorite. It also meant that winter was next. Which was okay as well. I looked forward the challenges that came with making a living in the sky during the months of winter. I didn't mind the cold (though once-upon-a-time frostbitten hands and feet hurt when the temperature drops) and actually enjoyed the city under a blanket of snow – so long as I didn't have to drive the Z-car on snow covered streets. This new life brings a different meaning to the first day of autumn.

Right up front is that, here in the sub-tropics, the first day of autumn generally means it just rains a little more. It is still in the upper 80s during the day, the humidity is still a killer, and any bald headed men that go out without a hat are just asking for abuse. Best for me though is that, though it doesn't mean that winter is next, it does means that the Islands are next. It will be a few months yet as a new grand baby is due in December and we plan to be back in St. Louis to welcome the new one into the world. But soon after we will be headed across the Stream once again, to spend the winter as ex-pat Americans living in a country that isn't as crazy as the one on our passports. “Winter” means a whole new thing in this cruising life, but I think I like it.

And for now the summer is over. Let Autumn reign.

Heat exchanger, round 2 ...

I started wrestling with the WesterBeast again today. That was supposed to happen yesterday but it was just a bridge too far. There was never any thought that cruising was going to be “retirement” (in spite of this blog's name). The work involved is just too demanding, there is too much potential risk, and too many win-it-or-bin-it decisions, for this to be anything like easy living. But once in a while a day comes along where I just can't man-up and get to work. Yesterday was one of those days.

I was still planning on working on the Beast when I ran across Friend James. James is the marina's resident “wooist”. If you want to know about what is going on in the ether, why the Mayan calendar was correct about the end of the age, how to cure almost any disease with the proper herbal tea and a “healing attitude”, what happens now that the solar systems is passing through the galactic plain, who is really in charge of the world, or when the aliens may arrive to lead us all to true enlightenment, James is the man in the know. Though I am way too much of a hard-nosed ex-street fighter to climb into his starship, we enjoy volleying back and forth in spite of our vastly different world views. And even taken by the woo, James is a better person than just about anyone I can think of in either politics or business. James is never going to hurt anyone, making him a pretty upright human being so far as I am concerned.

Then I walked over to Publix and made use of their hi-speed Internet connection to watch hometown hero and multiple-times World Champion Valentino Rossi win the Italian MotoGP, his first win in more than a year. After that Deb and I spent an extraordinary evening with new Friends Frank and Audrey. They are graduate alumni from the Civil Rights Movement and current environmental activists. Hearing their story and listening to their hopes for the future for their grand children and mine ranks as one of the five top conversations I have ever enjoyed. I don't generally give our species much of a chance. But if people like Frank and Audrey win the day there may yet be hope that our grand kid's inheritance will include air they can breathe, water they can drink, and oceans they can swim in. All in all it was a great day, but I didn't get anything done on the WesterBeast.

So today it was back in the ring to take another swing. Several people have mentioned that taking the heat exchanger off without removing the exhaust riser is difficult. (And they were right!) Getting it back on, they suggested, is well nigh impossible. For a while it looked like the naysayers would be proven wrong. Less than an hour after starting work the heat exchanger was hung on the bottom of the exhaust riser. All four nuts were started on their respective studs and awaiting proper torquage to be applied. Alas, said torquage turned into a problem. None of the nuts felt “right” and the aft inboard one, the one most difficult to reach, was clearly not a happy nut. After much internal debate between the cruiser who really needs to get this job done, and the aircraft mechanic who can't let things go, it was decided the exhaust manifold / heat exchanger assembly simply had to be removed. The naysayers were two for two.

Contemplating pulling the exhaust riser caused all kinds of consternation. First and foremost is that the exhaust gasket is an $80 – $100 engine bit. Another fear was that touching anything on the WesterBeast will surely lead to many other things needing “touched” as well. A fear well founded.

Six fasteners hold the exhaust riser to the engine, four studs and two cap screws. Two of the four studs came out of the engine. One of the studs that holds the intake muffler was already pulled out (I just lifted it out of the hole), and the exhaust gasket was indeed thrashed, though it wasn't me who did the thrashing. Apparently this is, minimum, the second time this gasket has been pressed into service. As for the studs for the heat exchanger, the reason for going down this path in the first place, they appear to be too short. Deb is currently sourcing the proper paper gaskets and I am considering the use of low profile nuts and lock washers, but it may will end up that replacing all of the studs with new is the only proper fix. At least the one stud I feared had been put in backwards, and thus trashing the riser, turned out to be the wrong stud; -18 / -18 instead of -18 / -24. Still installed by a Fool, but at least not as bad as it could have been.

By the end of the day both the heat exchanger and the exhaust riser were sitting on the bench waiting to be installed. By any reckoning that is a pretty big step backwards, particularly since the days are rapidly counting down to the killer-rise-in-dock-fees deadline. But this is cruising and, more to the point, this is me cruising on Kintala. Truth to tell I had a nasty hunch this was where today was going to lead all along.

Which may be why I took yesterday off. Once in a while even a tough guy needs a break from taking a daily beating. I am way too far down the road to be a tough guy any more, and this run of daily mechanical boxing matches going back to The Bear, has about done me in.

Maybe I need a glass of herbal tea and a trip through the ether.

A technical rant …

The heat exchanger guy called yesterday and said the bit removed from the WesterBeast was all prettied up and ready to go to the dance. Then he gave me a heart flutter by saying he had found a trace of oil floating around in the coolant. Bad juju. Really bad juju. The only way oil gets into the coolant is through a breach in the engine somewhere. Any such breach is going to be hard to find and expensive to fix. My day went straight in the dumpster.

Both Deb and good Friend / Boat Guru Bill (late of S/V Veranda) suggested there was no need to assume the worst just yet. There has never been water in the oil and what coolant that used to disappear stopped disappearing with the installation of a new cap. So assuming the worst was likely unnecessary. One shop's opinion does not, necessarily, bad juju make.

I assumed the worst anyway. After all this is Kintala and me, the world's most dysfunctional boat / owner relationship. Why wouldn't I assume she was presenting me with a blown head gasket or cracked block?  Kintala's WesterBeast has been the bane of my existence since the V-drive hand-grenaded itself and took the transmission with it.  But when I went to pick up said bit, the shop guy told me he had changed his mind. It wasn't oil after all. Thanks … I think.

Today started out with the newly refurbished heat exchanger sitting on the bench waiting to go back back on the WesterBeast, and thus offering us the chance to get off of this dock soon. So that was my job for the day. Would you like to take a guess as to how it went?

Shop man had been kind enough to make a couple of new gaskets for the install. The ones he handed over were about as thick as waffles. The ones that came off where more like cardboard. Mm … not sure that is going to work but hey, he is the heat exchanger expert.

When the heat exchanger came off the engine, one of the four mounting studs came off as well. Not a big surprise, though it meant a little more work when putting things back together. Included in the box of tricks from my old life are a set of stud drivers as well as a set of taps and dies, thus giving pretty good odds of setting things right, thread cut and stud wise. The studs were 5/16 with a -18 thread cut on the block side and a -24 thread cut on the heat exchanger side. Pretty standard stuff. As it turns out the stud that came out did so because the last fool who put this thing together (let's call him Fool 2) jammed a -18 nut on the -24 end. “Cross thread is better than no thread” is an old mechanic's tongue-in-cheek saying. Not sure why, but in this case a cross thread was barely good enough, it held and there was no leak. (“Barely good enough”, by the way, seems to be the “best practices” standard for much of the Marine industry.)

As the heat exchanger went on the forward port side nut would not tighten up. The waffle thick gasket was just too much, so off came the heat exchanger once again. But, what is this? When I went to check the threads on that stud, the -24 nut wouldn't go. Some fool in the distant past (let's call him Fool 1) had put that one stud in backwards, with the -24 end jammed into the block and the -18 end left exposed. Fool 2, who had put the -18 nut on the stud that had pulled out, was only half a fool. He had been hoodwinked by Fool 1. It likely never occurred to Fool 2 that Fool 1 would install three studs in one way and one stud in the opposite way. That would be incompetence desperately close to outright lunacy. He had four nuts and four studs, and made it work.

In my struggles to install the heat exchanger today, I was had by Fool 1, Fool 2, and the heat exchanger expert who had sold me waffle thick gaskets. So, after a couple of trips to the hardware store (Thank-you Craig for the use of your car!) things stand at the exact same place they did this morning, with the heat exchanger sitting on the bench waiting to be installed.

Tomorrow the WesterBeast and I will tussle once again. At least this time the gaskets will be of a proper thickness. There will also be three new -24 nuts and one new -18 waiting to be torqued onto the appropriate stud. (No, I didn't turn the offending stud around. No telling what is going on with the threads in the block side, but disturbing them now smacks of just asking for more trouble.) Most importantly work will commence with a fresh reminder that nothing (NOTHING!) done on this engine, before it came to me, was done by anyone who had a clue. And, truth be told, I am an old airplane guy and approach this marine stuff with, at best, just half-a-clue myself. Which, if you have followed me this far, puts me a half-a-clue up on most of the gurus.

When it comes to the WesterBeast everything must be checked, double checked, and then checked yet again. That means every nut, every stud, every screw, every gasket … cada sola cosa! Ghosts of fools past are lurking to open the hurt locker on anyone who thinks otherwise.

That “anyone” would be me.

Garage Sail

As many of you who have visited the boat know, more often than not our aft cabin is referred to as "The Garage". There is a rather nice-sized double bed in there on the port side, but its proximity to the rather very nice workshop on the starboard side means that everything gets put on the double berth. Since the modification of The Floating Bear from sail to powerboat, the sails from The Bear landed - you guessed it - in the aft cabin. They had 5 sails, we had 4 extra sails, and something had to be done.

All of the sails hanging up and the ones on the floor were in our aft cabin. Good thing nobody wanted to visit! The biggest one there is the reacher folded in half. It's huge!

The original plan was to sell them on Craigslist, but time constraints and the lack of energy levels from what we can only assume has been a case of pneumonia have severely limited our desire to spend months selling used sails. We needed the room. We and the kids both needed the money.  We decided to keep one spare jib for our boat just in case we happened to blow ours out. A friend decided he wanted the hank on staysail that we took off when we converted to roller furling. Another friend declined on the huge reacher because, even as huge as it was, it was 6 feet too short for their 46 foot Hylas. We borrowed a van from a very good friend and off we headed to Second Wind Sails, with 8 sails: 3 jibs, 2 mains and a spinnaker from The Bear, a staysail and a reacher from ours. While selling used sails to a wholesaler is never a good way to make much money, it is a good way to empty out one's aft cabin in a hurry and end up with some cash and a new roller furler sail for the staysail on trade. Even though the day seemed wasted with heat exchanger errands, in the end we did make some progress toward The Deadline.

Our really huge reacher folded in half

Deadlines

Four nuts. Four hose connections. Four hours.

Working on things used to be enjoyable and rewarding; though it did help that someone was usually writing me a pretty big check to work on their thing. Working on most things is still often enjoyable and rewarding even though, these days, there are only outgoing checks for parts and materials, and no incoming checks. But when the thing being worked on is the WesterBeast shoehorned into our Tartan 42, it isn't likely that enjoyable or rewarding is going to be part of the equation. Today was no exception.

This engine has always run hotter than normal, and never seems to make much water. Two months ago we limped into Ft. Lauderdale nursing the temp gauge once again while dodging ugly weather, just to keep things interesting. Determined to get the thing running right once and for all (yeah, yeah, I know) we decided to pull the heat exchanger and have it checked, serviced or, depending on what the shop finds, replaced.

Four nuts. Four hose connections. Four hours.

And that's just to get it off the engine and out of the boat. Experience suggests that removing anything from anything is way less than half the job. So I am already feeling hard pressed to get Kintala ready to vacate this dock by the end of the month.

Part of going cruising was to get away from schedules and dead lines. So far it has not seemed to work that way. Some kind of deadline always seems poised just above our heads. We had to get the boat ready to go before the truck arrived. We had to get the boat ready to go into the water before the boat show; just barely made that one. We had to get the boat ready to head south before the ugly weather hit; didn't really make that one. Then the engine broke down in Oriental and shoved us way past the weather deadline. We paid the price by shivering our way down the ICW in a seemingly endless parade of long, cold, dark days.

Once south things got easier and, for a few weeks anyway, no schedules drove our decisions. But then we went to the Islands. While still deep in the north part of the Sea of Abaco, the day we needed to be back in the US started to press our decisions. Weeks out and we started thinking of when we needed to be through the Whale and into the southern part of the Abacos; then when we needed to be in Eleuthrea, then Nassau, Bimini, and the States. Once in the US we faced the hurricane deadline, one we missed because of The Thing and The Bear. The penalty was doubling our insurance premiums and spending the summer here, where the dock fees are way more than they would have been in Lady's Island. Now the impending 100% increase in dock fees is driving the need to move regardless of where we are on “the list”. So we are still working pretty close to full time days, seven days a week, driven by a deadline we can't afford to miss. (This deadline is due to cost, but the cost is going up because of the season change. So I am blaming it on the weather in a kind of indirect way. My blog, my rules.)

So far cruising deadlines have proved to be serious things and missing them costly. It is impossible to ignore them and “live without a schedule”. I think our problem with deadlines is the result of two conflicting needs. The first is one everyone faces, living with the weather. North in a hard winter or south in a hurricane is no one's idea of “cruising” or, at least, not my idea. Living on a boat means following the good stuff. Weather deadlines simply can't be ignored. Mother Earth will flat kick your ass.

The second serious thing is, simply, the boat. Nearly four years after buying this thing and there are still struggles with the engine, still adjustments being made to the rig so we feel comfortable as a short handed crew on big, open water. For example the roller went on the inner forestay. But we still have to find a sail that will work on the shortened foil and fit our deck. Another task that has to been done in the face of the impending deadline. The autopilot isn't installed, there are no solar panels, and the Bimini has yet to be touched. Some of this is simply not going to get done before the deadline forces us on our way.

That could be seen as a good thing, I guess. People keep telling me no boat is ever “done”. Waiting until it is would mean never leaving the dock. And I see their point. On the other hand, if there never comes a time when I don't have to balance out the cost and hazards of missing a deadline against the cost and hazards of heading out with the boat not “done” …? Sooner or later “not done” needs to be some bright work or dock lines needing spliced, not the autopilot or electrical system.

I can live with one set of deadlines. Living with two conflicting sets is getting old.

All part of the deal

Deb and I picked up some kind of bug within hours of each other. Or maybe its something in the air, allergies or the stuff they are spraying across the river since the wind has shifted from that direction. It is like a bad cold or mild flu and, unfortunately, came to visit at the same time as getting the big hole in our foredeck closed seemed like a good idea, what with a tropical storm fixing to turn into a hurricane churning around out by the islands and all. It may just be a newbie thing, but being in this neck of the woods at this time of the year has made keeping an eye on the NOAA two and five day tropical forecasts my newest hobby. So far so good, the sea and wind gods have seen fit to take it easy on the Atlantic, apparently focusing instead in kicking the snot out of the Pacific this year.

Framing for the structural foam which you can see oozing out the left side.

So we have been pressing on with projects as best as we can, collapsing at night with the day's energy account severely overdrawn. Deb has been adding to the cruising kitty by doing canvas work for nearby boats. I have been depleting it at about the same rate getting materials for filling the void in the deck. It must be admitted that slinging glass in a FL summer, while enjoying alternating visits from a fever and the shakes, is a new experience for me. One I can't say I'm enjoying much, but today saw the deck closed for the last time. All that remains is the non-skid repair, something I put in the "cosmetic" category. No less important, just less pressing.

Foam core in place.

In the end the smaller voids ended up being filled with a combination of stuffed glass mat in one corner, two part structural foam in the other two corners. The main core repair was done with a high density foam mat that looks a bit like a chess board, overlaid with bi-axial glass, filled as required, with the original deck glassed back in place. So yes Mr. Sailboat expert, I fear this bit of Kintala's foredeck has at least four different kinds of core material. If the bow ever twists off and falls to the bottom of the sea I'll be sure to put it in the blog. It must be said though, that part of the deck is now as hard as sin. No more sinking feeling when going forward and, no matter what, much better than it was.

Deck glassed back in place but pre-grinding. You can see why we need to replace the non-skid. It's old and in bad shape.

Two other boats in the marina are undergoing similar repairs, the one next door being done by my new friend Dennis (of slinging glass at The Bear fame) at the same time I am attending to Kintala. We have been helping each other along figuring out the best way to approach two similar, but still different, repairs. His problem was forward of the mast and the core is plywood, not end grain like Kintala. Making an assault on the ugly from the side was impossible. His only approach was to cut away the deck until finding solid core. Once the underlying repair was completed, piecing the top deck bits back together and making it all fit right would have taken days. Instead he is just going to glass over the new core making, in essence, a new top layer to the deck composite. I, on the other hand, could dig the rotted core out from between the layers of glass, stuff it full one way or the other, and put the original top deck back in place. Two different ways, both getting the job done. He put the final layer of filler in his repair today, grinding, gel coat and non-skid tomorrow. I stitched the seam in my deck plug with glass today, filled and ground the repair. Gel coat and non-skid tomorrow as well. It is kind of fun having the repairs going on at the same time, the cold beer we share at the end of the day in Kintala's cockpit feels well earned.

Post-grinding and waiting for the non-skid

There are several more big projects to go. Sometimes I get a bit discouraged. Deb and I used to talk about what we were going to do with the boat next, where we were going to go, what we might see when we got there. Now we talk about what we are going to do to the boat next and how much it is going to cost. We wonder if we are ever going to get off this dock, and how that might be managed. Another friend from this year's cruise has thrown in the towel, the boat up for sale. Breakdowns, stranded in the Islands for months, bad weather, nights of being afraid, and a relentless loneliness not being the kind of life desired.

The seam for the anchor locker is going to be glassed in as well.
It's glassed below but not above deck so water went into the core.

I understand completely, but still can't envision Deb and I living any other way. Just the thought of having to get a regular job, going to an office, needing a car, meeting someone else's schedule, all the while just waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me yet again by some change in Board or Management politics, gives me a headache. Living and cruising on a boat on a fixed or very modest income is often a hard way to live. Anyone who suggest otherwise simply hasn't done it. But grinding out the hours needed to get to a paycheck isn't always a walk in the park either.

Everything gets easier if one can throw large chunks of money at whatever problems arise, and that is true on land or on the water. For Deb and I, and it seems for many we have met "out here", it was a choice to make a go of a different kind of living, one where big chunks of money are not likely to be part of the equation. For others "out here" big chunks of money were never going to be part of the equation, and living on the water offered a chance to live better than living modest on land.

The cruising mags seem geared to those retiring well and going cruising. Good for those who pull it off. For the rest of us though, going cruising means living modest. And living modest sometimes means that problems take a little more effort to climb over.

All part of the deal.

Just a reminder why wer're doing this...

No more "BOOM"

Champaigne on the bow and in the water for Neptune

Around 0900 this morning we officially notified King Neptune that S/V Obsession had passed into history to be replaced by H/V (Hybrid Vessel) The Floating Bear. His forbearance on new ship and crew was requested with the proper sacrifice of bubbly offered.  At 0915 Husband to Daughter Eldest tickled The Bear's engine to life, and at 0930 we eased away from Cooley's landing, did a pirouette in the New River and headed outbound. With a new air draft of less than 10 feet we didn't bother the 7^th Street bridge tender as we coasted under his domain with air to spare.

Searching for a bit to find an engine RPM that felt "right", The Bear settled into a 2100 RPM cruise making about 4.5 knots, even pulling the 12' hard bottomed tender, Eeyore, on a short tether. Roughly 938,700 revolutions later we nosed up to mooring ball No. 34 at Dinner Key, secured a couple of lines, and The Floating Bear was home.

Given all the work that we did, the trip was a mechanical snoozer. I think the engine is making a little too much smoke and a little too little water. By the end of the day my ear was picking up a little more exhaust noise, so there are some things that still need a good look. Minutes after securing the engine one of the two brand new, properly wired and "ARMED" bilge pumps kicked on. The new stuffing box needed a bit of a snug, not unexpected after 7 hours of continuous running.  I made a late day visit to the lazarette to shut off the drip.  Rudder bearings are a bit snug, and there are still a couple of minor interior leaks.

"How," you might ask, "would you know that?"

Well, though the trip was a mechanical snooze, weather wise it was a different issue. Half way down the ICW, somewhere around Bakers Haulover Inlet, we were watching the sky get darker and the lightning flash.  A storm thundered by one side, another passed by the other side, but the third caught us just as we cleared the Venetian Causeway Bridge. From there until we were well clear of the Rickenbacker Causeway the rains pounded The Bear as if to test her ability to stay afloat. The winds howled and visibility dropped to a couple of hundred yards. It was easily some of the hardest rain I have ever seen.  The Bear was mostly dry inside, didn't seem to mind the winds much, shrugged off the waves, and just kept muttering along.

Daughter Eldest and Grand Sons two had taken the car south to do some pre-school preparations and avoiding having two young ones on board for what was nothing short of a sea-trail. They were waiting for us when we arrived.  So, after waiting out some more rain, Deb and I made like normal people and borrowed their car to get back to Kintala. We will head back down to Coconut Grove tomorrow ... sometime ... likely not very early ... to finish up a bit of wiring that was left undone and return their wheels. Public transport will get us home and there is a pretty good chance we are going to take a few days off.

On the one hand it is a huge relief to have The Bear back to where she needs to be for the reasons she needs to be there. Deb and I can now focus on salvaging our cruising plans, figuring out where we want to be in a year and how we can get there. The work list for Kintala, now somewhat truncated by budget and time constraints, can be addressed. These have been some stormy seas since Kintala returned to the States. The stress of the voyage is showing.

On the other hand – well - during the official Name Changing Ceremony this morning Grampy T got choked up around the part of watching over the newly renamed boat and crew as they set sail. Dema had to take over. It reminded me that this was yet another "cruiser good-by".  Christopher and little JJ will not be clambering around Kintala like they have been for the last several months. Daughter Eldest and Husband will be concentrating on other things a day's sail away (though only an hour by car). That part of my heart isn't as far away as those in St. Louis, but they aren't just down the dock anymore either.

Tough as these past couple of months have been, I am going to miss singing "BOOM" at the sky. It isn't nearly as much fun without little voices joining in.

Try keeping a toddler still for a cellphone picture...

Peeking out through the mosquito netting - the first night back on the boat.

A few days ago - the Bear starting to look a bit more like home again.

Home Sweet Home. The end of the channel at Dinner Key

Summer work

The summer project list on the boat started with a modest little task. The "cup holder" at the helm is really a beer-can-in-a-cozy holder. Fine if one drinks beer from a can in a cozy. We don't drink anything from a can but Coke and Ginger Ale, and even those normally make it into a glass with ice and rum before needing a holder. Under way the helm is usually stocked with cold or hot drinks, as appropriate, in stainless steel thermoses that are tall and skinny. When Kintala heels over they fall sideways, threatening to tumble over and make it all the way to the deck with a crash.

In addition, our little Garmin Chart Plotter is mounted on a ratty looking articulating arm clamped to the binnacle tubing and blocking the handhold at the top. It has always been awkward and, during a helm change while banging around in 6 foot seas the other day waiting out the thunderstorms, Deb got caught in a lurch and very nearly suffered a nasty fall grasping for the non-existent handhold. (I always wondered where the phrase "caught in a lurch" came from. Now I know.) Why not get into "project" mode with an easy, one day modification we have been talking about for months?

A project which actually started yesterday, consumed all of today, and may get finished by noon tomorrow. When completed the drink holder will have been disassembled and deepened enough to hold a thermos secure even when heeled. It will also sport a shelf to mount the GPS lower and to starboard. There it will be easier to see, easier to tilt and twist when the person at the helm sits outboard, and with the control buttons an easy reach for us right-handed drivers. And though the relentless heat and humidity make varnish work a hit-and-mostly-miss affair, it will still look way more "shippy" than a wonked-up articulating arm backed up with zip ties. Best of all the the top of the binnacle will once again be a secure place to grab a hold when moving about the aft part of the cockpit.

And though I have to admit Cooley's Landing has (so far anyway) fallen far short of the customer service bar set by the staff of the Dinner Key mooring field, this place has a lot of serious work going on. A couple of slips down the diamond plate is coming off the bow of one boat to repair a soft deck. Palm sanders sing during the day from other slips, and various bangings and clankings echo out across the New River pretty much all day long. Kind of a surprise given the ritzy digs surrounding the place. It seems a bit like a hobo village nestled in the middle of Wall Street.

Three different people have introduced themselves as marine techs, including one who has agreed to help get The Floating Bear back in something nearer to ship-shape. He seems like a good guy, introducing himself by saying, "My friends call me Camper".

I had to tell him that, while we might be friends some day, right now he is a "marine professional" working on a family boat. I will make pretty near an instant and good friend with anyone who has shared the suffering of dealing with the marine industry's technical side. And indeed, the folks at Oak Harbor are friends I am looking forward to working with again next year. But so far they have been the exception that makes the rule. I will be really happy if we manage to survive both hurricanes and "marine professionals" during our summer in Florida.

This place is a popular "hurricane hole" so I think our chances are pretty good of getting through unscathed. Not guaranteed, but pretty good. Getting through unscathed by a "marine professional" is a whole other matter. But we are going to give it a shot.

North ... really!

After sitting though several days of nearly constant thunderstorm activity, including a lightning hit on the little tower near No Name Harbor that about gave me a heart attack, Thursday's forecast suggested just a 20% chance of getting another good scare. The plan was to get an early go, but that didn't happen. Late in the evening, just as we were falling asleep, a power boat wandered by that sounded awful close. Sure enough, when I poked my head out the companionway there he was, about 20 feet off the bow and fixing to drop his anchor directly on Kintala's chain. We exchanged a few words about technique and etiquette and he moved off to bother someone else.

Hopes for a full night sleep where then abandoned when a swarm of mosquitoes invaded the boat. There are about 200 zillion reasons not to spend a summer in Florida, and all of them bite. Come morning, covered with welts the size of quarters, I looked and felt like a zombie. But a day with just a 20% chance of storms couldn't be squandered just because I had spent the night on fire. Deck prep was a slow, painful affair that wasn't helped when the morning's 20% chance started rumbling out in the bay. After studying the RADAR for a bit we decided the threat was minor and moving away from us. Kintala was finally making her escape from Biscayne Bay.

The WesterBeast however, though making good water, wasn't as happy to be leaving. Anything over 15 – 1700 rpm pushed the temperature too high. But with a little help from a fluky WSW wind, that was enough RPM to have us moving at around 4 knots, towed dink and all. We decided to press on, and except for another 20% scare a hour or so later (the boomer stayed over land while we moved out into the Stream for a little extra push) all went well; right up to approaching the Port Everglades Entrance.

This time the 20% enveloped the port with driving rains and constant cloud to ground lighting. The Coast Guard came on channel 16 to issue a severe thunderstorm warning for the harbor. Tangling with that thing would clearly be bad for one's health. I suggested that Deb turn our bow back out to sea.

Even that was a tough go for a while. Kintala's ailing engine was not much of a match for the confused 4 to 6 footers thrashing around. It was a bumpy, ugly hour as we did figure eights trying to stay close to the channel entrance while staying clear of the storm's flank, and after a while I took the helm to give Deb a break. I had been driving most of the day since she was struggling a bit with the motion of the ocean. She had taken over to give me a break so I would be fresh for driving up the New River. Starting out the day way short on sleep was looking like one of the sorrier choices I have made lately.

The RADAR picture was looking grim and there was some talk of heading offshore for the night. All of a sudden a two engine trawler that could get out of its own way when needed, started sounding like a really good idea. Ten knots is so much better than three, and trying to play Kintala against this kind of weather was like betting on an asthmatic fat man in a bar fight. 

Instead I turned the boat directly toward the breakwater. The next storm in line had gone very "soft" at its leading edge, fuzzy and indistinct. It was still menacing, spitting lightning and burying the port south of the turning basin in rain, but it didn't appear to be moving much. There was a couple of different ways of bailing out if things went sour, including using the storm's outflow to push us out of Dodge even if the WesterBeast called it a day.

I never thought I'd be so happy
to see an opening bridge!

And except for dodging a line of big ships leaving the harbor; one cruise ship, one Navy Assault ship, two container ships and a fast ferry, it went according to plan. We even hit the 17th Street Bridge exactly right to catch an opening without having to wait.  A few minutes later we ghosted up the New River in a gentle rain then tied to the floating docks to wait on the slack tide.

While I sipped what seemed like a well earned coldie, Deb walked under the bridge to check on the slip Cooley's had promised to hold for us. It had a power boat sitting in it. The alternate slip was full as well. In fact, in spite of having talked to these folks for the better part of a month, setting up having two boats with them for the summer, there appeared to be no room at the inn. Since it was already 2100 hours and the office was closed, I ended up spending a second night on the floating docks.

This morning we found an open dock next to a launch ramp. Actually there were two, but one had an ugly, short little concrete pier on the launch ramp side that appeared to be just itching to punch a hole in a fiberglass boat. The slip was also half exposed to any half wit trying to get a boat off the trailer. The other open pier, on the other side of the launch ramp, had a full length concrete pier with a fixed bumper along its length and providing full protection from the half wits. We decided that was our home.

The Dock Master decided otherwise. Just as Kintala's bow passed the first piling he came running over to tell us that slip was already taken. "Really," I thought "The slip you promised us has a powerboat sitting in it, move that thing out of the way and I'll be glad to leave this one."

But I didn't say anything. We may be here for a while and were already starting out on the wrong foot. So I stopped, backed out into the line of boats waiting for the 7^th Ave bridge to open, then backed up the river a bit, shucking and jiving and promising Kintala weeks of tender loving care if she would just go in the direction needed, just this once please. (Picture that asthmatic fat man backing down a spiral staircase after a few Rum & Cokes.)

In the end we eased into the slip we really didn't want like we knew what we were doing. Which was pretty good considering the last time I went to a dance with a dock the entry fee included a bent anchor shank.

So here we are. Kintala rests in a web of lines. The deck is set for sitting with the little dink deflated and stowed on top of the life raft along with the stay sail. The first of a long list of summer projects is already started. We have the River Walk nearby and have already met some interesting neighbors. Summer in Florida. I don't think I would recommend it, but sometimes things just go as they go.

We had both manatees and dolphins for company in No Name Harbor this time

North again ... sort of

Quetzal as we found her November 2010 at Cooley's Landing

Back in late November of 2010 Deb and I joined John Kretschmer on his good ship Quetzal for a week trip to the Bahamas and back. Before we left we were still debating if going cruising was something we were really going to do. We sat on a bench in the marina where Quetzal was berthed and began debating just how quickly we could make going cruising a reality if, in fact, this trip made it clear that's what we wanted to do. And I'm sure we talked about what a cool thing it would be to, someday, sail our own boat back to that very same place.

Leaving through the 7th Avenue bridge on that first trip nearly 4 years ago

Friday evening I was completely surprised to find myself standing in that very same place as Daughter Eldest and I looked over the slip that was to be The Floating Bear's home for part of the summer. Neither Deb nor I remembered that Cooley's Landing, the place we had picked for getting some boat work done this summer, was the same place we boarded Quetzal for that memorable Bahamas Bash.  The 7th Avenue Bridge looked vaguely familiar when Daughter and I walked under it, but I couldn't imagine why.  Then I saw the bench where Deb and I had sat and talked and I remembered.  The one thought that never crossed either Deb's or my mind back in 2010, was that we would be stopping by the very same place in our boat, with Daughter Eldest, Son-in-Law, and two of soon-to-be-eight grand kids living in a nearby slip in their own boat.

I'm still a little astonished that things are working out that way.

The reason Daughter Eldest and I were standing looking at the slip was that The Floating Bear was still tied to the public floating dock on the other side of the bridge.  We were waiting for slack tide to avoid trying to slip between the pilings at Cooley's with a nasty cross current. Deciding that the water was tame enough to make the attempt, we headed back down the River Walk, got everyone on board, and hit the starter button. The Floating Bear chuffed to life, chocked, shut-down, and absolutely refused to start again.

Rats. So, so close. Yet so far away.

We had been underway all day, motoring up the ICW. It had been a fun trip and mostly new to me since that bit of the ICW is off limits to Kintala. (She doesn't fit under the Julia Tuttle bridge.) It is actually a beautiful stretch of water running through the heart of the metropolis area. As we motored passed South Lake a manatee took up position in our wake and nosed along behind us, snuffling up air every couple of minutes so close that the two grand sons could almost touch its snout; something that thrilled them to no end. Then we worked our way through Port Everglades, crossing the end of the channel headed toward the 17^th Street bridge just ahead of an inbound, fully loaded, container ship. This thrilled the grand kids to no end as well, though it didn't thrill Grampy T near as much. The tiny Volvo was pushing as hard as it could and I wasn't sure what we would have done had the timing been just the slightest bit different. Oh well, better to be lucky than good.

After working our way though the tight and boat-busy New River then tying up to the floating dock to wait on the tide, we thought we had it made. Case Closed. Trip from Dinner Key to Cooley's landing for a couple of weeks of intensive boat work accomplished. So, so close.

Dead at the public dock, much deliberation ensued, including a call to Tow Boat US.  That's when I learned my Tow Boat US Unlimited Gold policy does not, in fact, cover the boat I am driving if the owners of that boat are on board. (I wish they had pointed that out when we sent them a check.) Estimated cost for moving  The Floating Bear approximately 300 yards came to somewhere in the vicinity of $700. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.  For $700 I'd take a rope in my teeth and try to drag the thing through the 7th avenue bridge swimming against the tide.  What do they think I am, a rich boat owner or something?

In the end Friend Bill drove up from Dinner Key and picked up Daughter Eldest and grand sons 2, taking them back to Kintala and Deb. Son-in-Law and yours truly were left to figure out a better way to end the trip than with me going swimming. By that time it was nearly midnight and after 12 hours of motoring in the bright FL sunshine and the aborted attempt from the day before, we just didn't have the energy to try and make something happen before morning. Brian and I set up a "drunk watch". It was Friday night on the Ft. Lauderdale River Walk. We saw various smiling and glassy-eyed people swerve down the walkway, bounce off the curb and come precariously close to stumbling into the New River. We wanted to make sure none decided The Floating Bear was their destination for the evening. (I might have been tempted to rent the V-berth to the cute couple that settled in on the dock just off our bow. They looked like they needed a room.) We watched people stumble their way onto other boats tied at the floating dock, fire up and motor away.  Boats with on board parties clearly in full swing moved past, some more-or-less in line with the "no wake" limit, others ... not so much. More than one power boat Captain toasted me with beer in fist while passing by.  It was quite a scene but not conducive to getting much sleep.

Saturday morning Brian headed off to find coffee while I tried to conjure up a good idea for getting The Floating Bear underway. The best I could come up with was that, after a full day of pushing up the ICW, the little Volvo had worked up a major sweat. Shutting down for a couple of hours on the floating dock left all that heat with no where to go. The engine had fired on the cool fuel left in the injector lines, but the fuel in the injector pump, located way too near the exhaust manifold to my way of thinking, had been boiled into mist. Blaming the night's delay to a vapor lock seemed like a reach, but the fact was turning the engine over did not result in fuel squirting out of the injector line. Clearly there was an air lock in there somewhere.

When in doubt, do the simple things first. Backing down the fuel system one fitting at a time showed no fuel at the injector pump bleed ports, but fuel at the injector pump inlet. (Which was good news as it suggested the lift pump was still lifting.) We bled the system (Brian having long since returned with a much needed cup of caffeine), got fuel flowing to the forward injector port and, with the last dying amps left in the Bear's questionable batteries turning the starter, our efforts were rewarded. The Floating Bear was ready to finish her inaugural trip.

Forty-nine hours and thirty-seven minutes after the trip was started for the first time, 25 hours and seventeen minutes after the trip was started for the second time, and 20 minutes after the engine shuddered its way to life at the floating dock, The Floating Bear was snug at her new pier. Deb and the rest of the crew joined Brian and I in the afternoon and we all spent the rest of the day relaxing while grand kids (2) explored their new digs and the adults talked of tasks to come.  The long days soon caught up to us all though, and early enough everyone found their way into a berth for some much needed sleep, with Deb and I settling for a cool night in the cockpit.

This morning we went for a walk, searching for coffee and just enjoying being together again. We marveled some more about being back where our cruising plans became a true goal, a goal that is now an accomplishment for us and an unexpected new adventure for part of our family. Then, after a few more hours spent with the kids, we hopped the public transit back to Dinner Key.

The plan is for Kintala to drop her mooring ball tomorrow and head for No Name Harbor. There we will enjoy being on the hook for the first time in what feels like months while waiting out some expected storms in a less exposed place. Later in the week we hope to catch a weather window for our own trip north to join The Floating Bear and crew.