As we like to say on Misty, "every day is a thousand days," and truer words were never spoken! So please excuse the cursury list of events that I lay down here. We simply haven´t had time to record the vast number of experiences we have had.
Since leaving San Diego, we made a quick stop in Ensenada to check into the country and buy a tortilla press, sleeping tied up to a rickety dock across from a very loud Sea Lion Colony. We headed out with our sister ship, the Nordic V, and Hornsby caught and bluggened our first fish, a black tuna, at the same moment when our Chartplotter died. We followed the lights of our friends over night and pulled into San Quintin the following day and ran aground as a mocking grey whale calf breached not 40 yards from our boat, but were quickly saved by a passing panga who pulled us off the sand and back into the narrow shifting channel. Safely anchored, we spent some time with our new friends that evening, only to find ourselves under the power of our row-boat captain, Sharkfoot, in a 3 knot tidal current and 20 knots of head wind for the most epic 200 meter paddle of 2010!
We rode out a series of storms in San Quintin, the worst they´d had in a long while and ventured into town as we waited for the swell to die down on the open ocean, only to find ourselves marching back toward our dingy well after dark because the roads had all been washed out.
We left the bay in a convoy of friends, headed for Mag Bay, and had two days of glorious sailing before the wind died and our brand new propeller strut failed! Thanks to our sister ship, we ended up in Turtle bay where we have spent the last two days making the repair which has involved everything from diving with lobster fisherman to find an essential piece that was dropped into 20 feet of water with zero visibility, to hauling the aft end of our boat out on a fishing boat using a block and tackle and a whole lot of people. Needless to say, the three girls on the sailboat who do underwater repairs on their boat which would normally call for a full haul-out have become quite the attraction. We find ourselves being circled by fisherman and locals everyday who swing by for a glimpse of what´s going on.
The stories and experiences, the highs and lows, and the incredible overwhelming feeling we have of blessing and gratitude pale in comparison to these short paragraphs. It will take us several days (or several thousand) to give the adventure the credit due, but the tide waits for no man and we are headed out this afternoon for Mag Bay.
Until then, several thousand days of new adventure await!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Arrival Soup
You may wonder, “When it is time to eat arrival soup? Is it when you leave to cross the border into Mexico? No, were not quite there yet. Is it when you sail through fog with 50-foot visibility only to round Point Loma and have the fog vanish as quickly as it came? No, that was crackers, cheese and carrots. Is it when you get surprised at 3 am with border patrol pulling up to the side of your boat out of the middle of ocean darkness to ask where you are going, where you came from and if you have any stowaways on board? No, no one was eating anything just then. No friends, it is much simpler than that. It is eaten upon arriving somewhere, anywhere.
Arrival Soup first came into our lives after an 18-hour chug up the coast of North America from San Pedro, CA to Channel Islands Harbor, Slip G-48, Oxnard, CA. It was our first venture on the high seas, with our intake silencer conveniently in the port side lazarette and not on the engine. Funny thing is that intake silencer actually does 2 things. 1) It silences the engine (important), and 2) intakes the diesel smoke and runs it out the exhaust and not in your cabin (also important). Needless to say, the boat ride was loud beyond belief (which lead us to start sign language lessons) and was full of diesel exhaust, which takes your stomach on rides beyond your wildest nightmares as the waves rock you back and forth. It proved to be one of the longest nights in history and we were all pretty green upon arrival. So what did we want? That’s right people, some soup. Arrival soup has since become a favorite of the Good Captain, Hornsby, and I must admit, its one of my favorites as well. It is eaten just about anytime we have an arrival, wherever spot we may arrive at.
The following recipe serves 3 and can be made in just 2 easy steps.
Stovetop directions:
Step 1.) Bring 1 pot of water to a boil.
Step 1-a.) Chop up ginger, garlic, onion, carrot, and just about any other veggies you got layin’ around.
Step 1-b.) Add veggies to boiling water and cook 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Step 1-c.) Add 2 packets Top Ramen noodles and let cook 3 minutes**see note
Step 1-d.) Remove from heat
Step 1-e.) Add 2 Tablespoons Red miso soup mix (If miso is not available you may substitute 1 packet Ramen powder)
Step 2.) Garnish with fresh cracked pepper and enjoy with friends
**Note: Lets just get one thing straight, no one likes to admit that they love to eat Ramen. You know, that stuff that’s filled with MSG and will stain your plastic spoon yellow for 7 wash cycles. That stuff that has absolutely nothing in it that is even almost fresh or even close to good for you. That stuff that you can kinda feel burning away at your insides as it goes down. But, lets face it; Ramen tastes good and has a special place in our hearts. It was the first thing Mom would let me cook on the stove, it cooks in 3 minutes, you can buy 10 packets for $1 and the noodles are slurp-able. Amazing! So even though we may have a hard time admitting that we sometimes enjoy a bowl, it does have its time and place. I also find it important to note and pay tribute to Mr. Ramen himself, Momofuku Ando. That's right, the man who invented Ramen passed away in 2007 at the ripe old age of 96 and he lived a long and healthy life that involved 1 packet of Ramen daily from the time he invented it to the day before he passed. Stay healthy…eat Ramen.
Post Script: Arrival soup can also be good for curing hangovers but the name hangover soup didn’t quite sound as appetizing.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Wind...
If the Goddess that we pray to is the wind, and the temple in which we worship is this 30’ vessel of fiberglass, wood, and canvass, then the pews we sit on, the thing that carries the bulk of our faith on a daily basis is that old Volvo Penta MD6A. Our world is full of pet names for things from the plethora of nicknames we have for each other, to the various, rather un-nautical, names we have for nearly everything else in the boat. But as a sign of respect and dignity, our Volvo Penta MD6A remains just that.
Because we have invested all of our money, energy, laughter and, yes, tears on this “real nice powerboat.” Er…I mean sailboat. At the top of the list of reasons why the reality of this dream is considerably less glamorous than any of us had envisioned is the fact that the Wind, that divine force, seems so often to have forsaken us and we chug along at three hours per gallon of diesel, ears ringing and spirits tuned to the drone of living essentially inside of a tractor.
Yesterday, after motoring all day from Catalina Island and picking up a whopping 29 balloons out of the ocean (Happy Birthday Ocean, indeed) and lapping through the Dana Point Marina, we felt the wind at our face and decided to push on South to Mission Bay. Sails up and motor off, we spent two blissful hours racing downwind at six knots while Sharkfoot made dinner.
When she graces us with her presence our hearts raise up to that Wind as Misty neatly cuts through the water and I, for one, always find myself compelled to sing. We watched the stars come out over the lights of Southern California and, stomachs full, began our night watch rotation. As I crawled into the V-berth I heard the scurrying above deck as Wind, once again, left us out to sea and the sails were doused and the engine cranked.
It’s worth noting the details of this particular incidence for several reasons. First, it was the first time that the Captain here was able to walk away from a change of sail. It’s a sign of our advancement as a team on the water and bodes well for our overall sustainability. But perhaps more importantly, it proves that we are getting our sea legs. Gone are the days of fending off nausea by sleeping all night on the narrow cockpit benches. Instead, we now dive into our berths and, even under motor (admittedly on a glassy night), quickly fall into a deep sleep.
Not so deep enough, however, for me to miss the distinct sound of the engine turning off.
“Are you guys alright?”
“The engine isn’t spitting out any water.” Sharkfoot had expertly detected something wrong with the engine—one of those subtle little sounds you hear only when you know an engine intimately.
“Roll out the Jib and get some steerage” I said as I grabbed some layers. We were at the mercy of Wind again, safely offshore, but unable to run our engine until we solved the problem.
“What a dumb bleeping idea. Buy a bleeping sailboat, and sail it to bleeping Mexico. It’s probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had in my life!” I cursed as Sharkfoot and I pulled all the gear stowed in the hatch leading to the engine compartment. After looking at the sea strainer and exhaust hoses I sat down in dismay. “I have no idea what’s wrong with this thing.”
Pause…two…three…
“The salt water impeller!” The wonderful thing about an old diesel engine is that they are surprisingly simple machines. Fifteen minutes later the cap was off the salt water pump and sure enough that little piece of neoprene was shredded. The mood changed as we pulled out our spare, and as Hornsby handled the helm, Sharkfoot and I chattered away in a variety of accents as we worked to put the new impeller in.
It’s hard to describe the feeling of being at sea and spooning a diesel engine with two people in the hot, oily, compartment with the lid down. Sharkfoot was crouched in the hatch passing me tools and parts and reading off instructions as I laid on my side across the propeller shaft, head resting on the exhaust hose, butt generously being scratched for me by the ever-moving gears of the steering column, feet halfway up the hull, and working with my one free hand—conveniently my non-dominant Left. And all the while Wind blew at our backs as we made a steady four knots directly on our bearing.
“Evacuate! Evacuate! The Captain has broken wind!” The hatch popped open in a flash and we backed out of our little nook. Thankfully, the job was done and we fired that engine up watching with eager anticipation to see if our fix had worked. With a great whoop we celebrated the first spits of water and found ourselves (well, mostly me) strutting up and down the cockpit, fists in the air, proclaiming our victory in loud voices. But Wind was still with us and we shut the engine right back off and let our hearts settle back into that easy rhythm. Quiet. Smooth. Blissful. And then she was gone. Once again it was time to roll up the Jib and turn on our Volvo Penta MD6A.
The fortunes of our trip so far are too many to name, from finding the right boat, to meeting the one guy at West Marine who was willing to take us under his wing, to finding $50 on the street. But our faith is in Wind, who appears with a gentle breeze at our backs at the moment when we most need her and lifts us from the pews of our church to that airy, light place of this amazing dream.
Because we have invested all of our money, energy, laughter and, yes, tears on this “real nice powerboat.” Er…I mean sailboat. At the top of the list of reasons why the reality of this dream is considerably less glamorous than any of us had envisioned is the fact that the Wind, that divine force, seems so often to have forsaken us and we chug along at three hours per gallon of diesel, ears ringing and spirits tuned to the drone of living essentially inside of a tractor.
Yesterday, after motoring all day from Catalina Island and picking up a whopping 29 balloons out of the ocean (Happy Birthday Ocean, indeed) and lapping through the Dana Point Marina, we felt the wind at our face and decided to push on South to Mission Bay. Sails up and motor off, we spent two blissful hours racing downwind at six knots while Sharkfoot made dinner.
When she graces us with her presence our hearts raise up to that Wind as Misty neatly cuts through the water and I, for one, always find myself compelled to sing. We watched the stars come out over the lights of Southern California and, stomachs full, began our night watch rotation. As I crawled into the V-berth I heard the scurrying above deck as Wind, once again, left us out to sea and the sails were doused and the engine cranked.
It’s worth noting the details of this particular incidence for several reasons. First, it was the first time that the Captain here was able to walk away from a change of sail. It’s a sign of our advancement as a team on the water and bodes well for our overall sustainability. But perhaps more importantly, it proves that we are getting our sea legs. Gone are the days of fending off nausea by sleeping all night on the narrow cockpit benches. Instead, we now dive into our berths and, even under motor (admittedly on a glassy night), quickly fall into a deep sleep.
Not so deep enough, however, for me to miss the distinct sound of the engine turning off.
“Are you guys alright?”
“The engine isn’t spitting out any water.” Sharkfoot had expertly detected something wrong with the engine—one of those subtle little sounds you hear only when you know an engine intimately.
“Roll out the Jib and get some steerage” I said as I grabbed some layers. We were at the mercy of Wind again, safely offshore, but unable to run our engine until we solved the problem.
“What a dumb bleeping idea. Buy a bleeping sailboat, and sail it to bleeping Mexico. It’s probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had in my life!” I cursed as Sharkfoot and I pulled all the gear stowed in the hatch leading to the engine compartment. After looking at the sea strainer and exhaust hoses I sat down in dismay. “I have no idea what’s wrong with this thing.”
Pause…two…three…
“The salt water impeller!” The wonderful thing about an old diesel engine is that they are surprisingly simple machines. Fifteen minutes later the cap was off the salt water pump and sure enough that little piece of neoprene was shredded. The mood changed as we pulled out our spare, and as Hornsby handled the helm, Sharkfoot and I chattered away in a variety of accents as we worked to put the new impeller in.
It’s hard to describe the feeling of being at sea and spooning a diesel engine with two people in the hot, oily, compartment with the lid down. Sharkfoot was crouched in the hatch passing me tools and parts and reading off instructions as I laid on my side across the propeller shaft, head resting on the exhaust hose, butt generously being scratched for me by the ever-moving gears of the steering column, feet halfway up the hull, and working with my one free hand—conveniently my non-dominant Left. And all the while Wind blew at our backs as we made a steady four knots directly on our bearing.
“Evacuate! Evacuate! The Captain has broken wind!” The hatch popped open in a flash and we backed out of our little nook. Thankfully, the job was done and we fired that engine up watching with eager anticipation to see if our fix had worked. With a great whoop we celebrated the first spits of water and found ourselves (well, mostly me) strutting up and down the cockpit, fists in the air, proclaiming our victory in loud voices. But Wind was still with us and we shut the engine right back off and let our hearts settle back into that easy rhythm. Quiet. Smooth. Blissful. And then she was gone. Once again it was time to roll up the Jib and turn on our Volvo Penta MD6A.
The fortunes of our trip so far are too many to name, from finding the right boat, to meeting the one guy at West Marine who was willing to take us under his wing, to finding $50 on the street. But our faith is in Wind, who appears with a gentle breeze at our backs at the moment when we most need her and lifts us from the pews of our church to that airy, light place of this amazing dream.
Monday, January 4, 2010
owed to the night watch
Here we sit, 2010 has come into our lives in flying colors: the deep blues of the Pacific, the oranges of the setting sun and the reds of 3 matching sets of West Marine Foulies. This New Years was rung in complete with home made paper hats, booty shakin' dance parties, fake eyelashes paired with rubber boots (sexy) and a midnight balloon drop at the only bar in Two Harbors. What a night!! Lucky for the Captain, the New Years Eve eve proved much better than our New Years Eve day. The first tragedy of the trip came early the am of Dec 31st and so we have begun a rule list for the crew of the Misty Moonlight to follow: Rule #1) always close the lid of the charmin while flushing (the head on our boat is lovingly referred to as the charmin). Unfortunately the good Captain found out the hard way...but those foul weather bibs will bead up just about anything that comes in contact with them. But enough about that @#$%. 2009 seems like only days ago (wait a minute!) We left the comforts of the Channel Islands Harbor, and our home for the past month-ish, to the warm rolling embraces of the Pacific Ocean under the oh so appropriate light of a very misty moon. Sails up and we were on our way!! Well the wind was a little short lived and after about an hour the wind had died a quick, and very painful death and we found ourselves in the doldrums. So, sails down...and we fired up that Volvo Penta MD6A. I will be the first to admit it is not quite as peaceful as sailing ol’ misty, but those dolphins sure love the purr of that Volvo Penta MD6A (we really like saying Volvo Penta MD6A …you can try too…5 times really fast) and they quickly found us and rode the bow through the evening. So the night watch rotation had begun...we brought out the cushions and 2 sleeping bags and they were set up on the benches on the sides of the cockpit. Captain Luigi started the evening’s watch and Lady Hornsby and I let the hum of that Diesel engine lull us to sleep. About 4 and 1/2 hours later I felt that familiar squeeze of the ankle that says..."rise and shine baby, your turn to watch." By that time the Blue moon was overhead and lighting the way. Lady Hornsby gave me the update, we were crossing the shipping lanes, no tankers sighted but keep a good eye out and we would be across in an hour or so and would change course about 30 degrees to the south. She crawled into the still warm bag I had just vacated and handed me a banana for a snack and was off to dream land. So it was Misty, myself and the big blue ocean alone for the next few hours. This is about the time that your mind starts that choo-choo train of thought that when you get a ways down the tracks you stop and go…wait how did I get here?? I think I started somewhere thinking of the moonlight beams on the water, like lovers dancing on the waves, then all of a sudden… BOOM… I was at that scene in the beginning of Cliffhanger… you know the one where Sylvester lets her slip from his hand and she fall thousands of feet to her death. WOAH! How did I get here? I had to change course so I went back in time to that one day Luigi and I were on the floor of Ace Hardware doing the Pythagorean theorem trying to figure out how much aircraft cable we needed just in case, then I was imagining Lady Hornsby, the day before our departure, running around Ventura in search of used carpet. And then when she found the dream piece, 12x7 nautical blue, and learned it was 27$ she told the man it was out of our price range, offered him 15$ and left empty handed. This is America, can’t barter here. Mexico here we come! Tonight we stay the night at a familiar beach, Whites Landing on Catalina Isle, and plan to head south towards San Diego in the ‘morrow. The adventures continue...until next time friends...
All the best, Sharkfoot
All the best, Sharkfoot
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
