Author: richwest3

September 13, 2019

(Continued from Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters)

To those who ask us if we’re afraid of pirates, I say not in the areas we’re currently traveling, but there are some dangers from other people. (I must hasten to add that these dangers are not all-consuming and nowhere near the threats one encounters from “bad” people while living a normal land-life.)

Aside from bad anchoring practices (last post), here’s another hazard other boaters can present. This one hits home with me because I can be intuitive about potential trouble, potential that my partner might not pick up on. This has caused more than one disagreement between us over the years.

b. Dangerous People Who Appear Normal

In 1974, Malcolm “Mac” Graham and Eleanor “Muff” Graham sailed their beautiful ketch, Sea Wind, from Hawaii to Palmyra Atoll. Also at Palmyra were Buck Walker and Stephanie Stearns, who’d arrived in a shabby, poorly-provisioned boat named Iola.

The following September, Sea Wind returned to Hawaii in the possession of Buck Walker and Stephanie Stearns. In spite of being repainted and renamed, the ketch was soon recognized by acquaintances of the Grahams, and Buck and Stephanie were arrested for its theft. The Grahams, meanwhile, had vanished. Buck and Stephanie’s story: the Grahams had gone fishing in their dinghy and never returned; so they simply helped themselves to their boat.

Eventually Muff Graham’s remains were discovered in the surf off Palmyra, along with a large metal container that had previously been weighted down and held those remains. Apparently King Neptune decided he didn’t like this particular “gift” and had tossed the container back onto the atoll, breaking it open. Buck Walker ended up being convicted of the murders of Mac and Muff Graham, while Stephanie Sterns was acquitted (although some believe she must have been an accomplice in the murders).

There’s both a book (written by Manson Family prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi) and a movie that depict this story, titled And The Sea Will Tell.

While things like this happen rarely, they do happen. Thomas and Jackie Hawks were another couple targeted for their boat.

In 2004, Thomas and Jackie Hawks were selling their boat and had received a full-price offer from a former “child actor,” Skyler Deleon. In truth, Skyler’s biggest gig was that he’d been an extra on a single episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers (a children’s TV show).

Getting a full-price offer plus another 15K for personal items (suspicious in itself) from a guy who’d merely been an extra should have aroused suspicion, especially since Thomas Hawks was a former parole officer and Skyer turned out to be an ex-con. But the Hawks were very anxious to sell their boat so they could move to Arizona and be near their new grandchild, plus they’d been charmed by Skyer’s pregnant wife and small baby. Unfortunately, they really let their guard down.

For the sea trial, Skyler showed up with two friends, one he claimed was his accountant. To make a long story short: The Hawks took the group out for the sea trial and ended up being tasered, bound, forced to sign a power of attorney granting their assets to the Skyler and his wife, then tossed overboard while tied to an anchor. After a long and difficult investigation, the perpetrators were found guilty of murder and sent to prison. Their motive: They wanted to live on the boat in Mexico and run fishing charters.

These are not nice stories, but they do serve as a reminder that evil can reside in ordinary-seeming people. This may seem like more of a problem for wealthy homeowners, people with real valuables and assets vs. the comparatively meager pickings on a yacht. But as cruisers we should remember that we, too, possess something others might see as extremely valuable: a means by which to escape and live freely.

For some who don’t know the ocean, they see us as having a home that floats, sails that gather a free source of propulsion, a sea that provides food for the price of a fishing pole and lures, and the answer to the wishful statement of, “Let’s go away and find a beach somewhere.” Those of us who actually cruise know this perception does not match reality, that the sea and wind would just as soon kill you, fish are not so easy to catch, and all beaches are owned by someone. Even if a boat opts not to use AIS (a tracking and identifying system), it’s still visible via binoculars and radar.

On the off chance that a yacht does manage to traipse through one country undetected, the next country officially visited will demand passports, paperwork and accountability for time and, as one young man found out, will not believe that it took the boat eight months to sail from, say, Mexico to Fiji. (The young man I referred to had actually spent months in French Polynesia without bothering to clear in and ended up in a lot of trouble for that in Fiji). Countries cooperate with each other far more than many people realize.

Perhaps more dangerous than psycho cruiser wannabes are the underfunded psycho cruisers who’ve procured a run-down boat (much like Stephanie and Buck Walker), believing at first in the easy dream before realizing they need something better equipped. That’s when they might start taking a look at boats they could never afford and fantasizing how those boats might look disguised with a different paint job. Most likely, this scenario would remain a fantasy, but given the opportunity, some people are capable of very bad things.

As for how often problems like this occur, I know that while sailboats are stolen every year, incidents where the owners are harmed are rare. (Note: I’m not talking about actual piracy here; just boat theft which is not the same as piracy.) Murder is more often a potential than something that actually happens, but it’s a potential I believe we should stay aware of, just as we do when living on land.

I think social-type cruisers can be especially vulnerable here as they don’t want to see the bad in anyone. It’s not the strangers they need to be afraid of; it’s perhaps their new “friends.” When I feel uncomfortable about a new acquaintance; I let Rich know. He’s come to realize I’m often right to be wary, even though it’s seldom put to the test as I try to get us away from people who make me nervous.

Occasionally I’ll share my wariness with another cruiser who will assure me a particular person is “harmless.” Personally I’ve found that people who’ve been declared harmless may be so to those making the statement, but not necessarily to everyone else. I’ve had more than one scary encounter with individuals I’d been assured were harmless.

Over time, I’ve learned to trust my gut over what people say. At the risk of sounding sexist, I think many women have honed (or been born with) good intuition and may be better at sensing trouble. But no matter what a person’s gender, if one person on the boat is more intuitive, it would pay for the other partner to at least take into consideration their discomfort.

Muff Graham had a terrible premonition about the cruise to Palmyra, which is known today because she shared her fear with family and friends before she and Mac left. She was so anxious she was prescribed anti-anxiety medication and even consulted a psychic for reassurance, but it turned out the psychic sensed trouble, too. She did not want to go on the trip, but Mac wasn’t deterred and they ended up going. Sadly, her premonition that she’d die a horrible death came true.

One thought I’ve had: if Muff was so nervous about something bad happening in Palmyra, she must have picked up on the danger surrounding psychopaths Buck Walker and Stephane Stearns. I’d bet money she asked Mac to leave and he refused, not wanting to change his plans based on an unsubstantiated “feeling.” He paid for that with his life.

The friends and families of cruisers often worry about pirates; but if care is taken in choosing sailing destinations, the danger of pirates is practically nonexistent. I’d worry most about the cruisers who are open, friendly, and looking for the best in everyone. These are wonderful qualities, but like a very friendly child or pet, you have to worry about them a little bit more.

One of the many advantages to cruising in this day and age is that it’s easier for those back home to keep track of, and in touch with, their cruising friends and loved ones. And a very good security precaution for friendly types is to have a more reserved, intuitive partner. You just have to be willing to listen to that partner even when they’re telling you something you don’t want to hear.

Trouble like Mac and Muff encountered is extremely rare but does happen. Food for thought. –Cyndi

Other posts in the series:
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 1)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 2) (this post)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 3)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 4)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 5)
Real Cruising Danger #2: The Sheep Mentality

September 3, 2019

People always ask us if we’ve felt frightened by pirates or storms, but over the years the greatest danger we’ve experienced has been brought about by other boaters. How do they threaten thee? Let me count the ways:

a. Bad Anchoring Practices

Before I go into this, I’ll first describe the basic method for anchoring a boat:

Step 1. Choose a suitable spot and determine the depth, then use this number to calculate how much scope (length of chain or line from bow to anchor) you’ll need. A ratio of 7:1 scope to depth is the rule of thumb, but that’s usually a bit extreme for mild conditions. Often 6:1 or even 5:1 will suffice. Check to make sure the boat will be able to swing freely in all directions as squalls and surprise wind changes can and do happen.

Step 2. Having stopped the boat, drop the anchor until it hits bottom, then slowly back the boat away from the anchor, paying the chain out as you go until you reach the amount you’ve determined you’ll need. Lock the chain or line down; then continue to back on it until the anchor is set and the line is taut. Now increase the throttle some, pulling back hard to make sure the anchor is really dug in. Take a look around and make sure you’re a good distance (approximately double the amount of scope) from any neighboring boats. Set an anchor alarm or check periodically to make sure you’re not dragging. Note: Never assume neighboring boats will swing exactly the same way yours will—windage, underwater shape and current can create big differences in the way boats hang.

Step 3. It should go without saying, if the line does not stay taut as you pull on it or you end up too close to another boat, you will have to bring the anchor up and try again (and again) until the anchor holds. If it won’t, you’ll have to move to another spot.

That’s it in a nutshell, simple and straightforward, yet many boaters simply refuse to do this properly, either out of laziness, ineptness, selfishness or its opposite: being more worried about queuing than basic safety. Over the years we’ve seen all these scenarios and end result is the same: a hazard for everyone around them.

I must hasten to add to this list misjudgment, because nearly all of us are guilty of this at times. We go into an anchorage, locate a spot, go through the process of setting the anchor and then look to see how the boat’s laying in relation to the boats closest to us. Sometimes, alas, we’re just too close to another boat. With that, we pick up, relocate and try again, apologizing if the neighbor happens to be up on deck looking worried.

This is what a good boater does, but some people are stubborn: they feel entitled to be in the spot they chose, don’t feel like anchoring again, and if you don’t like it, that’s your problem—get the stick out of your ass. We’ve had a few yelling matches with these people over the years, usually getting them to move because Rich can really holler, but a few times we’ve actually had to pick up and move ourselves, all the while hoping karma would do its thing to the interlopers.

Another reason for bad anchoring is the queuing thing, which tends to be cultural. There are areas of the world where, come summer vacation, there are too many boats and too few spots to anchor. Thus, there’s an unspoken understanding that everyone will anchor too close together, reasoning that all boats will swing the same way and when they don’t, well, put out some fenders.

New Zealand is one of these areas, and newly-arrived foreign cruisers can be in for quite a surprise if they go cruising during peak summer season. It certainly was a surprise for us! I can’t tell you how incredulous we’d feel anchored in an empty bay, hearing noise and looking outside to see a boat anchoring right on top of us. “Oh my god, what are you doing?!,” we’d yell. For us, it’s like being comfortably seated at a restaurant and having another couple plop themselves down at our table—it simply isn’t done. If the restaurant is empty, you find your own table, and if it’s busy, new arrivals have to wait. If the restaurant is fully booked, one has no choice but to go elsewhere. Kiwis certainly follow this protocol at restaurants, but when it comes to anchoring, they are pretty much joining you at your table in an effort to make room for the anticipated lunch crowd.

Thus, when we’ve protested over a boat anchoring way too close, we’ve heard, “There will be 50 boats in this bay by the end of the day!” as they angrily and begrudgingly move. In our view: there will not be 50 boats because there’s not room for 50 boats, and we have no obligation whatsoever to make room. Safety, for us, trumps empathy. (Interesting note: Since we don’t cruise in New Zealand at the height of vacation season, none of these anticipated crowds has ever shown up after these altercations. The queuing thing is just so ingrained that some people think they have queue all the time.)

I will say there are two solutions for overcrowded areas in places where there’s no alternative anchorage. In Hiva Oa in the Marquesas where many cruisers make landfall, it’s protocol for all boats to use a bow and stern anchor in the bay, and that works well to fit nearly everyone in.

In other check-in (or popular areas) without big marinas (Neiafu, Efate, Savusavu, Musket Cove, etc.) the countries have installed mooring fields for their visiting yachts. These moorings do need to be maintained and aren’t free of charge, but they can usually fit everyone in. They also serve to prevent the incompetent anchorers from getting too close, although we’re occasionally shocked by some idiot who attempts to anchor amid moorings.

At Catalina Island off California, the most-used bays have double moorings installed where both the bow and stern of a boat are attached. This allows boats to be lined up closely in long rows so that many more people can visit during peak season. Since they are presided over by a harbor patrol and do cost money, there are those who lament their installation. But the population has grown and in this case, it’s appropriate to accommodate more people as long as they don’t overcrowd the island itself. It would be a shame to mar the beautiful anchorages in the Bay of Islands and Great Barrier Island with mooring floats, but if it’s that important that everyone get a spot, the powers that be might want to consider it.

There’s a final reason for incompetent anchoring, and that’s laziness. There are those who drop their anchor while their boat is still moving forward and consider it set well enough. Even worse are those who don’t bother to set the anchor at all. We had a Kiwi friend who told us of going to the Cavalli Islands and was tired after a long day; so he just dropped his anchor and didn’t set it. That night the wind shifted and came up strong, and he woke to find his boat rapidly dragging into the rocks. He barely managed to get the boat going in time to avoid them and was clearly shaken by the experience. We didn’t want to criticize him as he was traumatized enough, but how on earth can a person be “too tired” to take such an essential safety precaution as setting their anchor?

I will say now that in spite of all my jumping up and down about bad anchoring, I have to allow that in real life, cruisers often push the envelope, and that much of the time in a busy anchorage we’re in a gray area as far as being the correct distance from each other. By “gray” I mean a bit too close, but not too far out of line. When this happens, we might take in some scope to allow more room for another boat. When just 10 or 15 feet can make a difference, the bay is well protected and there’s nothing nasty in the forecast, we’ll do this and at times people do it for us. It just depends on the circumstances.

And admittedly there are those times someone is too close, yet not way too close, and we just don’t feel like getting into it by asking them to move. We paid dearly for this once and ended up in what I’d call our most dangerous moment in our 45,000 miles of blue-water cruising. It happened in the anchorage off Pangaimotu Island in Tonga. This anchorage is reasonably well protected in prevailing winds, but otherwise pretty open as it’s off a small island. We had a good spot in the area closest to the beach. Spread out from the island we had a crowd, but the spacing was pretty good. A larger boat came in and anchored outside of us but a bit too close. We thought about going over and complaining but decided well, it’s pretty busy, we’ll let it go.

Things were fine until that night. Rich was on our radio net when the squall hit, instantly windy, rainy, and gusting hard into the anchorage. The wind had turned and was blowing 25 knots, all the boats now facing out with the island behind us. It was pouring rain, and the chop rapidly getting more impressive. I noticed the motion of our boat felt odd but chalked it up to the current. I went out to take a look and was shocked to see the boat that had anchored outside us was now way too close.

At this point, things got frantic. Rich grabbed our Fire Vulcan flashlight and flashed it at the boat, yelling that he was dragging down on us. That wasn’t the only problem; we realized the strange motion was us touching the bottom as the chop was bouncing us up and down quite a bit. Thankfully, it was a soft muddy sand bottom, but this was still not good.

At this point, we could have fixed our situation until the squall passed by taking in a few feet of scope, which Rich went forward and did, but now we were just feet from the other boat. The captain was in his cockpit but determinedly ignoring Rich has he flashed our light and yelled. Obviously, the neighbor had no intention of doing anything to help the situation, and there was no getting around it; we needed to move and do so immediately!

By now, constant lightning had started and we were hearing the rumbling of thunder (thankfully not quite coinciding with the lightening). It was dark but the flashes would light up the world around us for a moment, almost like daylight. Barely dressed, I ran up through pouring rain to the bow to get the anchor up. Rich motored up on it, and the flashing light provided some assistance as I would point towards the direction the chain was going all the while hanging on with one hand. We got the anchor up, which Rich later told me it took full-throttle to do.

The anchor now up, we headed to a new spot to re-anchor. The sky kept lighting up all around us, but I couldn’t watch to see whether it was bolt or sheet lightning as I needed to keep an eye on what I was doing and occasionally look back to Rich, trying to yell loud enough so he could hear me. We anchored again, but as we backed to set it found were headed right back at the other boat, again too close. We would have to move again to a completely different spot.

Meanwhile the wind had shifted slightly, putting our problem boat too close to a neighbor who’d been near us, a person who’d had been there first and had anchored properly. The problem boat was now dragging down on this innocent boater and had the gall to flash his own flashlight at him as though implying that he was at fault and like us, should pull anchor and move.

We anchored once again, but in the yellow of our deck light, I missed a round of yellow chain markers and put out 30 feet too much chain. I quickly took some in, but we were now too close to shore. So in the the midst of all the lightning and increasingly rumbling thunder, we would need to anchor again for a yet a third time.

By now we were both soaked, me by both rain and seawater splashing over our bow. I yelled to Rich that we should anchor near a boat at the outside edge of the anchorage. We knew he was holding well and away from everyone. Rich could hardly see with his wet glasses and used the radar and flashlight to locate this boat. We pulled up behind it and dropped the anchor, and now I was praying it would hold as it became increasingly dangerous for us to be outside. Thankfully this time the anchor set and held.

Rich came up and put our Anchor Buddy (a heavy weight that helps hold the anchor chain down) on and we set the snubber. We headed back to the cockpit and got a big clap of thunder along with a flash of lightning. Rich urgently told me to get below while he stayed outside to turn off the engine. It was a relief when we were both in the boat, holding well in deeper water. Frankly I knew all along I could die out there as standing on a boat in a thunderstorm is extremely risky, but at that point I put my life in the hands of fate and totally focused on the task at hand.

Back inside the boat, drying off, we now had the luxury of realizing the danger we’d been in and were seething mad at the neighbor who’d anchored too close and put us in a life-threatening situation. I’m sure the other boat he dragged down on wasn’t too happy with him, either. But then again, we had earlier opted to let this go and this is what happened. So this scenario, right here, is the reason we protest when people who get too close. Surprise squalls do happen, especially in the tropics; and boats have to be prepared to be turned in all directions.

Over the years we’ve heard Gulf Harbour Radio, who provide weather forecasts for cruising boats, take some guff over just these sort of situations that have gotten people into trouble—why didn’t they warn everyone?! Because they can’t predict squalls, that’s why! It doesn’t happen frequently, but it does happen often enough that one has to act as though it will happen. One slip-up can mean (and has meant) the end of a boat.

There is one more scenario, the Sheep Mentality, that I’ll be talking about, but since it overlaps with this one, I’ll mention this story…

Every year the 100 plus boats that participate in the Puddle Jump are treated to a celebration party in Tahiti. Naturally some of us are at the back of the pack and can’t make the party, but there are plenty of people at the front end who attend. In 2012 this party was held at a particular beach on Moorea Island. The anchorage here, between the beach and a reef outside of it, holds (as memory serves) about 25 boats. But for this party, about 60 boats packed themselves in. Most of these people knew better (and we know at least one boat who saw the danger and opted to leave, missing out on festivities they had very much looked forward to), but in this case an authority figure, the organizers of the Puddle Jump, said it was OK to put too many boats in there.

That night after the big party, a squall came up bringing 40+ knot winds. Chaos ensued while boats drug and bumped in the night. There was damage to some of the boats, and it’s amazing that no one ended up on the reef. It was certainly talked about the rest of the season as those who attended had quite a story to tell, and the Puddle Jump was nicknamed the “Puddle Bump,” that night. Cute, but I have to say whoever organized that party should be taken to task over encouraging such unsafe behavior. I hope that they have since either chosen a better spot for their party or provide transportation from a safer anchorage.

Note: I’ve looked over a couple of the articles about that party in Latitude 38, but I didn’t see any mention of the disaster that (I believe) they were responsible for that night.

I was going to make the danger of Other Boaters into one post, but this topic is so big I’m going to break it up. Stay tuned for “Let me count the ways: b, c, ?” -Cyndi

Other posts in the series:
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 1) (this post)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 2)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 3)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 4)
Real Cruising Danger #1: Other Boaters (Part 5)
Real Cruising Danger #2: The Sheep Mentality

August 25, 2019

In the South Pacific, our American accents make it obvious that we’re foreigners, and many people we meet in the process of day-to-day living (waitstaff, store clerks, Uber drivers, etc.) ask where we’re from and how long we’ll be visiting. It’s the question of “how long we’re visiting” that sparks a discussion about our lifestyle, which includes explaining that we’re living on a boat and sailing the world. We talk about cruising and it being a lifestyle choice (often for older retired people but there are plenty of young people out here, too), and about making the twice-yearly migration between the tropics and New Zealand or Australia.

Some people know exactly what we’re talking about and say, “Wow, you’re living the dream!” Most people have never heard of doing such a thing and are full of questions, asking if we’re expert sailors, extremely brave, get seasick, have children, if we’re ever scared, encounter pirates, and the consistent one, “Have we been in any big storms?” (I’ve been meaning to write a post answering all these questions and will do so in the future).

This scenario hasn’t changed at all here in Kona, Hawaii, one of the state’s biggest tourist meccas. We use Uber all the time and are frequently asked where we’re from and how long we’ll be visiting (Uber drivers are often friendly people who are genuinely interested). And so we end up telling our saga and get the usual questions.

We don’t mind answering questions, and in fact, it’s rewarding to open the eyes of younger people to a possibility for their future that’s never occurred to them. I make it my business to present this life choice honestly and fairly and encourage people that they, too, can do this someday if they have the desire, aptitude and constitution for it. The good thing about talking to younger people is this possible future often depends on choices they make as they go through life. (Older people are often so embedded in their lives that it would be very difficult to change course unless this is something they’ve already been thinking about.)

Something that brought this topic to mind came from seeing my doctor in Los Angeles. He asked about the danger of pirates, and I tried to explain that pirates are not an issue in the area of the south pacific between New Zealand/Australia and the island groups of Tonga, Fiji, Vanuatu and New Caledonia, nor are they an issue in the cruise from Los Angeles through French Polynesia and across to Tonga. Pirates just aren’t there.

Pirates are definitely a concern off the coasts of Venezuela, Somalia, and maybe some parts of Indonesia (although I’m not sure that last one’s still an issue), but not where we’ve been. In fact, I reminded him that he’s much more likely get car-jacked (road pirates) or have an accident on he way to work than we are to encounter pirates. He brushed this off as a non issue as that’s a risk everyone’s used to, still insistently sticking with his worry about pirates.

He’s not the first person to overestimate certain dangers we face while cruising. A while ago, I was talking to a person who was horrified that anyone would bring their children cruising, comparing it to child endangerment or abuse. I asked her if she ever drives her children in a car and pointed out the risks of an automobile accident are higher, in the extreme, to anything that might happen to a child on a cruising yacht. She said well yes, but we’re used to that.

Used to that? It seems a common response when I point out how much more dangerous it is to ride in a car, especially at high speeds, than it is to cruise on a yacht. Being “used to” something doesn’t make it any less dangerous. Being used to driving risks in particular does not make the twisting metal, flying glass, or the force of a high-speed impact any less destructive to the human body. Anyone employed in the medical, law enforcement, paramedic, or morgue professions can attest to that. Then there are the many devastating injuries that can happen to those who survive.

In the United States, 37,000 people die in road crashes each year, over 1,600 of them children under the age of 15. All of these people were used to the risk, but that didn’t help them when the inevitable came along. (I say inevitable because the average motorist will be in approximately four accidents in their lifetime—it’s luck of the draw as to how bad it is.) Frankly, I think putting a child on the boat is saving them from the dreadful risk of riding in a car.

Even with the major risks of cruising: hitting a reef, failure of the rig, and catastrophic failure or weather that leads to having to abandon the boat, the likelihood of death for a child is tiny, I think because people with children are a little more careful about the conditions they choose to head out in. Yea, dad might be a hard-core racing sailor, but if he wants to head out in harsh conditions, he’ll generally have his family fly in to meet the boat or wait for a gentler time. He knows that while he may survive the ocean, his partner may kill him or make him wish he were dead.

Setting aside the perceived dangers of violent storms or roving pirates-like those exasperating French New Caledonian pirates trying to pilfer our Starbucks coffee and Kraft Mac n Cheese because they’re so overcome with jealousy-there are some true dangers we face out here, I think often underestimated by the cruising community. These dangers include other boaters, sharks, heat, disease, getting drunk, and a few other miscellaneous issues.

I’ve already talked about the dangers presented by the wind and sea in my most recent post (or more specifically, making the deliberate decision to head out in risky conditions), and I’ll share my thoughts about the others in a series of upcoming posts.

Until then… Cyndi

Note from Rich:

When people ask: “When you get in a storm, aren’t you afraid you’re going to die?”

Me: “No, but I’m often afraid I’m not going to die!”

August 20, 2019

Lest you think I’m just loafing on the beach, drinking Mai Tais, I give you this…

It’s a back cover I made for our *refrigerator thermostat. It’s designed using Fusion 360 and printed on our new 3D printer.

No, I didn’t buy a printer just to make this. I’m working on a new product. You see, in our past lives, we were toy inventors and have licensed quite a few electronic toys. I hate the toy business. Before we left, I dabbled in boat products and designed an electronic watermaker controller for a company in San Diego. I’m working on a new boat product while we’re in Hawaii. The printer has made prototyping so much easier!

OK, there’s also a lot of loafing and Mai Tai drinking going on as well! -Rich

*We had a Coastal Climate Control digital thermostat for our refrigerator and I loved it. It turns out it was not waterproof at all and it died when water from changing our watermaker filters got into the back of the unit (the back or the unit extends into our lazarette). I ordered another one and want it to last, thus the back cover.

August 15, 2019

Reading back over our first year of cruising in French Polynesia, I was struck by how intensely our schedule was affected by the wind. Of course, our schedule is always affected by the wind, but having only a three-month visa and a lot of ground to cover took the situation up to a whole new level, especially with all the marginally protected anchorages and reef passes we had to contend with.

It’s hard to convey to a new cruiser just how big a factor the wind is, not just on passages but on day to day cruising life. I guess I’d compare it to being a mouse in a home with a cat. There’s a kitchen with lots of food in the pantry and crumbs dropped about, but the mouse needs to work around the cat. Here’s a little story to illustrate this:

Behind the wall, a group of mice is waking from their daytime slumber. The house is dark and quiet, and sunflower seeds were spotted earlier in the day’s grocery collection. Those seeds are now stashed in the pantry, and it’s a feast waiting to be enjoyed. But wait, was that the cat? Yep, the cat is up and around in the next room. What do you do; what do you do? Caution and wisdom (prudence) would suggest that the mice be patient, to otherwise occupy themselves behind the wall until the coast is clear. But the temptation of those seeds is great; and some of the mice are bored and hungry. “Yea, that stupid cat is up, but between his laziness and the fact he stuffed himself on canned tuna earlier, I don’t think he’ll be an issue. Besides, I’ve outrun much bigger cats than him; so I’m going for it.”

There are three possible outcomes to this scenario. In one, the mouse might well get lucky and have that feast of sunflower seeds all to itself. More likely, it will dash back through the hole, eyes wide, shaken and humbled after a harrowing experience. “That cat might look like a basketball with four legs, but he moves like Nadia Comaneci.” The third scenario, of course, is that the mouse is never seen again.

What does the life of a mouse have in common with cruising? More than you’d think. We were well schooled during our seasons cruising Hawaii and Mexico in how imperative it is to not fight the wind and to keep informed enough so we wouldn’t get caught out in a blow. In essence, we learned we are the mice, and the wind and the sea are the cats. This was a vital lesson, but unfortunately many new cruisers are pretty clueless as to just how dangerous “the cats” can be and make the fatal mistake of underestimating the speed, agility and power of Princess Kitty Powder Puff when she’s on the prowl.

We’ve seen it again and again over the years: determined cruisers who have a plan or a schedule and just aren’t prepared to let nature decide when and where they can go. They insist on making a passage thinking they’ll buck it up and take what comes. The problem is the boat has to take it, too, and boats are not as invincible as we like to think. The forces of nature, the wind and the sea, are huge. It doesn’t do much good to be safely wedged in the cockpit if the boat starts falling apart around you.

Every cruiser knows there’s risk involved in crossing an open ocean. What comes as a complete surprise to many is how significant that risk can be in a lagoon or amid scattered islands.

What makes me think of this is a friend of ours, currently cruising in New Caledonia, who wrote in his blog of watching two boats beating hard into rough conditions in an effort to get to an island about 40 miles to the southeast. New Caledonia has the longest continuous barrier reef in the world, creating a massive lagoon with islands dotted throughout. Looking at the chart, you’d think this would be a pleasant cruising ground with all that protection from the open ocean. But between the shallow water and strong funneled winds, this area can give a pretty impressive ass-whopping to anyone who decides it’s safe to take on the elements here.

Our friend heard one of the boats come up on the radio and tell the other boat that they were turning around and heading back to the mainland (a smart mouse, that one). The other boat was bound and determined to keep going, and not much later, down came their mast. This boat could have been patient and waited for a better time, but no, they must have had a schedule. Well, it seems they now have a very different schedule than they could have imagined.

In a similar story, we were at an anchorage in south Tonga. One cruiser, an experienced one, was planning to go to the Ha’apai island group to the north when the wind was forecast to be 20, gusting to 25 knots. That doesn’t sound so bad, but we’d been to the Ha’apai and the combination of shallow water and flat islands makes that area rather nasty in windy conditions. There are large swells, waves going every which way, and very little in the way of protected anchorages.

I looked out and noticed their boat heading off. I was going to mind my own business, but Rich could’t let them go without saying something. He called them on the radio and warned them about the forecast winds. The gentleman responded that he knew this and somewhat annoyed added, “We’ve all seen 20 knots.” Rich didn’t argue and we watched them go. Later, we heard they had a terrible trip and their autopilot was badly damaged. They made it to the first anchorage for the night but the next day changed their plans and hand steered to the northern island group (probably to deal with their broken auto pilot). So much for their Ha’apai plans.

We’ve seen many such incidents over the years, generally people going out, full of confidence and bravado (“We’ve all seen 20 knots, pal”) only to return with their tails between their legs. Yep, those are two bad-ass cats, that wind and sea. They can catch you, they can have their way with you, and if they feel so inclined, they can kill you.

So wow, how do we ever go anywhere? Well the cat does go away, leaving the mice to play. He goes outside, he takes naps, and he goes to the vet. The trick is to wait for those times. We all push our luck at times, but we need to be aware that the more we do, the more likely it is we’ll run into the cat. It’s best to be flexible, to have a soft schedule. It’s essential to make plans, but it’s best to think of them more as hopes than a hard-core itinerary. This becomes especially true when trying to entertain, pick up, and drop off visitors, particularly when those visitors don’t understand why “a bit of wind” should affect their trip. They came here to sail; so why aren’t they sailing yet? It’s wise to only invite friends who can take no for an answer.

Now back to what I was talking about earlier, a reminder to the smart mice who know better than to fight the ocean or to try to ride out a windy period in a marginally protected anchorage. Even experienced cruisers who do understand this have a tendency to forget just how much of the time those darn cats can be up and about. We get lulled by the seasons where there seem to be plenty of mild wind periods, then feel affronted by windier times.

In essence, there are always mild periods, and there are always windy periods. The only thing that changes is the ratio of one to the other. This brings up the many times we’ve heard cruisers lament, “This has been such a windy season!” But prevailing trade winds by definition blow 15 to 25 knots; so it might be more accurate to call it a normal season and lament that it’s not an especially mild one.

Like cats, those trades are always there, they just might be more active at times. The hard truth is that it’s wonderful to look at an area and make lovely plans for the season, but you’ll be reminded you can only move some of the time and might only complete a portion of your plan. This can be a bitter pill to swallow, a bit like trying to get a cat to swallow a pill. (Yea, I’m a bit cat obsessed.) Bottom line: You don’t get to decide your schedule; nature will decide it for you. Sometimes she’s kind, and sometimes she decides that no, you will not be going that area you hoped to visit.

Over the years I have nicknamed the process of dealing with wind “Weather Chess,” in that it’s much like a game where you have to think several moves ahead while making contingency plans. We plan our moves, then wait to see what our opponent, the wind, will do. The wind makes its move, so we have to study the board so we can make our next move. This is a game that never stops, but it’s much more intense at times than at others.

What to do? Well you can try prayer or witchcraft, but the most effective thing to do is learn to be patient and always have a plan B and C (and even D and E). Also realize that while you may want to have guests fly in and spend some time with you; you can’t promise them anything as far as an itinerary. A friend told us that he advises his guests that they can choose where to meet or when to meet, but not both. Words of wisdom from a smart mouse.–Cyndi