Ive been touched.

I'm a PC guy. But on the day we departed to cross the Atlantic a trickle of rain shorted out my trusty laptop. On that precious laptop, were five years of pictures, journals of adventures, all my music, and Nautical Charts of the entire globe. At fifty bucks a chart in the store, my routine up untill that point was to print off my own charts as needed, as I went. So with my trusty printer and a reem of paper I was set for the world. Well, now chartless, we set off anyway. What the heck do yo need a chart of the open sea for? Well you dont untill you get to where your going, well that was a month away. ahhh young cruisers eh? So a month passes and we are marking our progress on a weather pilot and the GPS Satelight photographs. And it was untill we began to see Azorian light houses at night, that I began to freak out. You'd be surprised really how hard it is to see how far away a flashing light is. It can be ten miles away or fifteen feet when your eyes are tired. Anyway we made it fine as the sun rose, and my strategy became no need for maps (you cant buy maps if you wanted to where we were) just day time arivals and nightime sails. Sweet right? Well that worked for the next two months.

One day we left in the late afternoon for a random cove along the North Spanish coast. It was thirty miles away and I figured I could navigate in by lights. Ha! more often than not I find my self navigating in by lights and waking to discover a new beautifull place the next morning. Its great. Well the wind picked up as it does in the Bay of Biscay, along with the swell. So we rounded the last cape and found our selves in a confused swell, overcast dark night and the sound of breakers on both sides of the boat and no channel lights! No green and red! Or Red and Green as they do here. The depth sounding was eratic and the fun seemed to have left stage right. I remembered that my I-touch had a google maps program on it so I started to fuss around with it. Zooming in and in and in and in I found where I was heading and got a good look at the harbor. I switched on the Radar that I hate soo much and I matched up the out line of the satelite photos with the radar image. I continued to zoom in on the i-touch untill i could clearly see the channel and what appeared to be a trail of bubbles!!! I zoomed back out to see that that trail of bubbles lead to a boat, in the satelight photo that had just navigated the channel and was rounding into the harbor! HIS TRAIL WAS THERE. Again THERE WAS A BOAT in the photo and his trail of bubbles lead all the way back to where I was. Sorry for the reapeat, its for effect. There we were huddled over an glorified ipod following a bubble trail around rocks and safely into an unlit channel. I am still blown away. The photos on that itouch were in its memory and they were soo good that I could see rocks in the water and felt there was no need to get out and explore when I got there. ha!

Here is where it really gets good: We are sailing up the English channel on our way to Brighton. The English channel is littered with traffic from ferries, fisherman, pleasure cruisers to huge freightors bound for Panama, The coast gaurd is constantly on the radio warining people of weather and sea conditions. We even heard maydays as we were passing through. Well back in St. Thomas I got a huge cell phone bill. If anyone knows me really well this is a frequent occurence, but this time it wasnt my fault. Being on a sail boat my cell phone was picking up cell networks from passing cruise ships at a rediculous rate and its un beknownced to the user. Well its a flaw, but so uncommon that its not worth fixing, the cell companies just rebate the money. Anyway since my itouch is the most amaizing savior now I pull it out as I am getting passed port to port by a cheesy cruise ship. Poof I've got wi-fi in the English Channel.
Un freaking beleivable, I upload the local google maps, and write my Dad an email. One more Cruise ship bears down on us and it picks up its signal and sends my emails. If I were going the other way I would have had more time and could have downloaded all my emails.

Reunions, plotting a new course, and becoming outlaws!!!

We sailed on to the other side of Terceira to catch up with the Boyz from the Double Bruyn. Two years ago I met these pair of good value Quiwis in a boat yard in Florida. They had just bought a boat and were fitting it out to sail across the Atlantic. I bought the boat parked next to them and our adventure together began from there. Along with my cousin Laura we set out with hopes to conquer the world. We were four like minded sea beans in two pods. Over the last tow years our boats have gone on seperate adventures, but we had always kept in contact and not missed a beat. They sailed to the Azores the year before and left their boat there for major repairs. Upon Glory and I's arival in 'Ultima Noche' we happened to turn our VHF Radios just at the same moment as the Double Bryun, and the sound of Jon's voice fired us up like no other.
Sure enough as we weighed anchor John swam out to greet us, but not with out pulling the dinghy gone missing trick, where you untie someones dinghy and float off with it. Its pretty good, but its one of those freak occurances that only seems to happen when he's around, so I am conditioned to look for John, before I go looking for my missing raft. :) Good value though, theres never enough play in this life we live.

We spent days and nights having potlucks and helping them ready the boat for the passage to England. We talked about where we were thinking of going, and we heard thier plans.
After a few days it seemed like we should head to England as well, to do something more challenging with our time. London is full of progressively minded NGO's with plent of opportunity for us to do something cool for a while. We copied maps and made plans to sail with them to England. We danced the nights away in Terceira then set off the same day with plenty of wind for England. A few days into it Glory and I got hit by a true gale that knocked our radar and wind generator tower down. And our third mate Wilson (wind vane paddle)who had gotten us safely half way across the Atlantic was blown to bits. All that remained of a three foot paddle was a three by five inch base. In the peak of the blow we were hove to for a few hours, and then on sea anchor for another six during the lightning. Amaizingly with the sails reefed and hove the boat was calm cool level and comfortable, it was so calm Glory and I went to bed. Sea anchor dind'nt work out as I expected, it seemed to hug the hull rather than drag to windward. We had all the electronics in the oven as lighting squalls were passing, and when we emerged the next morning to a lively sea and overcast day we had still somehow traveled one hundred and sixteen miles. The previous day with a following twenty five knott wind we had made a one hundred and fifty mile day. For Noche that defys the laws of physics. We were outlaws now but we had lost one of our crew and 'Wilson' we are sad to have lost you, but proud of Noche and the radar tower I hate anyway.

So the wind died and as sailors do, we looked at the Atlas and realized stopping in Spain would be freaking cool, so why not (without charts) we headed for Spain. Ha ha I love the sailing life, you can do exactly what you want to do on a day to day basis. We pulled into La Coruna next to our Dutch friend Yella from the Azores and woke him up by zooming around his boat and howling till he and a new lady (Fiona)friend peeked their heads out the hatch!! haha Another Reunion!



Spain!!! The wonderfull world of Spain!!! Cured procuto hanging from the rafters in everyshop, real funky cheeses that will blow your toe jam away, local seafood and Sangria. Thank the heavens we stopped here before we reached the land of blood pudding, bland tea, mushy pees and chips. People out walking the streets, napping mid day, old roman light houses peaking out from old spanish forts and spanish speaking organic farmers selling their goods on every corner. And again we pay nothing to have it in our front yard.

Mid Atlantic Magic

We couldn’t have expected how beautifull it was in the Azores. The five Islands that we visited all contained natural wonders worth a visit. Our pack of friends had grown by the day and its became one social even to the next.



We had to see more of the Islands and time is always running out. We ventured off from Horta at midnight and to send us off the people of Pico lit the sky with fireworkds of yet another festival. We arrived off the beaten track at the Island of Graciosa the next day. On Graciosa with in a full days hike there was another volcano, but within its perfectly intact rim lay a hidden a valley filled with birds, old growth forests and green pastures with graizing cows. Inside the volcano valley is a beautifull cave with fresh water lake etc. soo we spend all day hiking upto the rim and circlling around trying to get in. After back tracking and getting rather frustrated we saw a truck driving around deep in the Volcano then suddenly dissapear into the wall. The road that lead from town and interested with the rim trail on our map was actually a tunnel and they neglected to mention that the crossing of these paths was actually separated by a thousand verticle feet of cold hard lava. My frustration with the cartographer only simmered when we found a lone human in the very bottom of the volcano selling ice cream, postcards and tickets to an enormous cavern. The ice cream was so good infact it was Magnum’s newly realeased double chocolate dipped in caramel then again in chocolate, yeah its the one that is on the advertisement board but they never actually have, well they had it, so all was redeemed. But as you can imagine the guy was so lonely that being next to him was like a vortex of human contact and I could feel him thinking of words he knew in English so the urge to leave was growing as he began to form a sentence and eating an ice cream cone in front of someone risks a feeling of guilt and with a cone this good and un explored by my taste buds I didn’t want to risk it. I had to cut short his one human interaction by walking away from his lonely and curious stare from the doorway of his commerce shed so this new cone could have a fair chance, and then again walk strategically slow enough away so that I remained far enough behind Morning Glory so that she wouldn’t be inspired to have a bite. No worries it all worked with the new flavor, its wonderfull, but I got caught with the wrapper in hand as I caught up with Glory again and had just enough chocolate on the stick to ward off any hints of guilt.
With so much to tell, and soo little readers attention span:
Pause for a hot chick photo:

we walked around some more, stood in aw, saw stuff, did stuff, and eventually set sail for Terceira. All in all Graciosa was good but I would not return until the Marina is finished.








Here´s a great story befor I loose you. Glory and I rent bikes, que with Photo:

We ride around the Island of Terceira,












begining with a cheese farm, peaking with a free Sangria flooded local food fest, pause for photo:



Stopped for a nicest hat contest:



















View back from first place:














A view from everyones list of a hundred things to do...ride a bike through old rock walled european country side for 12 euros:













and ending with a free tent at a camp site with hot showers and a free personal dinnner at a small vinyard´s wine house. Which turned out to be just some guys personal home and how we got him to serve us dinner, taste wine and admire every last fixture all the way into the new bathroom was a blend of his general hospitality, the language barrior and my strong desire to get into what I though was some top notch invite only restaurant. The whole day was magic. We ate to our fill of exotic pleasures for free, the excersize on the bike felt great and the scenery again is more than I can describe.










Where we rode has some interesting features. We glazed in salt and adorned in sweaty clothes, glided into this town of Biscote, to find the most dramatic coastline, worked into wine country. The volcanic shores over hundreds of years have been converted by man into fertile wine country. Everyone wants to know something about wine well here we go. In northern Terceira (an Island in the mid Atlantic) they build four walls and within reserve a small pit with fertile soil.
The grape vines are protected from the harsh marine environment by the walls and the sun and earth are aloud to do their work. Here´s an active lot.

Pico this!

To make friends and use the internet we sailed from Flores to the Island of Fial. Upon our arrival we met half a dozen incredible people and have been skipping from one meal to the next chatting the days away with like minded people from all over the world. The first obvious activity for us all to do was to climb Pico, the local volcano. So plans were sorted one evening over dinner and wine. These pictures taken by Johan tell the story better than words.

First peak:

Hitching a ride to the base:

Underestimating the climb:


Showing off for the ladies:


Wine from Pico Grapes, Cheese from Pico Cows, Bread from Pico Bakers, and hot Coffee from Seattle:



Everyone making it to the top at the same time:


Sitting on top of the world:

The descent:


A blow out!:

A repair:

The trial:

And parting shots:

Island of Flowers

The pleasant customs official casually waited dockside in shiny tall boots, and a freshly ironed uniform as we inflated our Dinghy and readied our selves for land. We rowed in, weathered, jet lagged but wired, to presented our papers. We eere very surprised to find that the ground beneath our feet was no longer familiar. Both Glory and I, like coiled springs swaggered along, growing woozy but excited as the young customs officer giggled, and removed his starched new hat. We had become people of the sea and land was making us feel sick, but we had made it to the most beautiful place on earth.


“Isla Flores”…the name doesn’t do it justice. To build a reasonable expectation for what this place is like they should have called it, “Island where flowers found in the shops flourish intensely and bloom on every available inch of land, along roads, trails and all property lines". Thats what I would have called it, and maybe they did at its now abreviated. A month at sea with subtle variations in scenery, readied us for the most beautiful place on earth. We hopped around by foot, lead by one flower patch to the next, for a few days until we had covered all the directions from the boat and every available road. We found trails that led to volcano lakes, waterfalls with swimming holes, light houses, endless views and unbelievable beauty.
Queso-fresco and warm local bread broken on an old rock wall overlooking old pastures and green lush hillsides was our first meal. Fresh bread, organic tomatoes, cucumbers, endless variations of cheese and ridiculously cheap local wine have filled our bellies each day and has become another world for us to explore.
We have discovered that cheese is not actually orange vacupacked and square cut, it is alive, wrapped in wax usually round and full of flavours that awaken parts of the tongue that I didn’t know existed. Tomatoes grown wild are rippled with shape and color. Potatoes grabbed directly from the earth taste like apples and bread can have so much flavour you begin to crave its taste alone. Corn from the stalk does not explode with perfect kernels in every row, it comes miss-shaped with fewer yet flavour packed bites. Wine costs 69 cents a litre and if you want a ten euro bottle then you might have to go to a speciality store.


Life is pretty good over here guys. I have not been to a more beautiful place.
.” The stillness of the cobble stone roads and old rock homes, set against all these flowers has been such an inspiring experience. As the afternoon comes around the families come out the parks for barbeques, guys fish along the shore and kids jump tirelessly into the water from the public docks. Family units are strong and people spend a lot of time growing their own food or catching it and then eating it together.


Its hard not to smile all day long around here. The richness of our lives seems to have increased. We can walk to where our food is sold and we can look over and see the hill it grew on or go meet the cow it came from. The food, the air and the scenery are fresh and giving of life. The scale of these towns seem like they were built around a human rather than an auto mobile. Since we are not inside a car we catch smiles and “bon dias´” rather than fingers and honks. When we bump into people it spurs conversation and we continue to meet new interesting people everyday.


Portuguese is a different language. It sounds like French to Glory, Russian to me, and some how it’s structurally close to Spanish. English is prevalent but not as much as I thought, usually in places of business. The young kids don’t seem to know it, and that really surprises me.

What comes to mind the strongest are all the people I know that need to see this place the way it is now. It's a really special place.

Crossing the Atlantic

Atlantic Crossing:
The water became a canvass for all the colors the sun could throw at us, and the sky displayed endless new cloud formations right above, way above and afar. The moon lit up our nights and the sun rose earlier each day as we flew east with the wind. It was like gliding. We were caught in an endless moment where we were “right” with the wind and “right” with the soft roll of big ancient waves from other storms steadily encouraging us on and letting us be.

Laura of Colorado, Derek of THEWORLDBYSEA and Ben the metaphysics master (all former all star crew) will appreciate the 2,470 knautical mile/ 24-day venture into our personal frontier of experience. These are the stats in order of impressiveness: Not a drop of water came inside the boat*, we didn’t run out of fuel**, the automatic steering systems worked*** twenty of those days and we sailed with the wind behind the beam never to exceeded 15knots (10 apparent). For all the wet passports, soggy moldy clothes and days of drying stuff out on other sailing adventures we earned this blissful spinnaker driven crossing. I kept looking at Morning Glory and shaking my head, “sailing isn’t supposed to be like this, I mean, its supposed to be like this, but its not really like this, even though we do it in hopes that we get days like this, but we don’t really, but we are now”.


Gains and losses: We lost two fishing poles with their reels, but somehow fish would occasionally jump on deck anyway and we came right up on one free life ring. We made friends twice with two passing sailboats that came within ten meters and we were blessed with five dolphin escorts. On board there was a full moon costume party, a birthday party with balloons and carrot bread, potlucks and gourmet meals, pedicures, backrubs, and a frenzy of reading.

I cleared my backlog of books, who of us can say that we’ve read the reference books on our shelves? He he, I have a small shelf, but I am actually reading about famous storms of the 1950’s. I am studying weather; it’s fascinating and relevant. I haven’t learned anything really but I have become more acutely aware and I know what pages the clouds are on in my books and where to read about what s going on now, and as my American childhood mentor used to say “knowing is half the battle.”


We started a basil plant, and we completed the journey with out consciously consuming processed sugar, alcohol or caffeine. The challenge in that came while stocking the boat, once we set off it was out of site and out of mind.
A neat part of our month at sea was our radio hour. Months ago I bargained for an out of date short wave radio that had been used as a shelf display and got it for ten cents on the dollar. We depended fully on it for our weather information. A former sailor by the name of “Herb” on the east coast of America voluntarily looks at the Atlantic weather information and corresponds with boats crossing the Atlantic via Single Side Band radios that cost thousands to buy and install properly. With jury rigged alligator clips and ten feet of randomly strung wire, we could hear Herb and the boaters talking clearly from a thousand miles away on our fifteen dollar double A radio. Unbeknownst to them we tracked them and Herb’s recommendations. For about three days there were two boats within eighty miles of us that guided us around the doldrums of the Azores high.

As Captain there are so many voices one fears when preparing for something that’s beyond your level of experience. Daydreams of the boat sinking and the town’s people saying, “He left with out a life raft!” Then there is getting caught in a storm and feeling that pang of regret for having bought an IPOD instead of a heavy weather jib. Or knocking your rudder off months prior, hammering it a few times back into place and calling it good. Setting off with batteries that don’t hold a charge, going to the cheapest welder in town to rebuild your masthead chain plate. These things remain on your mind and the knot in your stomach doesn’t loosen till you see land again. Once you do then comes the fear of running into stuff again, but you look around and relish all your good luck and you soak up that sense of empowerment that land provides in this situation, and you think “few”, but in fact this time those fears were just fear.
Going now is the only way to go and less is more. Plenty have done more with less than our little boat. Read the biographies, and less of the preparatory magazines that fill your mind full of equipment you “need” before you can go sailing. There are plenty of good books to ready someone to go, but they are too long, you’re never ready. They can do as much to keep people in the harbor as they do to launch them after their dreams.

All in all we had a fantastic crossing, and I look forward to the next.






*One rouge wave caught us off guard and splashed a wee bit into the companionway and made it to the galley floor. No personal items casualties.
**We bobbed around for a few days waiting for wind during the first thousand miles and it seemed imprudent to fire up the engine with so much ahead of us, anyway we’re a sailboat.
***The electric tiller pilot worked when there was hardly any wind and when we motored and the wind vane worked when there was at least six knots apparent wind and three knots over water.

Sixty knot winds and plenty of Caviar

"Thats fish'n" as they say. What it means is, once you think you've seen it all, the elements conspire a curve. Tokiak herring is a highschool reunion for me. I get to see my childhood friends and catch up on all thier crazy stories from the year gone by. As the ice peeled away from one of the worst winters in twenty years, the Hearring made their anual pilgramage to the Northern Coast of Bristol Bay Alaska, where we lay there waiting. The fleet sat for two weeks before a single fish was spotted. Japanese freighters lined up on anchor, three dozen off season Berring Sea crab boats, thirty commercial fishing boats, and six bush planes, were coiled as thousands of tons of fish finally boiled into the bays.
With spotter planes swarming the airspace pointing out schools the fleet pulsed and sampled for three days untill the female roe sacks were ripe enough to catch.
If you can imagine the nerves of those who have invested millions to facilitate the fishery. Some companies were soo eager and had been sitting soo long that they wrecklessly bought imature fish.

We on the other hand waited it out. We waited, waited and when the fish finnaly rippened up, a steady breeze of sixty knots with gusts to eighty sat on us for three days. And at that point we regretted waiting. The shallow boats scurried up shallow bays grounded thier hulls and tied them selves to shore. The Crab boats, from Discovery channels Deadliest catch, were forced to weather it. Several boats broke their anchors and simply had to drive around in the wind untill the storm past. When the system let up the water was terribly churned up and the fish were no longer visible to the pilots. For the next couple of days the entire fleet drove around aimlessly trying to land dirrectly over a school of fish, recognize it on the depth sounder with out scaring them away, turning around and setting around it with their net.
The fish must be caught right at the moment they are ready to spawn, not before or after.A fish can go from green to ripe to fully spawned out in a matter of hours. The fish carcass is worthless. Its the golden herring eggs that rippen to an apetizing state, that are then used soley in one specific Japanese ritual. The whole show is for a little sack of eggs that sit on a fancy plate and the novalty Custom for the Japanese is even going out of style. Soon enough it will be all for not. One ton Herring fetches around 100 bucks.

In this senario there are so many fish that acre wide patches of water take on a velvit shine like the fish. A lone fishing hook pulled through the water will snag a fish, and we repeatedly used this method to sample the maturity of the fish.
We scratched around making little sets slowly filling our tenders,with good fish and got the wheels turning in the processing lines. Soon they would clog up as well and we would have to stand down while more fish slipped by. The stress built along with the frustration. The entire spawining activity lasts ten days and we had caught very little fish. Very little means around 2000 tons. The days slipped by with beach combing, campfires and card games but the stress and cabin fever continued to build. Caviar hung on every fathom of our net, globs pilled on the rails and deck, little eggs glazed our rain gear and stuck in our hair. We were smothered in it, but at the same time not getting any.

As the season closure loomed over our heads we snuck in another thousand tons. All of the sudden it was over, and we fled to our respective callings. Furtunitly the forces of supply and demand take effect and when you catch half as much you sell it for twice as much and some how it all turns out the same. And thats fishin.

The fun stuff

Glory left her life in Boulder to sail the high seas only to find us in St. Thomas with day jobs, shore power and dock lines made fast. For Derek and I after six months on the water the list of chores, the list of options, and the lack of money weakened our defense to a payed stint of land life with free cars, hot showers and great people.

So for the past month Glory, Travelin D and I have acted as Eco-tour guides by day in a beautiful Mangrove preserve, and dock security/ bug killers by night. On our off days from Kayak tours we rebuilt and repainted the marina, restructured the rain cistern and sold a dighy for a profit. All the while wondering how we ever landed in St. Thomas.
>

Glory has brought life and pride back into the boat. She sewed new cushion covers with our miniature sewing machine, layed carpet in the rough looking corners, sanded the unfinished teak bungs and oiled the insides. Its amazing how new energy can call one to action. Four months ago we broke the step that leads one in and out of the galley. For four months escaping the galley was a full body leap up to the counter and a 42 inch drop to get back in. While Glory was buzzing away on her projects I took a look at that list that had paralyzed me for so long. It took me all of six minutes to rebuild the step that for so long I was un able to fix.
Next a new solar panel mount was fabricated with a piece of stainless rod that Jon and I pirated off a sunken boat one year ago in Great Inagua. Our mast head chain plate that had sheared on both sides was re-welded, the decks re-painted, the rails cetoled, and some of the long awaited cabinetry finished off.
Another example of boat burnout overcome was our ever present fuel problem. Back in the Bahamas and again in the Turks and Caicos we thought we were out of fuel. The comradery of other cruisers kept us moving with fresh fuel and council as we sputtered and stalled in every precarious spot. All the way to St. Thomas one of us would steer and the other would hand prime fuel to the engine. With earmuffs and a sweat rag one would hang over the engine acting as a four dollar fuel pump restoring the engine to a roar as it choked through dirty fuel. At the time it was all we could do to keep things going, but as it turns out diesel grows and tanks must be completely flushed out. So weeks of hand priming and a life time supply of costly filters was then made redundant by a twenty minute flush and scrub of the fuel tank.
<

So now the with coolant flushed, transmission oil changed, new motor mounts, engine oil changed, tank polished, racor scrubbed, new fresh water pumps installed, sea strainer and bilge cleaned I am on top of the list. Hows this one for ya, the heat exchanger zincs are new and ready to cross the Atlantic.
Burn out is one thing, but boat projects are complicated by the fact that everything takes longer than you think, you never have all the right parts, you want to do it right. Needing to live, cook, be a nice person and sleep in that project area which is constant motion is a challenge. Paints take days to dry, glues kick off fumes, rain always comes when you need it the least and that part you need is ALWAYS right underneath the foot or seat of the other person on the boat, but most of all you have to sail when its time and that usually means breaking away before your done. So why start?, it only makes it hard to sail on, or does it make it easier to sail, I don't know.

Today the crew of Ultima Noche are in their respective states. Glory back in Colorado, Derek in an airplane somewhere and me on my way to Alaska to "work just for a couple of weeks". By the end of May we hope to be crossing the North Atlantic for the Med.