I Sail Away

Here is a brilliant discussion of biological infections in diesel fuel and the use of biocide and tank cleaning methods to cure your system.  It includes all of the science and safe practices to accomplish the cleaning of your tank.

http://sail-delmarva.blogspot.com/p/diesel-biocides.html

Today, around noon, two 4-foot tsunami waves from the earthquake in Chile hit Cabo San Lucas. I had early warning, pulled my anchor, and headed out for sea and deeper water (where the waves wouldn’t break), and didn’t really notice them come through.

The Port Captain closed Cabo San Lucas Harbor to all commercial activities, and the reports were that the observed wave height was 2 – 4 feet high as it passed the Galapagos Islands.

There was some damage to some of the boats in the marina (from the absence 4-foot drop after the waves came through–hitting their keels/motors on the ground), but nothing happened to either the boat or myself. In fact, I made the best of it, and had a wonderful sail in 12 – 15 knots of wind, and saw about 5 pods of humpback whales over the course of the day.

I’ll give a full report soon, but for right now: I am safe, back on the anchor in the bay of Cabo San Lucas, the boat is put away, and everything is fine.

This was a big weekend for sports. There was, of course, the mother of all football games–the Superbowl. For sailing fans, however, the mother of all sailboat match racing, the America’s Cup, was at **GASP** 1am this morning.

Here is the shortened version of what has happened since the last event:

The Swiss team, Alinghi and owner, Ernesto Barterelli, beat New Zealand, and won the last America’s Cup. It was tight racing the whole series, and a real nail-biter with New Zealand beating the US team, BMW-Oracle (owner Larry Ellison), and then Alinghi beating NZ.

Of course, I was rooting for BMW-Oracle. They are based out of the Golden Gate Yacht Club in San Francisco–a venue that has hosted many races in San Francisco and has a great, non-stuffy sailor bar . . . so, I’m a fan.

Immediately after Alinghi won (seriously, within minutes), a fake yacht club owned by Ernesto Barterelli, filed a formal challenge–beating BMW-Oracle to become the challenger of record. The rules for the America’s Cup state that the Defending Team and the Challenger of Record must agree on the rules. The owner of Alinghi, Ernesto Barterelli, owned both teams, all the officials, and the rules went crazy in favor of him winning and keeping the Cup. (Stuff like, EB can change the rules at any time. EB can dismiss any team from the competition for no reason at all at any time. Anyone who used to be on the Alinghi team is not allowed to sail for any other team in the competition–meaning Russel Coutts.)

There has been something like 11 lawsuits, and 3.5 years, and all sorts of politics around the AC. At the end of it, Golden Gate Yacht Club was able to wrestle the Challenger of Record title away from Ernesto Barterelli, but what they got was a two-team match–not the 18 team match-racing that we all wanted.

The two teams agreed upon a unique set of rules for the boats. They are racing 90 foot by 90 foot multi-hull boats. That’s right–90′x90′. Alighi is fielding a giant Catamaran with traditional sails . . . and, BMW-Oracle produced a trimaran with a 185-foot standing vertical wing. Yes–a WING. The speed tests for the BMW-Oracle had it clocked doing 25 knots in 7 knots of wind. Uhmmm . . . . Yeah.

The rules are still pretty skewed. Supposedly, the Alinghi boat performs better in light wind, and the BMW-Oracle boat will be a killer in heavy wind, but doesn’t do so well in the light stuff. But, those are supposeds–no one really knows.

And, getting a race off is going to be tough. The sailing instructions say no sailing in winds above 15 knots, the Race Committee can call the race if the wind shifts more than 30 degrees, no racing is the swell is more than a meter high, and there is obviously no racing if there is not enough wind. This is a tough set of conditions to meet in Valencia, where the winds are shifty.

Personally, I want to see the boats race and hold together or blow-up, be a close race, or a blow out, or whatever they are going to do. The suspense is KILLING me.

The races today were cancelled. Not enough wind. So, they will try again on Wednesday at **GASP** 1am, again . . . .

This is my kind of fun . . . .

This has to be just about the most beautiful thing on the planet. BMW-Oracle’s monster Trimaran racing along on one hull. Truly a thing of beauty . . . .

We are 5 days away. Racing will be about 1am on Sunday . . . .

Tourism is the blood supply of Cabo San Lucas. It brings money, people, mega yachts, fishermen, and a huge supply of Nationals from all over Mexico to work. Without it, Cabo San Lucas would be the simple fishing town it was 30 years ago. There are two sources of tourism: the time shares and resorts, and cruise ships. On my previous two trips to Cabo San Lucas, I stayed once in a Beach resort, and the second trip, we stayed in a private condo. So, I had already been familiar with the former, and apparently, the largest producer of tourists. Now that I am anchored out in the bay, I have become intimately connected with the latter–the cruise-ships.

If you haven’t seen them before, these vessels are enormous. They are entire floating cities, complete with off-shore Casinos, medical facilities, shopping malls, exercise gymnasiums, your choice of restaurants, bars, discos, and vast neighborhoods of rooms. They hold some in the range of 5000 – 6000 people, and provide services for all of them. They arrive in the bay between 5:45am and 10am, and typically depart between 5pm and no later than 9pm. They never stay–Cabo’s fluky winds would spin them around their anchor dangerously considering that each one is hundreds of feet long. When they arrive at pre-dawn hours, they remind me of the first time the Death Star came into full view in the Star Wars movies–ominous, a giant object filled with people and things.

Once they arrive, the Port Captain sends out a representative to collect the necessary fees and complete paperwork and inspections, and then these huge cities start off-loading their precious tourist cargo. Entire portions of the Cabo San Lucas come alive in anticipation of the wandering groups of week-old friends who have arrived and seek a place to eat, a good margarita, and to purchase some silver or a cuban cigar–all the while engaging in the small-talk of new, but tightly-bound friendships.

In town, everyone knows about the cruise-ships. Everyone knows how many will be in-port today: two, four, just one . . . This is their business–to sell goods and services to tourists. The tourists staying at the resorts will still be sleeping. They invariably took advantage of the nightlife–something the cruise-ship guests miss because of the early departure times. So, the wandering hoards are coming from one source. Others aboard the cruise-ships go directly to the activities they have planned: snorkeling, jet ski rentals, a hi-speed water tour, para-sailing, sailing, and right now, whale watching.

My relationship with the cruise-ships is different, and I think, much more intimate than most. I can literally feel them arrive. Marishanna is a race-boat with no insulation, and so I often hear smaller boats motoring past, but the cavitation of the huge propellors of the cruise ships is unmistakable. Something I can hear from a few miles away. Once they are in port, the clanking of the giant chain links of their anchor is amplified and echoes through the water and into the metal parts of my boat.

It is both eerie and unmistakable . . . and a daily component of my morning routine since I arrived. 6am, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, start the coffee, go above decks, survey the boat, check the anchor, and, well, you get the idea.

You may not be able to tell, but Marishanna has a clean bottom.  I have been keeping fairly current with it–scrubbing the waterline, and softly sponging the underwater paint, but the other day, I noticed that there was only one zinc left on the prop shaft, and that it was nearly gone.  So, I hired a diver to come out and professionally clean the bottom of Marishanna, replace the zincs, and even coughed up a bit extra to have him scrub the bottom of the dinghy.

Zincs are metal attached to the boat that is lower on the chart of elements that all the other metals on-board.  If you have an electrical system, you have magnetic fields, and when you mix a magnetic field with sea water, it needs some place to go.  On boats, you put zincs and give this process something “to eat”–so, that the process will leave your brass, stainless steel, and other metals alone.  It is sort of a boat owner’s offering, if you will.

Once they are gone, your boat vitals are eroding (like the thru-hulls can be made of metal).  So, it is important to keep them replaced and current.  And, Marishanna’s zincs have been renewed–a fresh offering to the god of electrolysis.

Note: They really call them “Sacrificial Anodes“

Quick Update: Today required an emergency rebuild of the head–the toilet on board.  The problem wasn’t terrible–the plunger pulled free from the internal parts that do the plunging.  So, the repair looked like this:

Take everything apart, clean everything with vinegar as you go, retrieve the internal plunging parts and lost nut, lubricate insides of plunging tube with waterproof grease (should be good for the season, now), put everything back together, and test that it works and doesn’t leak . . . . Simple, but time consuming.

Everything went along smoothly.  You will have to take my word for it, however, it’s just not appropriate to be posting pictures of this one . . . .  ;-)

Not everything about sailing is fun, although even the not-so-fun parts can be fun with the right mindset. That is what I kept telling myself through the whole process of repairing the dinghy. The poor little guy had been ferrying us sailors, first the four of us, and now myself, to and from the marina, onto beaches, through crashing surf for weeks and finally, one of his seams let loose.

It came as sort of an emergency. I awoke and was taking my morning survey of what happened while I was sleeping, and heard a loud hiss coming from the dinghy tied to the stern. Even in my groggy state, warning signals blared the full “A-OOOOOGH-A” and raised a general alarm. A 65-pound motor sits on the back of that dinghy, and that hissing noise meant that if I did not do something right away, there might be the opportunity to recover both the dinghy and that motor from the ocean floor . . . .

So, first things first: a quick moment of thought and planning. A big hole would make a “whoosh”–this was a “hiss” and a relatively small hole and most likely only on one side (the two tubes are separate). I would have at least 30 – 45 minutes to resolve this. The biggest problem is getting the 65-pound motor onto the boat–up to my chest when I stand in the dinghy. Was there some mechanical advantage I could use? For example, could I rig a sling and use the end of the boom or a masthead halyard to hoist it up?

I could do all of those things, if I had planned for it. Right now, I would simply have to lift it up and plop the motor on its side on the deck. The longer this process takes, the less air that would be in the dinghy, and the harder this whole thing is going to be. And, with that, the planning phase officially ended.

Cut away the tape that keeps the lifeline gates closed, and open the gate on the port side. Unhook the gas can and put all of the miscellaneous dinghy stuff onto the sailboat. Start the motor without the gas can attached–to burn all of the remaining gas in the engine. (It will be a few days, and gasoline sitting inside the motor will rot out the internals of a motor.) Unscrew the motor clamps, heave, and . . . before I knew it, the motor was already sitting on the deck. Another heave, and the dinghy was sitting on the foredeck, too–already folding awkwardly like a partially-deflated beach toy.

The repair process was not so bad. It took a day for the dinghy to dry out (and for me to scrape the creepy-crawlies off the bottom). It took another day or so for me to select the right dinghy repair kit from the local chandleries. It seems that there is really no in-between when it comes to these kits. There are the cheap “patches” that should actually be used for your partially-deflated beach toy, and then full-blown, serious dinghy repair kits with two-part glues, etc. I opted for the latter because I do not want to spend my time down here repairing dinghies. Do it once, do it right, and get on with your trip . . . .

I cleaned the surface of the dinghy to be repaired with acetone, cut the patch to the correct size, and mixed a portion of the two-part glue. Taped around the area for the patch, painted the surface, let dry for 5 minutes, applied the patch, press really hard for a few minutes, and then clean up the excess glue–while it is still wet. And, then wait . . . for 24 whole hours. All of the remaining glue got used to lovingly coat the seams that had started to pull open in places from the years of use.

I waited the full day, reversed the get-the-dinghy-out-of-the-water process, and was free, once again, to dinghy away from the sailboat–unfettered by the cares of the world (with the exception of that big wave threatening to splash you).