Sockdolager in the Movies, Part 3!

Click HERE or on the image above to see the video.

Part 3 of the 3-part video series by OffCenterHarbor.com, called “Outfitting a Small Cruiser for Voyaging,” is now available. This part takes you belowdecks for a tour of the cabin. We hope you enjoy it, and the ten other videos (including Parts 1 and 2 if you missed them) that you can get access to for free, by filling in the form on the landing page. Off Center Harbor also made a film about our friend and shipwright Leif Knutson, whose own video-tour of Raven, the boat he built, is a real jaw-dropper.

Sockdolager underway on a fall cruise in Puget Sound

Warm weather has departed these latitudes, and barefoot days have long been replaced by something we’ve both missed: the change of seasons and winter’s chill. But really, winter’s okay. For now.  

A favorite memory.

Sockdolager is snug in her winter berth, we're back in our cottage, the Christmas tree is up, and the utter joy of a hot shower every day is still waaaay too intense for landlubbers to understand. We look forward to a winter cruise, which will be fun because so few boats are out and we’ll have our pick of the best spots to anchor.

Our cruising friends in New Zealand and Australia are wearing jandals and shorts and enjoying a fine summer, so maybe it’s time to get nostalgic with a few items in a “best of” series. We will start with New Zealand, but will occasionally be plucking images from the many thousands of photos we took over the past two years. Here's the best beach we found on the whole trip. (Surprise, it’s not tropical.)

Wharariki Beach, near Cape Farewell west of Nelson, NZ. It faces west into the Tasman Sea.

Our road trip gave us some terrific images. Going straight to the good stuff, here is the best chocolate stash we’ve ever seen. I mean, you’d never have to go to the grocery store again if you could figure out how to store this baby in the garage.

Best tower of chocolate. Dunedin, NZ.

Best road signs include one that we really should consider adopting here in the US.

And the fire department’s no slouch with their messages, either.

These bits of punctuation are strategically placed around the country. Come on, ya drivers, let’s show a little more enthusiasm out there!

There are also a lot of warnings about wind socks. If one got loose and wrapped around your windshield it could be very bad.

Best license plate on a campervan ever. No ambiguity here.

Best match ever, of a paint job on a campervan with the look of its six young sleeping occupants.

Best literary town name, though it might have been better as “Middle Earth.” For locals, the painted thing on the road says "50." But if you're not used to driving in NZ it says, "SO," leaving you to fill in, "are we on the right side of the road?"

Middlemarch. We looked for George Eliot and Mrs. Dollop, but it was mostly a wide spot in the road.

Best. Phone booth. Ever. On Stewart Island. 

As everyone knows, the ozone hole over the Antarctic has had issues, and the intensity of sun in NZ can be even more than in the tropics. Dark glasses in summer are a must. NZ has six gazillion sheep. Do the math.

Finally, after a search over ten thousand miles, Jim found the best caption for his portrait.

We’ve saved the best for last. The rainbows in Milford Sound don’t all just hang in the sky, some of them slide down waterfalls. Literally, shimmering curtains of color fall one after the other down to the water. Now that’s a rainbow.

No matter where you are, we hope you're enjoying the holiday season.

Sockdolager in the Movies! Part 2

Click HERE to see Part 2

Part 2 of what has become a 3-part series called “Outfitting a Small Cruiser for Voyaging,” is ready for you to view on a special page created just for our blog readers by the Maine-based maritime film documentary group called Off Center Harbor. They’ve been wonderful (and at times hilarious) to work with, and we highly recommend joining, for access to more than a hundred videos on subjects ranging from boat building to sail repair to cruising under sail to tours and histories of beautiful and fascinating classic yachts and work boats, and more.  They’re cranking out several new videos each month, so there's lots of variety. 

For more information on outfitting a small boat for extended cruising, this 3-part series can be augmented by viewing our side page called "Fiddly Bits." 

So go have a look at Part 2 and sign up on that page for 10 more free videos that include Part 1, if you missed it. Part 2 will be replaced by Part 3 on the special page in a few weeks, and we’ll let you know when it’s ready for viewing.

Meanwhile, for our sailing friends in the sunny, summery Southern Hemisphere, here is the Next Big Thing. You heard it here first. 

Sockdolager in the Movies!

Click here for this video.

Dreams vs budgets:  that's a new category of video at Off Center Harbor, the Maine-based, exceptionally talented marine documentary group who just made a film starring Sockdolager (!!) and called it "Outfitting a Small Cruiser for Voyaging, Part 1." You can see it by clicking on the title or photo caption above.  Filmmaker Steve Stone put us right at ease and made the filming part feel effortless and fun, the extent of which you'll be able to gauge by the amount of giggling coming from yours truly (K).

But! Hang on to your hats! Steve also made us our very own Off Center Harbor web page for our friends, family and blog readers!  Can you beat that!  AND!  This video, which is part 1 of 2 parts, has been paired with an article written by Karen Larson of Good Old Boat magazine, that appeared in 2010 and featured my former Dana 24, Minstrel.  You can find it by clicking here.  I didn't know they were going to do that, and okay, I'm blushing now.

**NB, November 19, 2013: Part 2 has now replaced Part 1. And Part 3 will be replacing Part 2 in a few weeks. You'll be able to see all 3 parts by signing up for the 10 free videos in the box on the right side of the special page the links take you to.

Click here to see OCH's highlight video and 10 others.

Off Center Harbor is a subscription-based video service, and so far we've been unable to plumb their fathomless depths because they have so many cool videos to choose from.  I found myself sitting back and saying "Ahhh!" a lot.  In addition to films about voyage preparation, their topics cover seamanship, boatbuilding, tools of the trade, tours of historic boats, and instructional videos for kids, plus links to many blogs. Sailing is a small world, so I'm delighted to be seeing a lot of people I either know or have heard of.

So, enjoy Part 1 and its accompanying article and other videos, and we'll let you know when Part 2 is ready (or Off Center Harbor will if you decide to subscribe.)

Finally, for those of you in the northern hemisphere who are getting ready to put your boats to bed for the winter, or, for that matter, for those of you in the southern hemisphere where it's Spring and time to do something for the boat, here's a simplified maintenance flow chart. You're welcome.

Voyage Statistics

Jim here.  I have been  doing the math and putting statistics together from our voyage.  I also figured out how to load a GPS track into Google Earth.

GPS Track to New Zealand

The voyage lasted for two years and 25 days (755 days).  July 9, 2011 to Aug 2, 2013.

A nautical mile is 1.15 "regular"/statute miles and is abbreviated as "nm". Nautical miles per hour are abbreviated as "knots".  Statute miles per hour are abbreviated as "mph".  And if we just say "miles" it means statute miles.

We sailed 10768 nm.  For you land lubbers that is 12,383 miles.  In metric it is 19,931 kilometers.  For those of a biblical persuasion it is 43,588,160 cubits.  This includes the distance from Port Townsend, WA to Tauranga, New Zealand and from San Francisco to Port Townsend, but not the miles from New Zealand to San Francisco on the container ship.

Of the 755 days away we were "under way" for 122 days.  That includes all the time the boat was actually moving even if it was just for an hour or two.

Of the 122 days we under way, 103 were "at sea" in which we sailed through the night.

While at sea one of us was always on watch.  We used a watch schedule of four hours on and four hours off.  So in the 103 days at sea 1236 hours was spent on watch for each person.  Almost all of that time was outside in the cockpit. About 40% of the time was at night.

Our average speed for the 122 days underway was 3.7 knots (4.25 mph).

The average distanced we traveled in 24 hours while at sea was 83 nm (95 miles).

The longest distance we traveled in one 24 period was 130 nm (150 miles) at an average speed of 5.4 knots.  The shortest distance was 17 nm, backwards (while becalmed near the equator).

A "passage" is a multi day trip between two points of land.  Our longest passage, from the tip of Baja California in Mexico to Fatu Hiva in the Marquesas Islands in French Polynesia took 37 days. The total distance traveled was 2,802 nm (3,222 miles) .  The average speed for the passage was 3.14 knots (3.6 mph).  For the first 17 days we averaged 4.2 knots but then got stuck in the doldrums and averaged only 2.23 knots for the next 20 days. During this passage we used about 40 gallons of water and 19 gallons of diesel fuel.  

The next longest passage, 1142 nm, was from Tonga to New Zealand at an average speed of 4.0 knots and it took 12 days.

Other passages included: three passages of seven days each, two five day passages, one three day passage, six two day passages, and eight one day passages.

For our 122 days underway, 70% were under sail and 30% were motoring.

While motoring we used about 325 gallons of diesel fuel at an estimated cost of $2000.

Of the 633 days NOT at sea, about half were spent at marinas and half were at anchor or on a mooring. Estimated marina costs were around $5000.  We kept the boat at marinas in New Zealand while we lived ashore and toured the South Island, a period of about ten weeks. There were very few marinas on the route between Mexico and New Zealand. On that stretch of eight months we spent two weeks in a marina.

Transitioning

We’ve been home for several weeks, and the transition from seafaring back to life on land with all its reconnecting has been, shall we say, “interesting.” 

The transition from southern summer weather to North Pacific conditions was, as you already knew, kind of wet.

Dirty weather in the North Pacific.

Atypical wind direction but typical wind speed forecast for the coast.

But when the weather’s decent up here in the Pacific Northwest, it’s not just good, it’s glorious. 

Siren's pub on a fine day.

Coming home to Port Townsend, with its camaraderie, its forests of wooden masts, and its people who love to sail (and share with visitors) beauties like the venerable, engineless, 110 year-old Ziska, was exactly what we wanted to do.

Ziska's interior with new owner Gabriel Sky.

Seeing beautiful schooners like the lovely Alcyone under sail is also not unusual around here.  It’s good to be home.  

For transitioning sailors, Port Townsend is a good place, because it’s expected that sailors come and go.  Transitions are no biggie, because that’s how we live.  Plus, what other town do you know of where the local police hand out flying pig pins?

Still, despite the excellent homecoming, the first two weeks were rather strange.  First there was what I call “reconnecting syndrome.”  Fascinating things, these electronic gizmos.

Then there was “still on watch syndrome.” Each night I’d wake up around 2:00 am and think, huh?  Where… oh, that’s right, we’re not at sea.  Great, I’m wide awake, NOW what do I do?  The saltwater half of my mind would start the nightly litany:  Okay, up and at ‘em!  Gotta get the navigation done for the next leg, gotta check the forecast, we don’t want to miss the weather window, gotta write in the log and get ready to go to on watch! 

This was, of course, ironic, because normally by 2:00 am, my watch would be half over, and waking up into such irony meant an hour or two of pondering the tug-of-war nattering on between the landlubber and seafarer halves of my mind.  It should be obvious that you’re home, I would tell myself.  Oh sure, like that worked.

So, to while away the time I’d drowsily search for traces of guilt for having overslept 2 hours of my watch while Jim was also soundly asleep.  Guilt, ah yes… wait, WHAT?  We’re BOTH asleep?  Who’s on watch?  OMIGOD!  What’s happening out there?  A couple of times I actually got up and went to look out the window.  No whales were seen in the street.  The surface of the road was unruffled by wind.  If we’d had a house log, I would’ve written in it.

Then the landlubbing half of my mind would say:  Ha ha, very funny!  The house isn’t dragging, you’re not gonna get run down by a bigger house, and best of all, the bed is steady and still!  How d’ya like them apples? 

The seafaring half would reply:  Not much.  Then again, it’s actually pretty nice. 

The landlubbing half would say:  Well, I like it here.  A LOT.  And we’re staying for awhile, if you don’t mind.

The seafaring half merely harrumphed.  But slowly, slowly, the seafaring half retreated from its nightly vigil, until a full night’s sleep became possible. 

God is my... 

That’s when the second stage of transitioning to life on land began.  The sense that, while a full night’s snorefest was to be expected, any sense of permanence was neither believable nor trustworthy.  The house was surely temporary, right?  We’d be moving back to the boat soon, uh-huh.  This was solved in a few days by the reappearance into the house, of familiar furniture and belongings.  That stage was brief. 

Sand castle at Ilwaco.

But the oddest and longest transition phase came from the sense that after being at sea, where sensory input is somewhat limited and controlled compared to land, we were now in a gigantic, frenetic candy shop of distraction, where everyone was running around happy as puppies on a big sugar buzz. 

Land-life is so full of distractions—things to see and do, comings and goings, people to meet and talk to—that for about two weeks my head turned so often it felt like I was getting whiplash, and my mind was barely able to summon the attention span of even a gnat. 

Crikey!  Even the dinghies have dinghies!

And then the seafaring half of my brain came roaring back, because we went to that annual three-day high called the Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival, where 200 gorgeous varnished painted beauties lined the docks, and happiness wafted through the air, and really, who could worry about short attention spans in a setting like that?  Certainly not us.  Shanties were sung, pirate cannons were fired, hearty shouts rang, friends were met, and boats were admired.  To see some spectacular images of the festival and the boats under sail, check out photographer Jeff Eichen’s web site here.  Sockdolager is in photo #54 of 72. 

On Wednesday and Thursday, Jim helped deliver the 99 year-old wooden motorboat Glory Be from Seattle to Port Townsend, where she took her place in the show.  She has an amazing history.

The 99 year-old Glory Be.

On Friday, the first festival day, we attended lectures, toured boats and had more joyful reunions.

The Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival

On Saturday we crewed aboard the lovely schooner Grail, to race with the gracious and hilarious Smith family against other floating wooden acres of gaff and staysail perfection.  We didn’t win, but who cares? 

Schooner Grail, racing.  That's Jim at the bow and me sitting on the taffrail.  Photo credit:  Jeff Eichen.

That evening was spent aboard the 1909 Arts and Crafts-era MV Lotus, a 92-foot Edwardian cruiser where tea parties are given every Sunday and you can enjoy a nightcap at the tiled fireplace on chilly evenings before heading for your own private stateroom.  While aboard Lotus we were introduced to Steve Stone, a filmmaker from Off Center Harbor in Maine.  Well, that turned into something mucho fun!  Steve decided on the spot to make a film about us and Sockdolager, and what we’d done to get her ready for the voyage.  Woah!  More on this shortly.

On Sunday we took Bill and Cath Connor from Boulder, Colorado (old friends of Jim’s) out to sail in the Festival’s final event:  the Sunday afternoon Sail-By.  Imagine a river of sails—from 130-foot schooners to catboats, ketches, cutters, yawls and lug-sail dinghies—probably a couple hundred of them, flowing around and around the bay in a big circle, in a light breeze, on a bluebird day.  Our flags flapped gaily and we could not stop grinning.  Crews shouted greetings across the water, a friend on another boat played her bagpipes, and laughter rang from shore to shore.  

The lovely La Boheme.

Kaci Cronkhite sailing her storied Danish spidsgatter, Pax. 

Then, as if by invisible signal, crews waved farewell and boats began to scatter to the four winds. It was magic. Pure, happy magic.  You can watch a homemade video of it filmed from another boat here. 

Sockdolager is visible at 20 seconds, 2 minutes and about 4.5 minutes. Look for the flags a-flyin'. 

On Monday and Tuesday we were stars.  Steve came down to the boat and filmed her from stem to stern, on deck and below, while Jim and I took turns talking about the custom improvements, the preparations for sea, and a few things we’ve learned.  Steve was so intrigued about our retired shipwright friend Leif Knutsen, who’d helped us “upside down-proof” the boat and create ingenious storage solutions (see “Fiddly Bits”) that he went over and made a movie about Leif, too.  Steve got so much material from us that he said it may take two fifteen-minute films to cover it all.  We don’t know when the first film will be ready, but we’ll announce it on this blog. 

Schooner Zodiac sails close by.

And now the seafaring half of my mind is happy, as is the landlubberly half.  I am well into the book project about our voyage, and though it’s great fun to write, I’m still going to take the proper time and not rush it.  Jim, who will soon be posting a statistical summary of the voyage, is also beginning our garage conversion project, where he’ll build a workshop for himself and a writing studio for me.  We’ve been sailing three times in five days, and out on the water even more.  I guess that’s not too bad for a transition.

Popeye and Olive Oil in the pilothouse of a fishing boat.

An Exuberant Homecoming

Sockdolager comes home!  Photo credit:  Bob Triggs 

Oliver Wendell Holmes once said that home is “Where we love.”  That would perfectly describe how it felt to come home to Port Townsend, Washington, where word spread like electrical voltage among our friends along the waterfront that Sockdolager’s emergence from the fog bank over the Strait of Juan de Fuca was imminent.  We were just as eager to see them as they were to see us.

Broadband radar: our new eyes in fog and rain.

All day we’d steamed along in fog and rain, the first precipitation in more than a month.  In the photo above, Jim watches our new broadband radar, which shows things we can’t see in the busy murk, like big outbound ships that swerve out of their usual lane to drop off pilots, and the breakwater at Dungeness Spit. 

It was definitely a social media homecoming, because from my phone I could post things like “Point Wilson just sighted through the fog!”  Our friends Val and Mike Phimister called:  “WHERE ARE YOU?”  Eagle-eyed Kaci Cronkhite spotted us first from her vantage point at Fort Worden. “I see you out there in the fog!” she wrote on her Facebook page, posting the photo below, and word spread that we’d been spotted.  Facebook erupted in Woo-Hoos as Anna Quinn suggested that everyone meet at Sirens Pub at 5pm. Oh boy!

Sockdolager coming in through the fog at Point Wilson.  Photo credit: Kaci Cronkhite 

When Northwesterners go without rain for too long, they get a little out of sorts.  All that sunshine, and it was evidently the first full month of July in 70 years with no rain, begins to play with the mind.  Normally, a sunny day comes after a period of cement skies and rain, and can be enjoyed guilt-free because everyone feels they’ve earned it.  But a whole month of bluebird days can cause a slight to moderate discomfiture to the psyche.  Northwesterners are moodier than Southern Californians; we need rain, not just for the landscape but for our very souls.  We like cement skies.  So, to be coming home on the only rainy day in many weeks felt especially celebratory.  “Oh! You brought the rain with you!” would be, on such a day, high praise in these parts.

Getting closer! Kaci posted this photo on Facebook to update everyone that we were rounding the buoy.

Home has also been called “A place where you can scratch any place you itch.” (Henry Ainsley.)  If that’s true, then to a wandering sailor, the entire planet would qualify as “home.” As it should.  A perspective like that makes you think and act as if your back yard, what you're supposed to take care of and be responsible for, is not just what's platted on a local tax map.  One could also say it as Anatole France did:  “Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.”  

Approaching Point Hudson.  Photo credit:  Bob Triggs

We spotted Kaci and another friend, Bob Triggs, grinning and hollering and waving greetings from the beach.  We grinned and hollered and waved right back. And then, quietly and without fanfare, there stood Leif Knutsen, taking photos from the end of the long pier.  Big smiles all around.  Though we knew friends were waiting at the Boat Haven Marina, we could not resist a little spin into Point Hudson, a victory lap of sorts, to wave and pay a little homage, if you will, to Carol Hasse’s Port Townsend Sail Loft and Brion TossYacht Riggers.  

Sockdolager with soggy flags a'flyin'.  Photo credit:  Bob Triggs

After nearly 11,000 miles, Sockdolager’s sails and rigging still work flawlessly, and these dear friends at Point Hudson, along with rigger Bob Doyle in Everett, were as much a part of our voyage as reassurance can be on a dark and windy night. 

Sockdolager enters Point Hudson for her victory lap.  Photo credit: Leif Knutsen

In true Port Townsend fashion, the Sail Loft crew was hanging out the windows whooping, Brion Toss was applauding from the ramp, and Ace Spragg and friends were whistling from the Maritime Center’s balcony.  The whole harbor erupted in cheers, and puzzled onlookers quickly asked what the hoopla was about.

Point Hudson victory lap.  Photo credit:  Ace Spragg

Point Hudson-waves, whoops and cheers.  Photo credit:  Kaci Cronkhite

Time to head for our slip at Boat Haven.  We figured correctly that friends had called the harbormaster to find out what slip we’d been assigned, but another surprise was waiting as we turned the corner. 

Coming into Boat Haven. We recognize friends we weren't expecting!  Photo credit:  Don Marken

Sailing friends Don and Karla Marken had come all the way from Anacortes to take our docklines.  Wanderers like us, they divide their time between sailing a 20-foot Flicka during summer and an apartment in Mexico in winter.  We pulled into our slip and they took and tied up our lines. Big hugs all around.

Docking.  Photo credit:  Don Marken

Don handed me a bottle of champagne, Jim said, “No need for glasses!” and popped the cork.  We passed the bottle around like it was pirate rum. 

Jim with Karla and Don Marken, about a minute after we docked.

Suddenly, a beautiful drumming and singing began from the foredeck of a nearby boat, and we turned toward it as a Native American Elder, who is a dear friend of ours, sang us home.  We stood transfixed.  I do believe singing like that has the power to realign the stars.

More friends arrived.  Kaci handed me a bouquet of daisies, and Leif gave us the use of an old beater car for as long as we needed it.  Our friend Gordon gave us hugs and a packet of the season’s first smoked king salmon.

Val and Mike arrived at the dock in time for a chat and to drive us to Siren’s Pub, where more friends gathered to celebrate.  I had my first Siren’s burger in two years, and tried unsuccessfully to show some restraint in the enjoyment of it.  We love gourmet food, but the joys of a burger and beer are awfully good, especially at our hometown pub.

We spent the night on the boat, but Jim slipped off to the local grocery store and returned with the only thing still missing after two years.  

Ice cream NOW, Behbeh! 

The next day, with Leif’s loaner car, we began moving stuff from storage back into our little house.  I had to take this Beverly Hillbilly shot. 

The Beverly Hillbilly 

Later, our friends and fellow Dana 24 owners Carl and Patty Kirby sailed in and we enjoyed the reunion.  Jerry Fry, a local ham radio instructor, told us he had been able to listen to our Pacific crossing transmissions on the Puddle Jump Net until we were well south of the Equator!  “Then you went around the curvature of the Earth,” he said, “and I couldn’t hear you anymore.”

Nearly two weeks have passed since that beautiful homecoming.  Flocks of geese fly overhead, honking and gathering in larger numbers for the migration south.  Is autumn coming early?  To view the seasons changing from just one place will be a different pleasure. We’re living at home, now have wheels, internet, and hot running water that comes out of a pipe—holy mackerel!  The first day, I took four showers and Jim took three.  Because we could.  We will curb that shortly, but it was good.  We’ve also rediscovered hardware stores.  And bookstores. 

Though the novelty of life ashore may wane, our appreciation of its comforts never will.  Nor will the desire for more adventures under sail.  Our eyes are turned north toward British Columbia and Alaska. But first, Jim will build his workshop, and then, for me, a writing studio. We need to spend a spell of time at home before taking off again. 

There will be more posts on this blog as things of interest crop up.  For example, I’m working on several new posts, including: preparations for voyaging; a "best of" roundup; and a post on blogging and staying in touch, along with what we’ve learned as the numbers of readers of this blog have expanded; plus more ideas as they develop.  There will be articles forthcoming in Good Old Boat and 48 North magazines as well as other publications. 

There is also a book in progress.  I want it to be good, so it can’t be rushed.  

Photo Credit: Mary Bradley Marinkovich

“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.”  - Lin Yutang

Home from Sea

So lovely to feel the Pacific Northwest smiling softly in a much-needed rain. Port Townsend is in view, and reunions with friends we left behind will be sweet. We'll be docked within an hour, and will write more soon.

Sent from my iPhone