Odda Sea - Life Aboard An Allied Princess Sailing Yacht

I’ve been at sea officially a week now, and I am sorry to say there isn’t much more progress to report. The weather continues to have a large high pressure system sitting right over the central Gulf, which is causing all sorts of light and flukey winds to prevail. The forecast continues to state winds in significant excess of what they actually are, raising my hopes but to no avail.

No worries, I am making some progress if not fast progress.

With all the sail piled on I am doing a steady 1-2 knots, more or less in the easterly direction, which is good.

The sails are banging around listlessly today, though, as the wind has abated to not much more than a whiff, a gentle puff that barely moves the boat. The swell is significant though - apparently a strong front pushed off from Florida earlier this week and let a nice swell build up in my direction. Fortunately I have just enough wind for the moment to keep the swell forward and that helps stop the boat from banging side to side as violently.

On the good news, though, it’s another beautiful day with some seabirds flying around and a bunch of funky seaweed floating by in the blue water. The water is much more clear here, though it is a dark blue, and I can see several feet down where there are occasionally fish and more often just seaweed. I always wonder how seabirds manage to come several hundred miles out into the Gulf and hang around all day. Do they just fly back all night? How fast do they fly? I suppose they might rest on large ships and/or oil platforms, and make the trip in stages, but I wonder what compels them to try?

At sea a week! Such an interesting thing to say. Out here, time doesn’t really seem to exist, in some ways. The days run into each other, the nights are a blur of short naps, watchstanding, occasionally tacking or sail handling, and calling large ships to make sure they see me and don’t run me down. It’s not quite hallucinatory, but it definitely has a lulling, calming effect as with the light breeze, the hot sun, and the slow progress there isn’t much to focus on.

Overall, though, I’m having a great time and really enjoying the trip. I keep watching the forecast hoping for a shift in the high pressure system but it looks like it has definitely decided to call the Gulf home for a while. So don’t expect rapid progress from me! I’m prepared to be out here another couple weeks if this keeps up. I think I may set a record for slowest Gulf crossing EVER! So folks, when people tell you that March is a good month to try and cross the Gulf from Texas eastwards, don’t believe them! Go much earlier in the year!

Other than that, just enjoy the ride!



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== END ==

25 MAR 2012 0007 UTC

Winds are getting shifty now in the evening (they tend to do that, even this far offshore, I’ve noticed) but I’ve had a very nice run since about 10 (AM) local time today, clocking several hours of 3-4 knot runs, mostly downwind or on a broad reach with 150% genoa, mainsail, and mizzen staysail set. For some reason adding the mizzen itself kept putting too much weather helm on so I doused it and just went with the staysail.

Wish I could share a picture with you but the slow connection offshore doesn’t let me. You’ll have to wait for pictures to show up when I make port. I’ll show you this cool shark-like fish I saw, and how dramatically the water changes color even 50 NM offshore here (yes, for those of you stuck on the coast not all of the Gulf water is deadly toxic-brown like it is in the bays).

Other than that, it’s been a pretty “chill” day - the forecast is for more of the general same, wind direction varies a bit, wind speed varies a bit, I’ll get lulls, dead calms, some nice breezes, a general smorgasbord of light air practice, it appears. I’m cool with that, considering the alternatives for sure!

Having some fun out here too just generally enjoying the nice weather, gentle breezes, and the sea life. Starting to get a rhythm to the day as well, though I am still working on sleep / eating schedules which I understand is really something unique to each person when offshore. Right now the rule is: eat whenever I think about eating, and sleep whenever I get a nice 30-45 minute block of time (that typically means no big ships on AIS, no rigs visible on the horizon, or if something is visible, that I know my course and possible deviations and that none of them will put me more than halfway the distance in the time I’d sleep).

Well folks, that’s about it. I’m nearly out of VHF range of even the powerful shore stations - I’m only getting snippets of the Coast Guard anymore - so weather updates, email, everything is coming from my SSB radio. I have to note that Farallon Electronics has hooked me up with a demo P4 Dragon Pactor modem which is a spiffy piece of kit that lets me get my email all the way out here using the radio - how cool is that? It’s pretty amazing: I’ll write more about it soon but I have to say right now other than my GPS and my Mac, it is probably one of my favorite pieces of communications gear aboard.

Anyways, that’s all I have for the moment. More soon!


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== END ==

The guardians of the bay have many tricks up their sleeve…

Not even 24 hours after I sailed out of the jettys and offshore, on a promising north wind into the welcoming waters of the Gulf of Mexico, I now sit completely and utterly becalmed, bobbing like a cork amidst maddeningly gentle wisps of wind which have no power to even ripple the water, let alone move a sailboat.

Fortunately, I have a very, very wise friend whose reminder that “this is part of it” was incredibly helpful and calming. Though completely unexpected, unforecast, and unforseen, this frustrating and nausea-inducing rolling, rocking, and occasional furious side-to-side slamming of the boat brought on by confused waves is indeed part of the experience of sailing and, though not a part I care to experience, is one that I must find ways to enjoy and remain productive in.

I cannot write much as the rolling really does bring on motion sickness when writing, so I’ll keep this post short. But I am well, if not entirely thrilled, and as another wise person said: this too shall pass.

It remains to be see how quickly, however.



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On a less technical note, here’s a post hopefully explaining a bit about what I’m currently doing for those of you new to sailing or used to just doing lake or bay excursions in mostly nice weather. I know my blog gets pretty technical sometimes and that’s how I like it, but really, life should be a balance and now that I’m actually sailing and not just twiddling wenches - er, wrenches - and splicing line I hope to write a lot more about the experience than just the gear that makes it happen - though my technically minded readers shouldn’t worry: I won’t stop writing about the gear as well! “A little somethin’ for everybody” is where I’m going for a bit.

So here goes…

A passage in a loaded cruising sailboat (that’s what I have) begins with much the same kind of sailing as a day outing - you leave the dock, you hoist the sails, perhaps you motorsail a little bit through a channel that is too short, busy, or dangerous to tack upwind against (like the Houston Ship Channel, for instance), and then, if you prefer to sail than motor — or if you are like me and have a motor with VERY limited range — you must sail across the bay to get out of it and into the deeper water offshore.

This is usually not a big deal, unless the wind is blowing from exactly where you want to go. Racing sailboats, lightweight with huge jibs (that’s the big sail on the front) and extremely efficient fin keels (that’s the part of the boat underwater that looks like a fish fin or airplane wing), pretty easily sail upwards against the wind and this is no big deal for them either. (Ever wondered how a sailboat can sail into the wind? They zigzag, called ‘tacking’, using the same trick that lets airplanes fly - aerodynamic lift. The sails and keel are literally acting as a wing on a plane does and pull the boat forwards against the wind. The only difference is that the motion is across the water, not up and down from the earth. Now you know something you can impress your friends with.)

A heavy displacement cruising boat (my boat weighs 15,000 lbs and many offshore boats weigh twice to three times that) does not have an “efficient” keel, it has a “stable” keel. It does not like to go upwind very fast and does not handle very well when doing so, especially in shallow water where there is often a nice choppy wave action. So for a boat like mine, this is a very big deal (and sometimes a deal breaker until the weather changes). In fact, I would say that the process of leaving the dock and getting offshore, particularly in this area, is in and of itself a voyage to be considered with as much caution and preparation as the offshore portion - they are two completely different beasts.

For the past week, the weather where I want to go has been exactly this wrong sort, and it doesn’t look like it will improve for the next several days. This could be bad news, if you are prone to impatience (as I am), but since I am trying to learn to slow down and enjoy life as it comes to me, I am turning it into an opportunity to practice anchoring in various places around the bay as well as some days spent working the boat hard to go upwind and slowly get towards the exit of the bay. That way, when the right sort of weather comes around, I’ll be in a closer spot to take advantage of it and get offshore more quickly.

The recent stormy weather has been good in other ways as well: I’ve fixed a few problems that while not critical could have become a problem offshore, and I’ve learned a few things about the boat. I’m also taking a short stop where I can reprovision some fresh food, top off the water tanks, and take a hot shower. Fortunately I’ve been able to keep up a pretty good hygiene routine with all of the stopping for the night that coastal sailing allows.

Speaking of hygiene, I should give a shout out to the UT School of Dentistry. Dr. Hood and students (including a brilliant and charming young up-and-coming Dr. Bristow) are absolutely fantastic and they really gave me a great once-over before heading offshore. If you can find a quality dental school wherever you are, I highly recommend getting checked out there before a long passage or cruising lifestyle. In my case they found a cavity that needed filling and did a phenomenal job fixing it and providing recommendations on offshore care (Dr. Hood is herself quite an accomplished singlehand offshore sailor). And they did it for this uninsured sailor for less than it would have cost to co-pay at a regular dental office with insurance (I know because I used to be the desk jockey with a great insurance plan). So huge kudos to the UT School of Dentistry. Please support your local dental school, and thanks Dr. Hood and very-soon-to-be Dr. Bristow!


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The night wind whips the small reef in whose meager protection I lie at anchor. The waters I am about to traverse are treacherous, crowded with industry, and crossed by winds which do no favors to sailing craft. It is motor vessel city here, and my boat is small amidst giants loaded with toxins and consumer goods.

To further the hazard, the remains of the hundreds of oil rigs which once dotted the water here lurk grimly, like sentinels of a haunted past and a doomed future. Unlit, often requiring a sharp eye by day and all but invisible in the dark, these low, twisted platforms are accompanied by jutting pipes and jagged metal structures, warning of the invisible dangers waiting just below the surface of the wind-swept waves.

This is a shallow water, adding ever shifting shoals to the challenge of the abandoned architecture and contrary winds. The one narrow channel out is the main artery for the consumer horde, bringing vast quantities of offshore goods in and shipping precious little of value out. It is fitting, therefore, that the winds are trade-style, blowing nearly all the time only inshore and refusing except briefly to turn and exchange direction.

No wonder, then, that is is uncommon for sailing vessels to leave this area once they arrive.

I must leave. It is imperative. This land is the land of the slow death, the land of settling for safe rather than pursuing dreams. And, at least for me, the wind is the gatekeeper and the water is the warden.

There are a great many friends in this town whom I have come to know, cherish, and love. It is not an easy thing to move away from them, and their support and encouragement in this time are vital. Each and every one of them are deeply appreciated.

But very soon the warden must, for all his guard, be looking elsewhere. And the gatekeeper may forget to lock the gate so tightly.

And my vessel and I are ready to make our escape.


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