The plane lifted off at 5:08AM that Sunday morning.  With a foggy Houston thousands of feet below, and yearning for some breakfast and hot coffee, I knew it was to be an exciting day.  I was en route to Antigua for two full weeks, leaving the exceedingly humdrum hamster wheel in the rearview mirror for awhile.

First sunset in Antigua

I arrived in Antigua later that afternoon without much ado, grabbed my bag, and headed out to get my rental car.  I had never driven in a right-hand car before, much less on the left side of the road, but I’ve never been one to turn down an adventure so I went for it.  A couple of awkward turns and some frustrated honking from locals, I made it safely to my AirBnB up on the north side of the island.  It was a delightful little place with its own kitchen and A/C (admittedly a bit spoiled with this).  I typically like to start a trip with a swim, a hot meal, and an ice cold local beer.  So I ventured out to the nearest beach bar, grabbed some local fare and took in the absolutely marvelous sunset.  While the waitress was preparing the bill, I reached for my wallet – it wasn’t there.  I frantically turned out my backpack hoping the wallet was there.  “Shit.”  My only hope was that it was back at my room.  The waitress was kind enough to allow me to leave my iPhone at the restaurant as a security deposit whilst I hurriedly sped back to the AirBnB.  Still quite new to “English-style” driving, I somehow I found my way back in the dark, and behold! – the wallet was laying there cozily on the kitchen table.  Whew!  With the bill paid (and the waitress tipped) I returned to the apartment and slept a deep and comfortable sleep.

My island ride!

Hot coffee brewing, scrambled eggs on the stove, roosters crowing nearby, and the perfume of local flowers wafting through the open windows. Ahh. My first morning on Island Time.  I’m not one to obsess over internet connectivity – especially when travelling – but with free WiFi at the apartment, something told me to check my bank accounts before heading out for the day.  Another “Shit.”  Apparently my debit card had been compromised before leaving Houston, and there were three $100 fraudulent charges posted to the account.  Luckily, my credit card was untouched, and I had a small sum of cash in my pocket.  I absolutely hate using my credit card in any circumstance, but for once I was thankful to have it.  So with the bank account locked down, I grabbed my gear and headed to the dive shop in Jolly Harbor – about an hour’s drive through the island.

Divemaster with a speared lionfish

Alex will probably chastise me for scuba diving – “It’s for fat old white guys” I think he said, hahaha.  But I do really enjoy it.  So before the trip I booked three days worth of dives with a great little outfit called Indigo Divers Antigua.  They hosted some excellent dives and were very professional.  Turtles, sharks, eagle rays, and octopuses were just some of the charismatic fauna that crossed our path.  One troublesome aspect of diving this area is the overabundance of lionfish.  They were everywhere –  I believe our divemaster killed at least one on every dive.  If you’re not familiar with the problem, lionfish are an invasive species in the Atlantic.  Aside from being covered with highly venomous spines,  they have enormous broodstock, have no natural predators here, and eat just about anything that can fit in their mouths.  The local fisheries and divers are trying to “teach” sharks and eels to eat them, but such innate behaviors really cannot be taught in a short span of time.  I hear they’re good eating at least, so hopefully you’ll see them more and more on restaurant menus.

On Tuesday – the second day of diving – I went out in search of a decent lunch and some snorkeling.  The sand around most of the island was very silty, so no near-shore snorkeling was to be had, but exploring new beaches is never a boring endeavor.  Stomach growling after the dives, I happened into an airy little restaurant right on the sand.  Before I sat down, I ordered a tall rum drink and took a few big gulps.  When the waitress brought me the menu, my heart skipped a beat.   The place was packed with guests – in retrospect probably all wealthy Europeans in port with their superyachts – so I presumed it was going to be typical Caribbean food.  It was expensive to say the very least.  I should’ve swallowed my pride and walked right out of there, but that rum drink and my gurgling belly encouraged me to say “f*ck it*. Seventy five U.S. dollars  later, I had a mediocre ceviche appetizer and two very good rum drinks.  When in Rome I guess.

So after my third amazing day of diving, I was intent on hiking one of Antigua’s mountains.  Upon arrival back at the dock, I aimed to grab some lunch and hit the trails.  I threw my gear in the car and when I went to lock it – SNAP – the ignition key snapped off in my hand.  Yet another “Shit.”  I cursed my awful luck for a few moments then immediately called the car rental company – which was on the polar opposite side of the island.  I explained the situation, and in response the clerk said “Uhh, well mon this has never happened before, so I will talk to my manager and call you back.”  Okay. I’m an easy going guy, especially with a cool view at hand.  So I grabbed a couple of Carib beers at the Jolly Harbor Marina bar and chilled out for a while.

Hours went by.  At the three hour mark, the guy showed up with another car as they only had one spare key for the RAV-4.  So with that problem solved, I figured I still had enough daylight to go for a hike. And boy was I glad I did.  I hiked up Signal Hill, which began with a very cool old ruin of a Victorian-era reservoir, and the view at the top was staggering. I couldn’t have asked for a more sweet conclusion to my pre-race portion of the trip.  I was to meet with the boat the following day, and the hike allowed me some time to mentally prepare for the challenging days ahead.

It was definitely an interesting few days – driving through a bustling St. John’s, all my little mishaps, and once again getting acclimated to island life.  I rested easy that last night, as I knew the best was yet to come.

Peace, Love, and Chicken Roti :)

– Ryan

First off, I’d like to share something I’ve been planning for a few months now.  On February 12th, I’ll be flying down to Antigua to participate in the RORC Caribbean 600 yacht race!   When I sailed with Paul Exner back in June, I mentioned to him that I wanted to crew the race with Andy Schell aboard his 1972 Swan 48 Isbjörn.  At the time, the trip was already booked up with a waiting list.  Paul is skippering the race and is pretty good friends with Andy, so when an opening came up Paul mentioned my interest.  When I got the message from Andy, I without hesitation jumped on the opportunity.

Andy and Paul aboard Isbjorn

S&S Swan 48 Isbjörn

Andy Schell and his wife Mia run an expedition business called 59° North. Their clients book berths on some of the most interesting and challenging passages the sea has to offer.  He’s even taking Isbjörn up to the Arctic circle in 2018.  He also hosts a podcast called On The Wind Sailing, wherein Andy shares his essays, conversations, and interviews with sailors from all over the spectrum, from Nigel Calder to Sir Robin Knox-Johnston.  If this piques your interest, check them out!
The race starts and finishes in Antigua, winding through the Windward Islands, up and around St. Martin, down to Guadeloupe, and back to Antigua.  It officially starts on the 20th, but I’ll be doing a few days of diving and exploring the island, then a few days of practicing aboard Isbjorn prior to the race.   It’s going to be one hell of an adventure and learning experience.  I feel like I’m going from 0-100mph with my sailing, and I believe that this race will definitely take me to the next level, testing everything I know to date.

Meanwhile back on planet Earth, I’ve been doing quite a bit of sailing locally and not a lot of work on Lorilee, heheh.  Last week I did manage to install a main AC breaker/distribution panel and a new battery charger.  Lorilee was never wired with an AC breaker, so essentially she was just a big extension chord from the shore power.  Now she’s fused and wired with proper electrical protection. The new charger is a 50A Sterling ProCharge Ultra.  I chose such a beefy charger simply because the seller offered it to me at the same price as the 30A model. Not exactly “minimalist”, but I couldn’t pass it up. So far it’s been great!   Next on the list is dealing with some chronic engine issues I’ve been ignoring, which deserves a post all to its own.

2016 ended on a very high note.  As mentioned in my previous blog, I’ve met a very special someone, and with her I’ve done some great eating, exploring, and sailing!  We’ve sailed her father’s Nacra beach catamaran, a spritely little Pearson, and crewed several times aboard the Sea Star Base Galveston’s Gazelle, a 70-ft aluminum schooner.  I’ve even taken her out on Lorilee several times and had a great sail on Christmas Eve-Eve!

Trimming the Gazelle’s mainsail, with Tallship America in the background!

Going into 2017, I have many things to accomplish: several boat projects, fitness goals, and most of all, becoming totally debt free so I can work less.  I know my writing has grown sparse over the last few months, so I intend to write more often this year.  Much to look forward to!

¡Feliz Año Nuevo! from the crew of s/v Lorilee

~ Ryan

So in this case, I’m inclined to say that Life is short.  I beseech anyone reading this to make the very best of today, because absolutely no one is guaranteed tomorrow.

I turned 32 a few weeks ago, and it’s been over two years since I decided to buy a boat.  I never would have imagined I’d be where I am now, even though I have yet to “cast off the docklines”.  I feel like I’ve learned so much not only about sailing and owning a boat, but about myself and what it is that I want from this Life.

So what do I want from this life? Right now, I don’t have a definitive answer. I do know that my dream of exploring the world, unfettered by bills and alarm clocks, is still very much alive.  With every smashed thumb and turned screw, I take a step towards achieving that dream.  But my perspective has changed somewhat.  It’s not about the sailing, it’s not even specifically about the ocean, but rather about Liberty.  I want the Liberty to be my own boss.  I want to be the manager of my time here.  If I want to spend a week reading or writing, so be it.  Or if I want to spend a week working some odd job, so be it.  I think that’s what true Liberty is.  The ability for one to spend one’s short and finite time here as one pleases.

And I think the end game here is the unabated Pursuit of Happiness.

Earlier in October, I crewed on a fifty foot yacht in the Harvest Moon Regatta.  This regatta is the largest sailing race in Texas – or maybe even in the Gulf of Mexico.  This year somewhere around 140 boats raced the 150 nautical mile course from Galveston to Port Aransas.  With a stiff breeze on the beam, an almost nonexistent swell, and a crisp near-full moon, we could not have asked for a better sail.  After a short time at the helm, I found myself very well in the “groove” of this boat, leaning her into each oncoming wave.  This very rhythmic motion sends me deep into thought.  At one point in the middle of night, alone in the cockpit, I imagined being aboard Lorilee with nothing but the wind and the whispering music of a moonlit sea; pointing her southeast away from all that I know and into the vast unknown…

After twenty hours and fifteen minutes, we cleared the finish mark in Port Aransas.  We placed first in our fleet and second in the Cruising Class.  The race was sponsored by Bacardi, and on the boat we had a full fridge of frosty adult beverages.  So with Cuba Libra in hand, and live music jamming in the harbor, I was on Cloud Nine.

But something else incredible happened that weekend.  Amidst all the festivity and merriment of the regatta after-party, I met the most amazing girl.  She was crew on another yacht that rafted up four boats down on our dock. For the sake of anonymity I won’t disclose her name, but I can say with earnest that I’ve never met another person with whom I am so wholly compatible.  So for the last month, I have taken a much needed reprieve from toiling on the boat to get to know her.  Who knows where this will lead? All I can say for now is that I am stupidly happy. The boat work will pick up again soon, and I will continue to build my sailing skill, but it definitely does not hurt to have some companionship along the way.

There’s a lot of crazy shit going on in the world right now, so we must choose to be happy.  Be the lighthouse in the storm.  Turn off the TV, put down the smartphone, go outside and enjoy life, y’all.  There’s a big world out there begging to be explored. 

Full sails, peace and coconuts!

~ Ryan

Bonding the new spacers to the boomkin beams

Awhile back, I fashioned a pair of teak beams to replace the boomkin.  They were made of of 2 1/4″ thick x 4″ wide solid teak, which replaced the worn, weathered, and semi-rotten Douglas fir from the original build.  On the trip up from Rockport, the old boomkin made me quite nervous offshore, and I knew then it should be my first priority.  I wanted to rebuild everything with as much rot-resistance and strength as possible, so I knocked up a set of new spacer blocks and bonded them to the beams with a product called “cascophen“.  Cascophen is a two-part epoxy used for a waterproof (and bulletproof) bond between woods.  This stuff is obscenely strong.  After that was cured, I drilled all of the installation holes.  This is in itself is a bit of a process – the wholes are overdrilled by 1/8”, then those holes are filled with epoxy.  After the epoxy has cured, the correct size is drilled through.  This process creates a watertight “plug” around the through-bolt, preventing water intrusion and rot.  And to seal the through-bolts, I of course used butyl tape.

Cross section of the hull-to-deck joint

Whilst the boomkin was off, I opted to begin the arduous, months-long project of sealing up the hull-to-deck joint.  So in the original Westsail build, the hull was laid up in one mold, and the deck in another. The deck’s half (or bulwark) would rest on the hull’s half, creating an overlapping joint.  The joint was caulked with polysulfide, and the teak caprails were screwed on top.  Over the years, however, the old polysulfide has hardened and deteriorated, allowing the joint to leak.  And boy, leak it did.  Enough so that the rainwater virtually destroyed the port and starboard setee cabinetry.  So as one can imagine, this is a very common project for most Westsail owners.  It just has to be done at some point in the boat’s life.

So the process here started with removing the old, brittle caprails, and very carefully I might add.  I did it in small sections for a couple of reasons.  Firstly, I wanted to make sure that when I glassed the joint and reinstalled the caprail, that it would properly mate to the adjoining sections.  Secondly, since I can only do work on the weekends, I didn’t want to leave the boat in a state that would leak even more than necessary.  With the caprails off, the old caulk, dirt, and other grime is scraped and cleaned out of the joint.  Then I slathered the joint with unthickened epoxy to seep into all the cracks and pores and to provide a substrate for the next two steps.  After the unthickened epoxy setup a few minutes, I mixed up some thickened epoxy with colloidal silica to about the consistency of peanut butter.  The gap between the two molds was then filled and faired using a plastic spreader.  The thickened epoxy kicks over very fast in the midsummer sun, so I had to work quickly.  With the gap filled and faired, I painted on another thin coat of unthickened epoxy, and laid over it a 4″ wide strip of 17oz biaxial fiberglass fabric and then saturated the fabric with more epoxy.   This was my first time working with fiberglass, and while it was a complete mess, it was fairly straightforward.  After everything was cured, I’d trim the excess tape and bullnose the edges with 40 grit sandpaper.

Here’s the sequence of events:

So it begins

Cleaned out and painted with unthickened epoxy

Filled with thickened epoxy

Fiberglass tape laid down

Trimmed before sanding edges

Caprails refinished and reinstalled

To do the entire boat took me just about every weekend from the beginning of July to the second weekend of September.  Fiberglass dust EVERYWHERE. Hahaha.  It was very much worth the work though. Lorilee’s cabin is sitting water tight now.  And by refinishing the caprails, she looks AMAZING.  I won’t bore you with the details of refinishing the teak, but it involved some sanding, sanding some more, and sanding a bit more, then several coats of varnish.  I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve been using Le Tonkinois varnish and have been very pleased with it so far.

New boomkin and stern pulpit

One last thing.  I had been wracking my brain for months trying to figure what I wanted to do with sheeting the main.  I was considering going to go back to the eight-block arrangement that I originally had, but with the new boomkin I wanted to simplify things.  So after recieving a little bonus from work, I opted to order Bud Taplin’s stern pulpit with single-point mainsheet hoop.  This assembly knocks out several birds with one stone – it encloses the stern of the boat, providing a safer cockpit, gives me some hardware to mount a few solar panels, and it takes care of the mainsheet.

Next on the to-do list is to tackle some issues I’ve been having with the ol’ Universal engine.  FUN!

– Ryan 

So where was I? Ah yes. Culebra.

With the previous night’s excitement, we all slept in a bit, and after breaking the fast, we weighed anchor and pointed Solstice’s bow to the Caribbean Sea.  With the trades in prime form that morning, it was going to be a long upwind beat to round Punta Este.  In fact, it was about fifteen miles of tacking along the southern shore of Vieques.  But we rounded Punta Este around 15:30, setting Isla de Culebra firmly in our sights with a comfortable broad reach to Ensenada Honda.

Rounding Punta Este

Here fishy fishy

We sailed in and dropped the hook without the assistance of the engine.  There’s something magical about doing this – an entire day transiting between islands by wind power alone.  So with Solstice looking shipshape again, and a dip in the anchorage, we hopped in the dinghy and headed over to a little waterside bar conveniently called “The Dinghy Dock”.  Here, one can have a bite of local grub, a delectable coca libre, and feed the wild tarpon vulturing around the dock.  Yes – I said tarpon.  They’re like four-feet long puppies pacing to and fro for table scraps.  I’ve never seen anything like it!

The next day we were bound for the US Virgin Islands. Our original destination was an anchorage on the western side of St. John, but as the day progressed and the tacking continued, Paul made the decision to head for Charlotte Amalie for the night.  There is sufficiently deep water along the rugged southern shoreline of St. Thomas, which allowed us to sail right up into the cliffs.  Words cannot describe the excitement and awe of tacking within hundreds of feet of these beautiful towering cliffs, adorned with villas and mansions. In retrospect, I wonder who had the better view?   As we approached Charlotte Amalie, the afternoon jetliner traffic grew more and more frequent.  This was such a strange perspective for me.  I recall looking at those planes flying overhead, seemingly scraping the top of the mast, and thinking to myself – one of these planes brought me here and in a few short days will take me away.   It was sobering really…

Dusk in Charlotte Amalie

All three sails full, we cleared Haulover Cut – a small passage of about sixty feet – and with cheers and calls from passersby entered Long Bay, Charlotte Amalie.   The capitol of the USVI, Charlotte Amalie is a fairly large town and is absolutely stunning at night.  And thus we anchored out under the sparkling firmament of the city lights.  I slept soundly out on deck that night, fully in tune with the wind and the periodic swing of Solstice on her anchor.

The last day was to be a busy one.  Not only did we have to sail back to the BVI, but we also had to clear back into the country at Soper’s Hole, which is about twenty miles northeast to windward of Charlotte Amalie.  No complaints from me, though. Sailing up through the narrow Current Cut and to leeward of St. John, we had one of the best sails of the entire trip. Solstice was obviously having fun too.  As we leaned her into the oncoming gusts, she would dance happily forward, effortlessly riding the lifts of wind like a frigatebird.   With a few tacks around Great Thatch island, we sailed into Soper’s Hole to get our paperwork in order.  Paul dinghy-ed ashore to clear in, and for the brief time we were there, I had a nice repose in the shade of the covered mainsail.  Looking around the anchorage I took note of a curious sight:  there were Texas flags everywhere!  I counted within eye-shot seven or eight boats that all hailed from Texas.  Say what you will about our backwards worldviews and staunch conservatism, Texans are proud folk, and I’m damned proud to be one of them.  And knowing that one day soon I’ll be among them aboard my own boat, really made me smile.

With the bureaucracy satisfied, we dropped the mooring and made way for our last anchorage of the night – Cane Garden Bay.  The beam reach up to this sheltered little bay on the western side of Tortola was about as picturesque a sail one could ask for – the sun setting to port over Jost van Dyke, and dolphins to starboard slaloming against the backdrop of Tortola.  We made our way through the bay’s channel, dropped the anchor, and closed the last evening of the expedition with a snorkel around the bay’s reef.

Cane Garden Bay

The following day we sailed Solstice back to her anchorage in Trellis Bay on the opposite side of the island, and had a few beers before going our separate ways.  I reserved a room on St. Thomas before my flight the following day, so after taking the fast ferry back over to St. Thomas, I savored a piping hot shower and a clean shave.  Feeling a sense of both melancholy and accomplishment, I prepared myself for a day of flying back the States…

Last view of St. Thomas before my flight.

Some reflections on this trip:  On the surface, it may seem that this it was a much needed departure from Lorilee’s boat projects and the monotony of my day job.  It was indeed, but it was also so much more than that.  Before sailing with him, I knew Paul is a master of his craft, and that I could take my sailing education to the next level by taking this trip.  I went into it with several expectations of what I wanted to learn and what I needed to do.  Those expectations were exceeded.  My grasp of navigation, seamanship, sail trim, and sailing dynamics had grown by leaps and bounds after this week.  And that’s not to mention the storytelling, rum drinking, and friendship that accompanied it.  This expedition gave me a true taste of the voyaging life that I long for, and furthermore, stoked the fire for me to get out there and actually do it.

– Ryan

p.s.   I have some exciting news coming up that I can’t quite share yet.  Stay tuned.

Flying the chute downwind to Puerto Rico

In past writings, I have mentioned several times that I often look around and think to myself, “how did I get here?”  Sailing downwind from Jost van Dyke, with St. Thomas to port, Great Tobago to starboard, and Puerto Rico somewhere over the western horizon, this was one of those times.  It’s rather hard to put the feeling into words.  I will say that when you see a sunrise in the Caribbean, with no sound but the Atlantic swell rushing past the hull, that the feeling is nothing short of intoxicating.  Addicting.  That moment reignited in me the absolute desire to unplug from the rat race and voyage.  This is where I belong. This is the real world: totally engulfed by the immensity of the wild and the sheer awesome power of the sea.

Solstice in her slip at Puerto del Ray, Fajardo.

We began the sixty mile stretch to Puerto Rico goosewinged – that is the mainsail sheeted out to windward and the headsail poled out to leeward.  This effectively creates a downwind rig in lieu of using a downwind sail like a spinnaker.  However, our speed was a bit lacking, and with the swell on the beam, Solstice tossed about rather uncomfortably.   So after a couple of hours of this, Paul made the call to hoist the asymmetrical spinnaker.  I’ve never really flown a spinnaker at all before, so this was a real treat.  With nearly perfect conditions at the upper extremity of wind speed for flying such a sail, Solstice  saw nearly nine knots, which is quite fast for a full-keeled heavy displacement boat.  And thus we cruised into Puerto del Ray, Fajardo.

After clearing in with customs, a quick lunch and a trip to West Marine, we decided to head to old San Juan for dinner and drinks.  Paul and Alex went to school together in San Juan, so I got a first hand tour of their old stomping grounds.  We wound up at a little restaurant called El Alambique, where several Cuba Libres and some delicious mofongo found their way into the mix.   I have to admit, I really liked Puerto Rico. Excellent food, pretty beaches, and beautiful women…. I think I’ll be going back one day.  Hahaha

Our tacks along the southern coast of Vieques

The following day we set sail to Vieques, which lies just to the southeast of Puerto Rico.  For about sixty years, the island was occupied by the U.S. Navy, and the western two-thirds of it were used for bombing practice.  In fact, if you look at the charts, there are areas designated with “unexploded ordinance”.  Now the island is mostly national wildlife preserve and is a beautiful spot for cruisers.  Our destination was to be Cayo Real, just off of the village of Esperanza.  So after our beam reach south, we had to round the Arenas Shoals and tack to the east along the southern shore of the island.   We reached our anchorage with relative ease and picked up a mooring.  Paul didn’t exactly trust the mooring (some haphazard local’s invention), so we dropped the hook as a security measure. This will prove to be problematic later…

As the sun set, Paul whipped up some burgers for dinner, whilst I took a swim next to the boat.  Paul was about to follow suit, when he saw something large swimming around the boat.  Our initial thought was it was a reef shark, so Alex donned his headlamp and turned on the red LED.  As soon as the light hit the fish, he screamed “WHAT THE F**K!?”  It was actually a very large tarpon, and his headlamp refracted off of the fish’s great eye in such a way that it glowed a deep intense red.  It was wild!  Once again we took the dinghy ashore in pursuit of the ever-elusive Cuba Libre.

Squalls passing over Vieques

Earlier in the day, we had seen some squalls passing through the area, but managed to avoid getting hit.  Before turning in, however, we could see a fairly significant system building on the southern horizon.  Dark clouds and distant lightning that yielded no thunder.  It stirred in me a sense of awe and fear.  Not fear as in terror, but more of an anxiety in anticipation.  We knew it could possibly get violent, so we prepared for it by clearing the deck and closing all the portholes.  At about 0100, I awoke to a strange sound on the port side hull, which was right next to my head.  I laid there awake for a few moments before I realized the breeze had freshened and the lightning-to-thunder interval had grown shorter.  I decided to get up on deck to check things out.  When I got out there, Solstice was pointed stern to the wind, with all of our neighboring boats pointed bow-to. Odd.  So looking around the boat, I found that the mooring ball was bouncing sidelong to the port hull, which was the noise I heard tapping previously.  Being stern to the wind in a gusty storm with a flat-transom ship could be potentially dangerous, so with the rapidly approaching storm, I made the decision to rouse Paul.  When he got on deck to check things out, we found that Solstice had swung around with the current and her bow was caught between the anchor rode to starboard and the mooring line to port.  We were pinned in this position, so to speak.   Without hesitation, Paul pulled up the anchor and all of its rode, and we worked the bow around to face the wind right as the squall hit.  The storm turned out to be all bark and no bite, but it was far better to be prepared than not!

I awoke fairly early the next morning to Nature’s Call.  As my foggy mind and eyesight cleared, I saw six or seven spotted eagle rays swimming under Solstice.  Man, what an incredible way to start one’s day.  I joined them for a swim, played around with a conch, and after a quick breakfast and coffee we sailed off of our mooring for a day of intense sailing up to Isla de Culebra.

Solstice moored at Cayo Real, Vieques

– Ryan

Alex, Me, and Paul

This was the typical morning during my stay in Road Town.  No air conditioning, brisk cold showers, and a light breakfast.  I loved every minute of it.  Very seldom do I get out of bed with such zeal, but in the islands, I am more than eager to go out to meet the day.  And on this particular day, I was to board s/v Solstice, the custom Cape George Cutter 31, built from a bare hull by Paul Exner over the course of nearly a decade.

Our originally discussed itinerary was to meetup at Trellis Bay on June 4th, sail over to Virgin Gorda, followed by an all-day sail to St. Croix, where we would tour the island for a few days then head back to the BVI.  However,  much to my surprise, Paul suggested we sail over to Puerto Rico and tour the Spanish Virgins- Vieques and Culebra – returning back to the BVI at the end of the week.  I was thrilled!  Our third crew member Alex arrived, and after a meet and greet, a few swigs of “Botany Bay” rum, and a brief discussion of our trip, we hopped in the dink and motored over to Solstice.  Paul gave us a thorough tour of the boat and a safety briefing, then we weighed anchor to head off to Norman Island.

The Bight, Norman Island

As we approached the crowded mooring field in the The Bight, a large bay on the western side of Norman Island, Paul said, “Ryan, I want you on the tiller; Alex you’ll trim the yankee. We’re gonna have a little fun.”  We entered the anchorage with full sail and significant speed.  Being my first experience of mooring in a place like this, I fully expected to drop sails and motor to our mooring ball.  Well I was wrong.  We zipped through the mooring field, tacking within feet of the charter boats, zig-zagging through the anchorage with ease.  People were coming out on their decks, pointing and taking pictures.  It was a RUSH!  After a few of these victory laps, we sailed up to our mooring ball and dropped the sails, never turning on the engine.  The purpose of this exercise was to show us (and others) that it CAN be done. Though I probably wouldn’t try it singlehanded, it was a real confidence builder. I’d give anything to see some of those pics. :)  We finished the evening off with a snorkel around the neighboring reef and some dinner and drinks at the Willy-T, a steel barque converted to a raucous floating bar and restaurant.

Story time at Foxy’s

Do you ever wake up in the morning and have absolutely no idea where you are or what year it is?  Well, the next day was liked that for me.  I awoke down in the cabin (not without a slight hangover), and after a few blinky sluggish moments, I realized I was still aboard Solstice in an incredibly beautiful anchorage.  We got some coffee going, and while Paul whipped up some scrambled eggs, Alex and I got the boat ready to make sail.  After breakfast, we sailed off our mooring and headed northwest on a swift broad reach to Jost van Dyke, where we would check out of the BVI en route to Puerto Rico.  We killed that afternoon with Painkillers and conch fritters, storytelling, and the sounds of reggae at Foxy’s.  Monday was to be our longest sail of the trip – downwind to Fajardo, Puerto Rico – so an early departure was the plan.

Plotting on Paper

At 0200, alarms broke the snoring and slumber, and the ritual of readying Solstice began.  This typically meant securing the lee cloths in the cabin, stowing any loose gear, and tidying up the galley. On deck, Alex and I deflate and stow the dinghy, prepare the mainsail, shackle the halyards, and run the headsail sheets ensuring they’re fair and clear.  One of my additional responsibilities for our daily passages was navigation.  We had a chartplotter, but one of my primary points of focus on this trip was to learn navigation by paper charts.  So each morning (or the night prior), I would spend some time establishing a rough route plan, and whilst underway, would take a fix every hour plotting our position and course in the log.  Our plan for this day was a downwind sail of about 60nm , with St. Thomas and Culebra to port.  And at 0400, with a granola bar and an apple in my belly, we hoisted the main and pointed Solstice’s bow southwest out of Great Harbour for what was to be one of the best days of sailing I’ve ever had.  It just keeps getting better and better.

– Ryan

Sunrise over Jost van Dyke

Back in January, I volunteered to crew on the delivery of a Hanse 455 with Paul Exner (see Das Boot).  After a few days of bitter cold and uncertain weather forecasts, Cpt. Paul decided to cancel the trip.  Though we didn’t do any sailing, I learned a lot from him, and upon our departure he said “we will sail together one day.”  Little did I know it would only be a few months later!

Capt. Paul Exner

Paul runs a sailing expedition business out of Tortola, British Virgin Islands called Modern Geographic. I heard about his expertise through several blogs and my favorite podcast 59° North.   So one day in March, Paul posted on Facebook that he had an opening for a trip in June, and I jumped on it.   The deposit was on its way, and Paul had me working on my pre-trip “homework.”

The underlying theme of these expeditions is to take a sailor, professional or novice, to their next level, challenging their skills through a custom curriculum.   One of the things I took away from my brief time with him in Annapolis, was that Paul knows really knows his stuff when it comes to weather forecasting.  So this was to be one of my chief focuses for the following months up to the trip.   While reading Steve and Linda Dashew’s book, The Mariner’s Weather Handbook, I began analyzing 500mB and Surface Analysis charts on a daily basis, slowly building my understanding of marine forecasting and weather routing.   In addition, I wanted to learn from him the basics for navigation on paper charts, flying a spinnaker, and just generally advancing my sailing knowledge.

Two days after I sailed Lorilee up to Kemah, I boarded a 5 a.m. flight to St. Thomas – yes, it was a crazy week!  I flew down a few days prior to meeting up with Paul, so I could get in some “island time”  – which translates to spicy food, fruity drinks, and some great diving.  As soon as I touched down in St. Thomas, I had to rush over to the Tortola Fast Ferry to pick up the last trip of the day, and I was off to the BVI.

View from my AirBnB

After a somewhat stressful clearing into the country, I hopped in a cab and headed up to the room I rented through AirBnB.  A quick introduction from the host and a freshening up later, and I was out the door in search of that first cold beer.   On my way down the four flights of stairs, I bumped into another AirBnB patron who was staying there for the week.  A lot like hostels, AirBnB’s tend to attract like-minded travelers, and this instance was no different.  And thus the first night of this trip was spent in good company, with a few good drinks.

White Bay, Jost van Dyke, BVI

The next morning, I was bit too late to get on any dive boats, so my roommate and I decided to take a ferry over to Jost van Dyke for some beach time at White Bay.  I did some great freediving and snorkeling, topped off by half a dozen Painkillers and some conch fritters.   Apparently White Bay is a popular cruising spot, as the anchorage was quickly crowding up with chartered catamarans.  One cat had to have been over seventy-five feet.  Those boats aren’t my style at all, but damn they’re impressive to look at.   We headed back to Tortola that evening, cooked a few steaks, and had a few Heineken before calling it a night.

Freediving White Bay

On Friday, I managed to get on a dive boat at Nanny Cay that was heading out fairly early.    As we were headed to a spot called Angelfish Reef on Norman Island, we spotted a larger charter catamaran dragging a mooring – flying an American flag of course.  We managed to hail the captain, and as we approached, it became apparent the mooring was wrapped badly around his port side prop.  The divemaster, Megs – a petite 30-something from South Africa – offered to dive on the boat to free the mooring.  The skipper waved us off without even a “thank you”, and so we headed to the dive spot.  Megs said, “Bloody credit card captains.”  I laughed my ass off.    Our first dive was nothing short of spectacular.  In one dive, we saw giant rays, turtles, eels, and a reef shark.  It could not have been better.  So upon my return to Tortola, I capped off that awesome day with a solid two-hour nap and a super grande Painkiller at Pusser’s.  I could get used to this.

And with an amazing start to this trip, I headed over to Trellis Bay Saturday morning to meet up with Paul and his Cape George Cutter 31, Solstice, for a week of the best sailing I’ve done yet.

Now the real adventure begins.

Fair winds,

– Ryan

Leaving Rockport

The weather forecast was as follows: strong winds and heavy seas offshore Thursday and Friday, diminishing to 15-20 knots and 4-6ft seas Saturday, continually diminishing to 10-15 knots and 2-4 foot seas on Sunday.   Because of this and my distrust in some of the rig, I opted to take the ICW to Port O’Connor for the first leg of the trip.

Thursday afternoon, Dad and I headed to Kemah – my destination – to sign my slip’s lease and to leave behind our truck.  From there, we made way for Rockport.  As soon as we arrived, I set to work on all the last minute preparations.  Dad volunteered to go provision, whilst I bent the sails, scraped the prop and bottom, and secured the deck.

Allow me to preface this by saying that at this point, the wind was blowing hard at 25-30 knots out of the East-Southeast, with possibly even stronger gusts.  This made me somewhat uneasy.  Not only would it be the strongest winds that I would’ve sailed in, and being that my dad isn’t altogether that experienced with sailing, I’d be practically singlehanding.  This was going to be a challenge of everything I’ve learned to date.

Dad enjoying the comfy ride

However, we awoke early Friday morning to a reprieve in the wind – only blowing about 20 knots. After I made some coffee and a quick breakfast, we cast off the lines and made way out of Cove Harbor for the last time.  Since I was uncertain about the weather, I started with a double-reefed mainsail and staysail only.  For those nonsailors reading this, that means that I had about half the sail area up for the boat.  Lorilee is a cutter rig, so she has three primary sails – two headsails: a yankee and a staysail, and a large mainsail.  The mainsail can be reduced in size – or “reefed” – in order to reduce the wind’s power on the sail area.  This allows for easier control and keeps the boat upright in stronger wind.  So to start the day with prudence, I had a greatly reduced sail plan and I was glad for it.  Shortly after leaving the harbor, we got into open bay.  Lorilee handled the higher wind with ease.  Even under this short sail plan, we were easily making over six knots across Aransas Bay.

With Aransas Bay in our wake and a calm jaunt up the first stretch of inland Intercoastal Waterway, we began our crossing of San Antonio Bay.  This bay is notoriously shallow, with the ICW running right up the middle of it.  The ICW is particularly narrow as well, so there is not much forgiveness for a full keeled sailboat.  Because of the weather, barge traffic on the ICW was uncommonly light.  So feeling confident in my navigation and Lorilee’s sailing, we cruised across the Bay with relative ease.  Our last leg for the day before docking up in Port O’Connor was a long narrow stretch of inland ICW.  At this point, I saw a large double-stacked barge coming south, and because of the wind, it was what we call “crabbing” cockeyed down the channel.  To ensure that we had maneuverability when passing the barge, I decided to start the engine.  *Click*.  “That’s odd, I said.” So I gave it another turn, and nothing. Not even a click.  And down into the engine room I go.

Docked at Port O’Connor

Turns out there was a huge voltage drop across the main switch panel, so Dad took over so I could steer us past the barge, and he managed to jump start the engine.  Needless to say, I left the motor on all the way to the dock in Port O’Connor. Once safely docked up in Port O’Connor, a couple of cold beers and a shower later, we were ready to call it a day.  Right at sunset, however, we were greeted with a fairly intense storm.  The wind was howling, rain blowing in sideways, and lightening striking all around us.   My decision to stay inshore that night was strongly affirmed.  Both exhausted, Dad and I needed a good night’s rest before the offshore passage in the morning.  However, some white trash jackass on a powerboat insisted on blasting rap “music” until 2am, even after I asked him politely to turn it down.  ARRGGHH.

Tanbark drifter up in calm wind

Groggy and pissed off, we set off for the Port O’Connor jetties to head offshore.  The inbound current and swell coming through the jetty was much stronger than I had predicted.  With sails up and the engine at full throttle, we barely cleared the jetty.   After I made the turn to the northeast, I realized that the swell was much larger than predicted, and I needed more power to get through them.  So I quite literally crawled out on the bowsprit to launch the yankee (jibsail).  In 8-10 foot waves, this was an interesting experience to say the least.   Once the yankee was up though, we had enough speed to overcome the oncoming swell, and the boat was much more stable.   And thus we pointed her bow to Galveston, sailing beautifully all day and into the night.

And at about 0200, the wind totally slacked.  To keep steerage and headway, I reluctantly made the call to start the engine.  Dad and I were running two-hour watches, so I managed to catch up on some much needed sleep.  Dad had the sunrise watch, so I arose to a beautiful morning.  Flat seas and sunny.  The Houston Ship Channel was closed that day due to recent flooding, so tanker traffic was thankfully very sparse.  We rounded marker 05A at the Galveston jetty and made way under engine power all the way up to Kemah.

Being that it was Memorial Day weekend, every power boater in the area was headed out as we were coming in.  I had never seen such a parade of morons.   But without much ado, we had Lorilee docked up and nestled in her new slip.  Marina life is going to be a bit of an adjustment for me, but I’ll be very thankful to have my boat much closer.

Secured in her new slip

– Ryan

Rockport at Sunrise

Tomorrow morning Lorilee will begin her 200 nautical mile move up to Kemah.  I have some mixed feelings about leaving Rockport.  I’ve made a lot of great friends, and I love the area.  There’s great wildlife, abundant boating culture, and the town itself is pretty cool too.  However, I’ve been making the six hour round trip down there almost every weekend for the last fifteen months.  I’m finding myself getting less and less motivated to drive down there and work my arse off every weekend then turn around and come back.  It is time to move her closer.

Last weekend I wanted to take Lorilee out for a sail, just to get in any last minute changes I wanted to do before the move.  Though I had a friend with me, it was a somewhat difficult sail.  There was a light easterly breeze and frequent showers.  My friend knew almost nothing about sailing, so she was just along for the ride.  Shirt off, soaked, and barefooted, I tacked nine times single-handed up the bay.   I also wanted to try out my windlass for the first time, so we dropped anchor under sail, and hopped out for a swim.   After the swim, I raised the main to get some way, and hoisted the anchor.  This windlass is a BEAST.  Though it is manual, it took nearly no effort to crank in all the chain and the 35lb CQR.  We got all the sails up and pointed the bow back to the harbor.

The weather tomorrow is going to be a bit dodgy offshore.  They’re calling for 20-25kt winds with 6-8 foot seas.  Which means gusts up to 35 knots and occasional waves of over 10 feet.  For my first stretch offshore with Lorilee, I’m not entirely comfortable with that.  Six to eight foot waves might not sound like much to you seasoned sailors out there, but in the Gulf of Mexico, the swell period is usually much shorter than in other parts of the ocean on account of the very shallow water.  It’s like a washing machine. Up to ten miles offshore, one can see soundings of only fifty feet!   There is a low pressure trough sitting over West Texas, which is kind of squashing against the large high pressure system to the east.  This is going to make for some squally weather today and tomorrow, with strong onshore winds. However, conditions are expected to improve over the weekend, starting Saturday morning.

So the plan is to take her up to Port O’Connor tomorrow via the ICW, then hop offshore Saturday morning straight to Galveston.  Depending on our arrival in Galveston Sunday, we may dock or anchor up there overnight and make the move to Kemah on Monday.  My Dad will be joining me for the trip too.  I plan to take some more video along the way and intend to write about the trip next week.

Fair Winds and Foul Weather Gear!

– Ryan