I haven’t done much work to Eleanor since we got her. Carla and I have been putting our energy and Love into Splendid”s refit and restoration. I’ve had an idea in my heart of what Splendid should be since the day I got her, and that 

day has finally come, she’s finished! Here are a few pictures, but today I’m here to talk about Eleanor.

A few months ago I finally pulled the money together to buy two Panasonic 350 watt HIT solar panels, and I must say they are AWSOME! I haven’t run the generator (Honda 2000) since the day I plugged them in three months ago. They are so powerful my batteries are usually in float mode by noon. So what to do with all the extra power, WATER!

As you guys know I built a water maker a few years back, And I just want to say I’m not going to build another engine driven watermaker. Trading a gallon of diesel for 16 gallons of water is not very conscientious in my book, nor the way I wish to spend my time on this earth. There is a better way!

Efficient DC watermakers are expensive, over $7,000, and something I am just not able to afford. I did however find a heavily used Spectra 

Clark pump and pressure vessel for $1,200, and I bought them. The question is, will I regret it, the system looks pretty shot?

Rebuilding the clark pump is not cheap either but something I can toy with as I can afford parts, and the upside is about 8 gallons of water an hour for 10 amps. I can afford that with my solar system all day long, well almost, about half the day :)

My main goal with Eleanor is to make her an efficient home that Carla and I can grow old on as while we travel, and having a clean source of water is paramount in out home. I’m almost 53 and my shoulders are pretty shot. I guess that’s the result of sailing the majority of my life, but well worth it. However hauling 5 gallon jugs of water is getting old! I have high hopes for building a Spectra Cape Horn extreme out of this old clark pump.

Peace, love, and Coconuts guys.

– alex

2018 marks 15 years of freedom for me, and 28 years of sailing. I left the United States on a little 28′ sailboat (Namaste) in 2003 to sail around the world. And 15 years later, not having sailed around the world, I realize how much of a success this has been. After  a single-handed crossing of the Pacific I don’t feel the need to compete, justify, or tout my abilities as a sailor. My confidence is clear to me and I don’t feel I have anything to prove anymore.

I’ve seen so many men finish a circumnavigation only to return to the workplace, and the grind they were trying to escape in the first place. I always wounder how they could after experiencing the ultimate freedom of drifting through time on a sailboat. Money I guess, or perhaps their dreams were more sweet than the reality, who knows?

All know is I’m so grateful to have found the strength to set foot upon the world, to travel, to love, and to open my eyes no matter how dim, or bright the light. And the truth is, I’m just no good in society. I don’t play well with others as I’m always trying to reach farther, grasping at my dreams. I don’t know how to settle, not just yet at least.

For now Carla and I will outfit Eleanor for extended voyaging. We are talking about a Europe trip, but I have the feeling we will just get lost in the Pacific again as there are too many rules to abide by otherwise. The western world is just too loud for us. Insurance, police, protests, shootings, wars, politics, healthcare, tax cuts, blah, blah, blah.

My plan is to really unplug soon. I will keep HF radio, and email via HF radio to stay in touch with family and close friends, and that’s it. I’m tired of networks, bandwidth, looking for deals on the latest phones, and having to pay to have the loud signal of society bore into my brain as I get older. All I aspire to have is what I have now: Love, freedom, health. I am truly a rich man!

I quit blogging a year or so ago because I realized that my journey and path are my own. I’m glad I made Project BlueSphere and my sailing films however I’m finding it difficult to keep them online. My website seems to be under attack all the time and my host is always trying to hit me up for more money to protect it. At some point I’m going to have to let go of it all as I don’t want to be attacked anymore, or live in the fear, or with the expense, that it will undoubtedly happen again?

I’ve said it thousands of times throughout my blogging carrier. The world is a beautiful and safe place. For those of you who dream of a life sailing the world, start your journey by turning off the television and getting your information from people you trust. Actually social media is becoming just as bad if not worse, I’d get rid of it too or surely edit your feed to protect yourself from all the nonsense. Find your own signal. The one you make with your family and friends, and nurture it into a peaceful philosophy to live by.

Happy New Years everyone.

Alex

I’m sitting in a magaritaville (Panama city airport) and about to fly to Argentina for three weeks. I’m drinking a few Guinness and decided to write a blog.

As most of my know I write from my heart. I don’t give a shit about generating hits, money, or fame from my blogs, and I’ve been so uninspired since my country voted Trump into office. “uninspired” is an understatement, I’m ashamed! Oh wait, the people didn’t vote Trump into office, he lost by almost three MILLION votes? Don’t get me wrong I didn’t like Hillary but is this really where we are now? Is this “Democracy” ? Build your walls, and have your wars, the truth is its not my place to have an opinion anymore, I quit! My place in this crazy world is to live free and provide the same environment for my beautiful wife. We have obtained our Panamanian residency and Call Panama home now so knock yourself out.

I’m not blogging lately because I’ve lost the connection to my audience. I’m hoping to reconnect and inspire some people with my film “The Minimalist Sailor” which we will release next year. The script is good and we have already won a number of awards for story. It is always my agenda to inspire men who truly seek freedom to find it.

I miss you guys and blogging a few times a week, but the truth is I need to hear from you too? Where is everyone?

All I can say is I Love my wife, boat, and dog. I have no agenda to have money, land, or position. I don’t want walls boarders, hate, or segregation.

Peace my friends,

I hope everyone finds what they are looking for.

The RORC 600

When booking accommodations for a trip, I find it quite hard to imagine what the surroundings will be like.  I’m not one to spend a vast amount of time doing research on my destination, nor do I plan ahead when I arrive.  I suppose that’s why I like traveling – it’s more of an expedition for me, rather than a planned itinerary.  Meandering around, using nothing but a map, a hand-bearing compass, and the occasional inquiry to a local, I tend to walk around with light feet and open eyes.

I goofed a bit with this trip though.  It’s a bit difficult to judge walking distance when looking at a map, or even with Google Earth, but I booked a room “near” Falmouth Harbor. Well it turned out to be about an hour’s walk from the Antigua Yacht Club (AYC) – where I had to walk to and from every day for the next four days. Oh well. It was a cute place, and with my being on a 48-foot boat with nine other people for a week I figured I could use the exercise and fresh air.

So after checking in that Thursday morning I headed down to the harbor to scope things out.  As I strolled down the hill towards the anchorage, my first glances to the water were unforgettable – dozens, perhaps hundreds of cruising boats swinging at anchor, racing yachts all aflutter with preparation, and most noticeably a large number of superyachts. Now I’m not typically one to gawk at another’s pretentious show of wealth, especially by material things, but this was really something.  Some of these boats exceeded 200 feet in length, with their hand-polished brightwork and flawless presentation.  They were truly staggering to behold.

Falmouth Harbor, photo by Thomas Sarlandie

The area surrounding the AYC is quite charming.  There’s an area of shops and several delightful cafes – one called Seabreeze that has the best cappuccinos and another called Skullduggery with a great selection of adult beverages and their own brand of rum.  As I walked up to the AYC, I overheard an Irish gentleman on the phone saying something to the effect of “Hello Andy! I’ve arrived at the yacht club with your sail!”  I took a chance and introduced myself.  Turns out that by total happenstance this gentleman was John and would be a part of our crew!  We met with Andy and Mia shortly thereafter for some coffee and the rest of the crew for beers that evening.

Phaedo 3

I awoke the next morning and strolled back down to Falmouth Harbor. I found a nice little restaurant called Moshi that served up an excellent breakfast for only about $15 (very cheap for this island).  The energy at the yacht club was electric.  Race teams were bustling about with gear, doing interviews, and preparing their boats.  Cruisers were walking the docks taking pictures, and like me, in awe of the superyachts.  This race features some of the fastest boats on the planet, like the Mod70 trimarans Phaedo 3 and Maserati.  Seeing these machines in person, with their extraterrestrial hulls, is something truly amazing to behold.  And to share the same race course with them was once in a lifetime experience!

Isbjorn

I met with Andy and Mia for a cappuccino while we waited for the rest of the crew to arrive.  We hopped into the dinghy and buzzed out into the harbor to Isbjörn.  After listening to Andy’s podcast for years, seeing Isbjörn for the first time was a pretty surreal experience.  She’s simply gorgeous.  Sleek lines, a glistening navy blue hull, and the 59°North flag lapping the breeze, she lay to her anchor a true gem in Falmouth Harbor.

But the race was three days away and much to do remained.   We spent the remainder of Friday readying the boat, relocating unneeded gear to a John’s rented apartment, and last-minute provisioning.  Saturday and Sunday were spent practicing in the surrounding waters off the coast of southern Antigua.  Quick tacking, fine trimming, and flying the spinnaker.  It was determined early on that I was going to be working foredeck, so the spinnaker was my main focus – a skill that I have yet to really master.  In such a short few days, I felt we really came together as a crew. We were all here to have fun and improve our skills as sailors!

Danneskjold (photo by Mia Karlsson)

The morning of the race we met at the Seabreeze Cafe bright and early, and with everyone and their gear ferried aboard, Rory and I volunteered to row the dink back to where it would stay tied up at the cafe for the duration of the race.  This meant a fairly long swim back to Isbjörn – a wholly delightful way to start one’s day I might add!  Captain Paul gave us a quick weather and route orientation, the anchor was weighed, and we made course to the start line.

Isbjorn after the spinnaker launch. (photo by Tim Wright)

“5…4…3…2…1…START!”  an English-accented voice declared over the VHF radio, followed by the delayed boom of a cannon echoing from the cliffs.  The race was on!  Any sailing race begins with a bit of pandemonium, as boats are clawing at each other to get the upper hand at the starting line – except here the yachts are Maxi’s and Volvo Ocean boats. So between our gawking and pinch-me-I’m-dreaming moments, we had to focus on clawing our own way up the first windward beat around the corner of Antigua.   With a somewhat slow, but flawless spinnaker launch, we made our turn towards the first mark of the 600-mile course – Barbuda.

Rounding the buoy at Barbuda was probably my favorite moment of  the entire race.  As we prepared to douse the chute for our reach to Nevis, the 162ft Herreshoff gaff schooner Eleanora gracefully overtook us to leeward.  With the sun setting in the west and she under full canvas, this moment was truly majestic.  We all took pause to see her pass.

Eleonora passing us to leeward. (photo by Thomas Sarlandie)

The weather forecast for this week was indeed a strange one.  A fairly disorganized front was making its way very far south, so light variable winds were predicted from all corners of the compass.  However, the leg from Nevis to Saba was peppered with squalls and fluky wind.  On my off watch that night, we were hit with one particularly strong squall near Nevis, which saw gusts upwards of forty knots – not a terribly big deal for Isbjörn, but it certainly took us by surprise.

Squally weather with St. Kitts behind. (Photo by Mia Karlsson)

The following day sailing around St. Barth’s, St. Martin, and Tintamarre were outstanding.  Much to everyone’s surprise, we had a stiff northeasterly breeze with the passage of the front.  So our spirits were high, sailing was fast, and we held tight onto third place, as we made course on the longest leg of the race pointed at Guadeloupe.

Rounding St. Barth’s (photo by Tim Wright)

Then the wind slacked.  As the high moved over us and out of the area, the much dreaded calm parked on top of us, with a searing sun and a crystal clear sky.  Though it was beautiful (and I’m not complaining), we were racing after all, and at about 180 nautical miles this was our longest leg.  It was quite hot below, so sleeping was pretty much hopeless for me.   So in the shade of the mainsail, I sat and read O’Brian’s Thirteen Gun Salute and watched the off-gassing Montserrat slowly march by to starboard.  As I sank deeper into my book, a startling cry from the cockpit exclaimed “WHALE!”  Sure enough, a large humpback surfaced less than a hundred yards off our port bow.  The beast moved with such grace and speed, as if Isbjörn’s slow trajectory were never even a consideration.

Becalmed and giving up on the chute (photo by Mia Karlsson)

Then the wind totally died.  Everyone knew this was coming, so we hoped we could outsmart the competition by picking up a little offshore land breeze in the lee of high hills Guadeloupe.  It never came. And what little wind there was was just out of our reach to the west.  So we watched, tortuously, as our competition crept passed us one by one through the night.  The following day, the wind returned with gusto, and with it returned the excitement of the race.  We were back in the game!  As we beat around Îles des Saintes, Paul executed tack after tack with surgical precision, sailing right up to the cliffs, and gaining inch by inch on our relentless competition.  By this time, the wind had filled back into its trade position of E-SE, allowing us a strong close-reach to Les Désirade.

Tacking around Les Saints (photo by Mia Karlsson)

At about midnight, we began preparations to make the turning point of Les Désirade, where we would hoist the spinnaker for the 100nm downwind leg back to Barbuda.  Uncomfortably close to our port, Swan 44 Freebird had the same idea.  I could see their spotlights and hear their hurried voices.   So with red headlamp adorned and weary, I quickly rigged all of the control lines for the spinnaker launch.  Well… I goofed up the tack line, unfortunately. But with Andy’s help we got it all sorted out and had a successful launch just after making our turn.  Isbjörn is quite fast under spinnaker, and like a sleigh ride we walked straight away from the nearest competitors once again pointed at the Barbuda buoy.

Isbjorn under spinnaker

The last day of the race was perfectly uneventful.  Strong wind, comfortable seas, good food, and a happy crew.  We rounded the buoy at about 1300, and headed to our last course mark of Redonda Island.  That beautiful day was crowned by an absolutely beautiful sunset, with storytelling in the cockpit and Paul sharing his knowledge of pirate history in the Caribbean.

As we approached the finish line at English Harbor, Antigua, everyone aboard Isbjörn was wide awake with anticipation of completing the race.  We crossed the finish line – a green laser beam from the clifftop to the outer buoy – at 2:20am on the 25th, 111 hours and 20 minutes elapsed.  Elation, satisfaction, and total exhaustion filled the air as we slipped into the dark still anchorage of Falmouth Harbor.  With the anchor dropped and the champagne popped, we shared our highs and lows of the trip, sang songs, and imbibed until the sun came up.  But the celebration didn’t stop there – rum & coke with breakfast, our “prize” cases of Carib beer while we cleaned and organized Isbjörn, and more rum at the local beach bar.  This was probably the best (and longest) day of my adult life.

“ISBJORN!”

We all parted ways on Sunday.  Tired, content, and somewhat melancholy.   Contact info, pictures, and hugs exchanged.  This trip not only enforced my critical sailing skills like spinnaker handling, but it taught me more confidence as a sailor and a seaman.  Most importantly, it taught me what it’s like to press a boat hard for multiple days continuously.  It’s hard work, but I know now that I can do it.  I see adventures like this not only as experiences or a check in the box, but rather as critical stepping stones in my path to achieving a life of freedom at sea.

Peace, Love, and Spinnaker Goofs

-Ryan

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.

Every time I sit down to write a blog, the first thing I do is come up with a blog title. The title of my blog shapes my words, gives me inspiration, and helps me plot the course of my thoughts and ideas.  I still sit down a few times a week to write a blog but every time I try and think of a blog title, the same one keeps popping in to my head, “Goodbye”.

I’ve lost connection, and I’m not talking about bandwidth.

When I set out to spend a life at sea fourteen years ago it was for freedom, real freedom. Not the American/Western idea of freedom where one is enslaved to credit cards, debt, bills, social responsibility, opinions, or chasing dollars, or keeping up with the Joneses. And when I started blogging it wasn’t for money or notoriety. It was simply to take other men on my journey searching for freedom, and perhaps to inspire them to do the same.

Fourteen years later I can safely say that I am free, and I found so much more than I was looking for.

While most of my readers are concerned with blue or black lives, who stands or sits during an anthem, or what bathroom a transvestite should use I’m living a peaceful life in Parisise swinging from my hammock, that’s my reality. I wake up when my body tells me to and my day is shaped by the weather and the natural world around me. I don’t need the distractions of nonsense in my life. This morning it’s cloudy and I find that I can manage a few, very hard to find, words for my blog.

Carla is sleeping peacefully with Nacho in the aft cabin and all is right as rain. No Muslims are attacking me, I don’t have Zika, and I’m not concerned with what color (red or blue) of criminal my fellow Americans decide to elect as their next president. My heart and thoughts are clean this morning. I don’t socially participate in Facebook anymore as it was really bringing me down, and I’m focused on the people directly connected to my life. As a result I’ve lost my connection to my readership.

I don’t know if I can continue blogging. The truth is, if you really are concerned with building walls, where people pee, and drawing lines in the sand I don’t want you to read my words as you are the problem! If you are more concerned with your own opinions, supporting a 2-party system, not educating or caring for the needy and less fortunate, I don’t have time for you. I’m not, nor have I ever tried to connect with sheep. I’m only concerned in connecting with real-men who want out of the system. If you’re just going to dream about sailing I’m not really interested to let you into my life or provide you any sort of entertainment.

If you really are struggling with how to get out of the system and are serious about pulling the plug, even if you don’t have a dime to your name, I’m here to share my energy with you. I’m here to answer questions, emails, and to share my life with you. If you are interested please contact me through email or www.projectbluesphere.com.

Also my creative energy has shifted to my filmmaking efforts. I’ve been writing full time for the last 18 months or  so. “The Minimalist Sailor” (feature film project) demands most of my creative time. I also find it very difficult to shift gears writing fiction back to reality blogging.

I think this blog will post to Facebook. If you have something to say please take the time to comment at www.projectbluesphere.com as I don’t like communicating through Facebook. Or simply email me (alexdorsey at gmail) I’m sure you can figure out to replace “at” with @ and add a .com to the end of my email address.

Peace, Love and Coconuts

Sail far and live slowly.

– alex

Edited with BlogPad Pro