We just got news that our one-year extended-stay visa for French Polynesia was approved. And a French Polynesian yacht agent, a niece of a friend, will offer her services gratis to arrange in Papeete our immigration and customs affairs. Happy Birthday to me.
We initiated the process to get a 90-day, three-island cruising permit. We don’t plan to be in the Galapagos much longer than 20 days, which, were we to stay on only one island, entry fees would cost about $1350. But Leslie feels that since we’re there, and that it’s not likely we’d get another chance, might as well try to see more of the islands and make the experience as extraordinary as we can. All in, permits and fees for all three islands will probably come in south of $2000. This will perhaps be the most expensive stop in our multi-year journey. Because of the high cost, most cruisers skip it, so Happy Birthday to me.
After some technical reading and some help from Sailmail tech support via email, I figured out how to get our HAM/SSB radio working well. We can now drive the radio remotely through an email/weather fax application. Leslie and I also attended a webinar on marine SSB radios, giving an overview of the equipment and how to take full benefit of having a radio on board. Joseph from Horizon helped me navigate the software on our laptop to drive the radio. He also showed how to use a couple other handy navigational applications, extremely helpful. The radio, Pactor modem, USB GPS, and laptop are all working well together. I was so happy about it that I couldn’t sleep. Happy Birthday to me.
Leslie received all the medical supplies from our list. Germs don’t stand a chance on our boat. Happy Birthday to me.
After a couple of weeks of price adjustments, Leslie sold our 13-year old Toyota minivan. We did a lot of living through that van. Sad and glad to see it go. Now, only the Prius remains. Happy Birthday to me.
Talking with Dr. Dave and the Maritime Institute of San Diego, I’m thinking of taking the two weeks and spending the $1000-$1200 to get my Federal captain’s license before we leave for Mexico next month. Online courses, in-person teaching support, a physical, drug test, background check, a couple of photos, an exam and an application, and I’d have it. We’ll see, but Happy Birthday to me anyway.
Dan and Lydia on Amadora invited us over for a wonderful dinner, while offering us advice on places to moor Kandu and how to get around Puerto Vallarta, a place with which they are very familiar. They even told us which busses, shuttles, and taxis to take to get to Costco and Walmart, our last stops for provisioning before sailing to the Galapagos. Happy Birthday to me.
After having lived aboard Kandu for exactly one year, we leave Ventura West Marina for the Ventura Yacht Club tomorrow. Although we’re not leaving Ventura Harbor for a few days, psychologically it’s feeling like the preparation phase is transitioning into the departure. Of course, our departure is the grandest birthday gift of all (apart from a healthy and happy family of course). Our stay at VWM has been wonderful. The office found us a slip closer to like-minded live-aboards, allowing us to stay as long as we needed. VWM is a clean and well-run facility. If you’re looking for a place to live aboard your boat in Ventura Harbor, we highly recommend you consider it. Best of all, you’ll meet the families, couples, and persons who we’ll forever carry in our hearts, people who have been emotionally and physically constructive in the preparation of our departure. Their advice and encouragement helped our family through many challenges. We leave, sad to know it will be a while, if ever, before we meet them again; a phenomenon that will play out for the next several years as we make and leave friends all around the world. Happy Birthday to them all . . . .
Last Thursday night having dinner at my cousin Pascale’s place, her husband Scott, an avid reader of the blog, bemoaned the recent lack of posts. “Black out,” he called it. “Don’t leave me hanging,” he said, wanting to know what’s happened with the radio, the doctors, the waterline, etc. Getting so close to departure, tasks are compressing. Arguably this post would be better broken into 10 separate posts so as not to overwhelm the time-constrained reader. Honestly, to delay this entry would be to compound the issue. I feel compelled to share these experiences as they happen, or risk that they’ll be buried by incoming experiences. It gives a sense of the density of our days as we prepare for departure. So, for the time-pressed, I recommend this post be read in sections, revisited later as time becomes available. Here’s a not-so-brief update:
Upon meeting the sailing doctors and their sons at the yacht club that fortuitous Sunday breakfast, the doctors offered their expertise, volunteering to go through our medical books, our medical supplies, and to teach us how to suture. This eclectic family is down-to-earth and generous with their time, knowledge, and resources. Understanding our pending departure schedule, they invited us to their home in the Ventura Keys that following Tuesday evening. With their catamaran “Gone Native” docked outside their beautiful three-story home, Ryan and Wesley set Bryce and Trent up in the entertainment area to watch a movie, while Leslie and I got a higher level crash course in blue-water cruising first-aid.
Drs. Dave and Desi helping Leslie and Eric (photo Dina Pielaet)
After sorting through our ship’s library of medical books, describing the value they’d place on each, we were able to eliminate the largest, the Physician’s Desk Reference. Other, smaller books in our library have similar information and are more pertinent to our circumstances of being in foreign ports. Drs. Dave and Desiree “Desi” then looked at our medical kit. Pleased with its size and organization, they immediately & generously augmented it with more, less readily available supplies.
Dr. Desi instructs suturing with Eric (photo Dina Pielaet)
Then we were off to suturing school (their kitchen counter and dining room table). We learned on a persimmon and later on a tangerine how to inject Lidocaine into a laceration, numbing deeper and deeper the edges before sewing their skins back together, practicing how to keep and guard a sterile environment (breathing while working is okay, but talking introduces spittle).
Earlier that day, our media partners, Dina and Marc, and I spent the morning laying out our goals for the website, social media channels, and the video channel. We also discussed getting our circumstance into the hands of educators to use as a learning tool. That’s been more difficult than expected. We’re all looking forward to the new website and logo that Dina’s developing. They captured in photos and on video the medical discussion mentioned above.
Throughout the week, I worked on the SSB radio install. Turning it on, I found significant interference and troubleshot it. To clean up and dress the wires, I tied the antenna wire between the antenna tuner and the antenna to other wires along the way. Not good. This turns the neighboring wire into an antenna as well, so I separated it.
Rewiring SSB radio antenna wire.
That helped. We motored in the marina channel, away from the field of masts that normally surround Kandu, and that helped even more to reduce the radio frequency interference (RFI, aka, static). I can make out Hawaii’s time signal well enough for now, but I want to fix this noise thing before we leave. There’s still some RFI, possibly due to dirty power. Instead of the circuit breaker panel, I need to connect the radio’s power wire directly to the battery, with a fuse in between.
Friday, prior to the evening’s meal, I performed my PowerPoint presentation before the Ventura Yacht Club members. The upstairs dinning area was packed, nearly standing room only. My ego tells me it was because they were interested in my awesome program, but it was most likely the evening’s menu and bar drink specials that brought them in. Uncle Bill and Auntie Annie showed up with several friends. The doctor family surprisingly showed up, having delayed their ski trip for better snow. I spoke for about 45 minutes, describing what we did to prepare Kandu for our trip: water, fuel, power, communications, and safety. It was well received. My favorite comment from club members was, “I didn’t know you were so funny.” I started off the presentation with, “We have already bought and installed the solutions I’m presenting to you tonight. There are many ways to solve these problems as most of you can contest. I’m only describing what choices we made. We’re about to leave, so if you have a better idea, keep it to yourself or cough up the money to pay for it.” The comment got a good laugh. After the presentation, a couple people suggested low-tech, affordable solutions for stopping smaller water intrusions: expanding foam insulation in a spray can and the wax used in a toilet ring. So I bought and stowed the two items the next day.
The doctors reminded us to provide them with a list of medical supplies on the boat, and those we thought we needed. We worked on putting the list together.
It rained Friday, Saturday, and cleared late Sunday morning as predicted. That Sunday afternoon, the twins, Ryan and Wesley offered Gone Native as a chase boat to take Dina and Marc on a photo and video shoot outside Ventura Harbor.
Marc Brown shooting Kandu (photo Dina Pielaet)Ryan Harris aboard Gone Native outside Ventura Harbor (photo Dina Pielaet)Wesley Harris helms Gone Wild during photoshoot (photo Dina Pielaet)
The dark grey clouds of the parting rainstorm made for a dramatic backdrop. The calm silvery seas made the catamaran a steady platform. We got some great shots of the four of us sailing Kandu.
Kandu on the silvery water off Ventura Harbor (photo Dina Pielaet)
Once the radio issue was well enough resolved, on Wednesday, Bryce’s former 7th grade science teacher came to the boat to check out our skin diving and spearfishing equipment, and to give us some recommendations and pointers (pardon the pun) on how to free dive safely and longer on one breath. He got us all excited to condition our lungs to be able to hold our breath longer, swimming to depths greater than 35 feet.
Thursday morning, we packed up the Toyota Prius and drove up to Northern California to celebrate Leslie’s aunt’s 75th birthday with Leslie’s family and family friends. On the way up, we worked on the medical list, Leslie typing away on her laptop, accessing the internet via our phone’s data “hotspot.” Around 4 p.m., we stopped off in Santa Cruz to see Philip Lima at his media studio, a young family friend who happens to be a video drone specialist. We left him with our video drone and some parts he recommended to upgrade it. He kindly offered to install the upgrades before giving us a lesson on how to fly it on Sunday. Philip’s younger brother, Brandon was there too. He said he’d try to have his girlfriend, a training physician assistant, meet us on Sunday as well, to instruct us on how to administer an IV.
We arrived in Oakland late that Thursday evening. That weekend was Martin Luther King’s Birthday, a Federal holiday providing Monday off for schools, government offices, and some businesses. During the drive up, we heard on the car radio that Oakland Police would be on high alert; all police officers were to be on duty, no time off granted. This was due to protests staged weeks earlier surrounding the acquittal of another light-skinned American police officer who killed another young unarmed dark-skinned American man. The acquittal upset some East Bay Area residents enough to inspire them to shut down the busy freeway that passes through Oakland, a dangerous action for the protesters and an economically injurious action against the city. Our family was not in Oakland for the actual MLK Monday holiday, but Friday and Saturday, we visited without incident many areas throughout Oakland. When hearing of turmoil in the foreign countries we’re visiting, it will likely be similar; the real danger, more isolated than the reported threat. Not that we’re planning to visit any “hot” spots any time soon, if ever.
Friday, after touring Jack London Square, posing with his statue and the micro cabin he inhabited during his gold rush days in the Yukon, we lunched in Oakland’s Chinatown where they served hand-made noodles and delicious dumplings. I visited alone my aunt Marge, turning 86 soon. I missed her over Christmas. She’s in excellent health. I don’t know how long before we return and what her circumstances might be then, so I wanted to spend some time reminiscing about our family, how much she has meant to me, and telling her more about our plans. Her son was also very supportive of our adventure. I couldn’t help but think this may be the last time we see each other, but then again, her mother/my grandmother lived to 103!
Jack London stops to pose with kindred spirit, Eric RigneyTrent and Bryce note that Jack London lived by himself in a space equivalently shared by four of us!
Saturday, after spending time in the morning with previous LA neighbors visiting around Lake Merit, Leslie’s parents threw a great dinner party for Aunt Meg’s birthday. We got to see the family one more time before shoving off. “I thought you’d be long gone by now,” was the most common comment. “We did too,” was the start of our response, followed by our explanation of the delay. Back when I worked at Sony, the professional electronics sales guys joked that Sony was an acronym for “Soon, Only Not Yet,” describing the company’s practice of delaying release of new products, presumably until they met the strict quality controls of the engineers. News of a poorly operating device would be more costly than a delay in its release.
Sunday morning, we said our good-byes to Leslie’s parents, with a promise to meet up in San Diego. Later that morning, we met up as planned at Brandon and Philip’s parent’s ranch house with its spectacular 360o view of Watsonville valleys.
Morning view from S&P Ranch in Watsonville, CA
Brandon’s girlfriend, Marisela had prepared a makeshift IV school. After twice watching on the big screen television a YouTube video demonstrating the procedure, we practiced on a rolled up towel that Marisela had prepared. Then it came time for the real thing. With Marisela over my shoulder, I prepared everything for a sterile IV insertion into Leslie’s arm. Not feeling confident in finding Leslie’s vein in her inside elbow joint, I asked if I could go where I could plainly see them, on her hand. Marisela said that the hand is the most painful area to try, but Leslie said go for it. After two failed attempts, no longer wishing to subject Leslie to further pain, I set up the tourniquet for the mid arm. I got the vein, but pulling the needle out while leaving the catheter in, I hadn’t applied enough pressure on the vein above the catheter to prevent Leslie’s dark red blood from oozing out of her arm. Bryce, videoing the procedure, looked uneasy. With encouragement from Marisela, I applied more pressure, finished the set up, and wiped up the blood. After a minute of thumbs-up pictures, we worked on removing the IV.
On the third attempt, Eric successfully inserts IV into Leslie (photo Paulette Lima)
Then it was Leslie’s turn to practice on me. My veins are apparent, so Leslie went straight for the most prominent one on my forearm. Just before insertion, in walked our doctor friend, Dr. Dave Harris, and his son, Ryan; they had just driven up from Ventura to participate in our drone flying lesson. With a full audience, Leslie expertly inserted the needle, applied pressure to the catheter, and removed the needle, holding the catheter in place in my vein. Not a drop of blood escaped. Properly taped up, we took our pictures, removed the IV, and thanked Marisela profusely.
Leslie inserts into Eric an IV like a pro (photo Paulette Lima)
As Marisela rushed off to bake a cake for her sister’s birthday, we headed outside to learn the basics of drone flying from Philip. He brought two of his own copters plus the one he rebuilt with upgrades for us. Carefully, he provided detailed instruction on how to prepare for flight, how he configured our radio controller, and how the different controls work. He explained the upgraded “telemetric” data visible in the drone’s camera monitor, which let’s us know what’s happening with the drone’s systems (its location, altitude, our location, power, etc.).
Brandon Lima watches as the Rigneys and the Harrises get quadcopter flying lesson from brother, Philip Lima (photo Paulette Lima)
He demonstrated the most basic flight skills: take off, forward, backward, side-to-side, and landing. He then showed us more advanced moves, counseling that we should first fly the craft 10 times without the camera in a safe open area with soft landing terrain, until we could fly it comfortably in a figure eight pattern. Once achieved, then fly 10 times with the camera, incorporating the figure eight, before setting off to fly in less open areas. After we each took a turn flying our drone, Philip brought out his new “toy,” DJI’s new quadcopter, Inspire. So modern and “James Bond” looking, auto retracting landing gear and all. He flew it far away into the valley, beyond sight, and back, effortlessly capturing great 4k images along the way. Philip made phenomenal image capturing look easy. “You’ve just got to do it a lot,” he advised. Before we left the Lima family, I asked if we could see some of Philip’s aerial videography to give us all a frame of reference as to what “good” looks like: Santa Cruz coastline, Capitola pier and riverside, Big Sur coastline and bridge, and both ski-chair and wakeboard professionals pulled behind a ski boat on a lake. We all left in awe, inspired to capture our own spectacular imagery. Our cars packed, we said our thank you’s and farewell’s, and drove back the 5 hours to Ventura. In terms of learning valuable skills rarely attained by average cruisers, Sunday ranks as one of the most amazing days ever. Leslie and I love learning this stuff, one of the favorite aspects of the trip.
On the way back to Ventura, we further refined our medical list, a consolidation of recommended items from two different marine medical how-to books, and of supplies already accumulated. From the car, we were able to email it to our doctor friends. Later that week, Leslie honed the list with Dr. Desi, who wrote us the prescriptions necessary to fulfill the list. Off to Costco Leslie went. A day or two later, Dr. Dave and Dr. Desi came by Kandu to instruct us on proper use of the more temperamental of the medications–another great learning session. Epinephrine, the medication used to abate anaphylactic shock, a dramatic and possibly deadly allergic reaction to things like peanuts, bee stings, shellfish, and whatever else, is one that’s dose must be carefully considered. Too much epinephrine (adrenaline) can over-stress a person’s heart and arteries with potentially lethal consequences. “Do no harm,” cautioned Dr. Desi.
On Monday, we arranged the equipment acquired over the weekend, and ordered from Amazon more parts and accessories for our GoPro cameras. Trent, Bryce, and I finished consolidating and environmentally protecting (earthquake, flood) all of our personal items into the one storage unit where our affects now reside. Over the past months, we reduced our storage needs from four units to one. To be clear, we haven’t whittled our possessions down to monk-like austerity. With what we’ve retained, we could furnish a small home with little missing. Still, this day’s culmination represented a significant milestone, bringing great relief. Leslie reposted our ads to sell our minivan, lowering the price.
Tuesday, I focused on the ground tackle (anchors, chain, and ropes) ordering new chain and nylon rode (anchor rope) for our secondary bow anchor and our stern anchor. Wednesday, we brought from the secondary storage unit all the Kandu stuff we were still storing, loading up the cockpit. Thursday and Friday were spent finding places to stow all that stuff.
Kandu’s cockpit filled with stuff to stow.
Waterline update: I learned yesterday that every inch of a Tayana 42’s (Kandu’s make and model) waterline depth represents 1474 lbs of added weight. Since loading up, Kandu’s waterline has risen about 3.5 inches, the equivalent of 5200 lbs. That’s 1500 lbs. more than the Toyota Sienna we’re trying to sell! The good news is we’ve balanced our load so that our waterline is level, and we have 1.5-2.0 inches to spare, a decent margin for keeping most of the barnacles off. The soon-to-arrive anchor chain and rode will level us off just fine, with adequate waterline to spare—another great stress reliever.
Today, Joseph Paravia from Horizon, who with his wife, Marcy recently completed a 1.5 global circumnavigation and just happens to be four boats down from our slip, showed me how to send and receive email over radio, and how to download weather faxes and GRIB files as well. In the process I refined what needed to be done to get our SSB/HF radio capable of supporting these important functions. By the end of the day, I had a ‘simple’ list: move the radio’s power wire to a cleaner source, configure the laptop’s COM ports (learning curve) so I can remotely control the radio, and get the radio to see the GPS (a setting in the GPS that Gary from Dockside Radio told me about solved this problem). I’m getting close to having that radio work for us.
Leslie lowered the price on the van even further, almost half of our first sale price. As they say, “you can price to keep, or price to sell.” Over the past three days, I have been getting the boys up at 6 am to surf at dawn. They love it. Afterwards, they helps us get things done, or do their school work.
Ventura Marina dawns
So tomorrow, I’ll work on the radio list. And if I have time, I’ll install the anchor chain and rode. I then need to sort through our navigational paper charts, the last of the big tasks that must be performed in Ventura.
We’re knocking off tasks, getting close to departure, hoping to leave Ventura this coming weekend (my 55th birthday is Friday), yet anything can happen to delay it, still probably only for a few days to at most a week. Oddly, I’m not excited yet. I won’t allow myself the pleasure until the big things are done, vegetables before dessert. When that day comes, I have a cigar that my friend, Juan Cruz offered me from his country of origin, Dominican Republic. I rarely smoke, but somehow, seeing all those movies and television shows growing up, smoking that cigar seems an appropriate way to punctuate one of the most significant days of my life. The brandy won’t be so bad either. Cheers (soon, only not yet) . . . .
Yesterday, wiring up for our new SSB/HF radio, I was frustrated. I’m tired of working on Kandu. Sick of it. Mixing metaphors, it’s like sand collapsing around the tunnel I’m trying to dig, covering the light at the tunnel’s end. More money, more mess, more solving a couple potential problems en route to knocking out the current one, and more delays on our departure date. While Leslie and the boys are enjoying a little extra leisure time with the grandparents in Palm Springs, I’m all “asses and elbows” trying to get the wires in for the new radio. Nothing goes as quickly as I think because, like a pregnant lady forgetting how painful the previous delivery was, I forget how long other tasks took. I only recall the high-level overview of the tasks and the feelings of accomplishment that follow it. The forgotten nitty-gritty takes time, more than my memory seems capable of retaining. Instead of three or four days, it takes seven or eight; a very deflating feeling. I sometimes wonder if I’ve enough air left in my ‘optimist’ balloon. Unlike some sailors, I can’t just drill holes and pull the wires through the ceiling, or through two hanging lockers (closets) and several compartments to get them to their intended destination and call it a day. Noooo, . . . instead I have to complicate things and label all the wires in case I have to solve a problem in the future, so as not to forget where each wire goes. I have to make sure the cables are all dressed neatly, even though only I or the next technician or person who owns this boat will ever see it. When selecting and installing a solution, I’m compelled to consider ergonomics, about future expansion, about servicing the units. This all takes time, adding to the installation time and delaying our departure, and yet I won’t do it differently. I believe that the extra effort I’m making now will help me in the future, adding evermore to the “delayed gratification” side of the fun scale equation. I should win a prize for delayed-gratification. But even if I did, it wouldn’t make me happy or less frustrated. I want to play. I want to have untempered fun. But it’s not like I can quit. After all this, could you imagine? I can’t. Not possible. So I keep going. Keep making progress, one small step at a time. Annoyed. Looking for a better day.
And then it happens . . . .
This cold Sunday morning, while finishing up my eggs Benedict and orange juice at the Ventura Yacht Club (my favorite breakfast), a club member introduces himself, says he can’t make my talk on Friday (I offered to give a presentation, describing some of Kandu’s systems. Yacht clubs appreciate this kind of thing, listening to how someone preparing for a circumnavigation solved some of the problems associated with such an undertaking. It’s a way to give back to the sailing community that is so helpful towards its vagabond ilk), but wanted to know about our planned route. Turns out, Dave and his wife, Desiree, are physicians who’d sailed Gone Native with their two young sons around the Med for several years before sailing across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, and eventually transiting the Panama Canal before returning back to Ventura: four and half years. They had a wealth of information about cruising and getting visas, and, as practicing physicians, offered to help us set up our medical kit tomorrow evening, review our medical books, and recommend some apps for our smart phones and tablets. As he spoke, I could actually feel a weight lift from my shoulders, my upper-body tingled with the release of long-held pressure. He said that they would now be our first call (or satellite text) should we ever have a medical issue, and to know that they will pick up. I couldn’t stop smiling. As much as yesterday was a turd of a day, today was turning into a gem. While David spoke to me, Desiree spoke to Leslie and their two sons, Ryan and Wesley, now 18+, spoke to Trent and Bryce. The boys heard first-hand of the young men’s adventures, how they attended a French school, caught lobsters and all kinds of fish, and learned to surf. Trent said, after hearing them speak with such enthusiasm, he thought that this trip might actually be a lot of fun. What a great way to start the day!
Then when I got back to Kandu, I met up with Joe, who was patching up the gelcoat (a thick, paint-like material for fiberglass) on Kandu’s dodger (the windshield enclosure that surrounds the front half of the cockpit). Asking how he patches and paints gelcoat, he kindly gave me a lesson and showed me how, listing all the supplies I’d need and where to buy them. I learned so much, and he was such a great teacher that I feel confident that I will be able to patch up Kandu’s gelcoat when the time arrives, provided of course I buy and stow the supplies before we leave.
Both of these experiences happened before noon today. I am rejuvenated and happy again, so much so that I took the rest of the day off, not wanting to return to the challenge of the wiring job just yet, but choosing instead to savor the feeling of satisfaction and gratitude that filled me. Later this evening, my aunt, Annie, threw us a “Non-Voyage” party, celebrating our eventual departure–just not yet. What a difference a day made, from a ‘two’ to a ‘ten’ in the matter of a few hours. As the early 1970’s kitten poster proclaimed, when at the end of your rope, just “Hang In There, Baby!”
Iconic 1970’s inspirational poster.
Educational Alert; some background about the radio: Among the cruising community, the high-frequency (HF)/single-side band (SSB) radios are often called “HAM” radios after the land-based amateur radio community that supports their use. To use the radio in the HF radio frequency bands, an operator must pass an FCC test to get a license. To use the SSB frequencies, a ship must purchase a license that then resides with the ship–no test. Internationally, this license is required for the commonly used very high frequency (VHF) radios that sailors employ to communicate with port authorities, safety personnel, and other boats within the line of sight. It’s signals don’t travel as far as the HF and SSB frequencies can. I passed the test and also purchased a license for Kandu.
The radio that came with Kandu was a great radio in 1987, the best model available. I thought that it would be fine, until I tried hooking it up to our other modern equipment and learned that this radio would not be supported by the email provider if there was a communication failure. Today’s radios marry with computers; the two talk to each other. For email, the computer can automatically drive the radio to search the various frequencies provided by the software and find the station with the clearest and strongest signal for our given location at that time, and then automatically send and receive the ship’s email. There’s even an “Email” button on the face of the radio. For weather, various weather services broadcast a variety of free weather faxes, each providing a specific type of view, forecast, or analysis for a given region. With newer radios, crew can schedule their laptop to automatically drive the radio, capturing the preferred faxes onto the laptop. With the older radio, the operator must manually tune the radio and antenna to the scheduled frequency. One miss-pushed button or forgotten step, and there are many on the older radio, the signal is rendered inaudible or unusable and the window for capturing that day’s information is lost. The new ones automatically tune the radio and tuner, with better filters and noise reduction, thus increasing the likelihood of receiving the day’s information. And it’s easy to set up the night watch to capture it, just turn on the radio and the computer. The rest is automated. Email and weather data were not available to cruising boats when I last sailed across the Pacific 25 years ago. Today’s blue-water sailors have grown accustomed to these services, which during a long passage are the highlight of the day. I want our adventure to be as pleasant and enjoyable as possible so that the crew (especially mama) will enjoy the experience. Email and weather reports will help this cause. And so, I go through the trouble of upgrading our SSB/HF radio.
Driving home from Cabrillo Middle School in our minivan, Leslie became so overcome with emotion that I asked that I drive. It would be the last day of school for Bryce and Trent. The boys started the mid-December morning somewhat excited by the prospect of bailing on traditional school, at least for awhile. After the office handed Bryce and Trent their sign-off papers, we were off on an administrative scavenger hunt to collect the the required signatures. First stop, the library where the boys had to drop off their text books, affirm they hadn’t any outstanding library books, and capture the first of many approval signatures for the day. Five different teachers would need to assign them their grades, assessing the work they’d completed thus far in the given subject. The last signature would be that of a school councilor.
School’s Out Forever . . . Bryce and Trent get their walking papers.
Throughout the day, the experience was version of a similar story: the teacher in each class announced to the classmates the boys’ departure and wished them safe travels, some read aloud the letter I provided, explaining why the boys were leaving and the voyage we planned to do. One of Trent’s teachers even encouraged the classmates to write a personal farewell note to Trent. By the end of the day, the boys were emotional too, surprised by the number of classmates they had found to be caring friends, and the degree to which those friends expressed sorrow in light of their pending departure. The boys were deeply touched. Even Bryce, who tends to react more stoically and nonchalant about such matters, expressed how much his classmates meant to him.
With the hope of sharing our experience, several Cabrillo Middle School science teachers and a top administrator discussed with us the possibility of connecting their classrooms with us, introducing the Cabrillo students, possibly via Skype or FaceTime, to other classrooms from other countries–a service we’re excited to provide, facilitating a cultural exchange that we feel is important for young people, allowing us to share a part of Bryce and Trent’s experiences with kids their age. We hope to make something wonderful and inspiring happen. Additionally we take with us more than our fond memories as we were given by the school a small token with which to photograph around the world. Fittingly, the symbol of Cabrillo Middle School is that of a mariner.
Bryce and Trent hold the Cabrillo Middle School Honor Roll emblem we plan to photograph in exotic locations.
Ventura’s Cabrillo Middle School was good to Bryce and Trent, as was Pierpont Elementary School and Miss Bird to Trent. The boys are posting the experience of leaving Cabrillo, their last day. Trent is publishing his first, Bryce’s is soon to follow.
Soon Leslie and the boys will be posting their observations, providing a broader perspective of our family’s journey. But for now, it’s still just me. On Christmas Eve, after hearing my views regarding our upcoming trip, a female family friend asked, “. . . and what does she think?” referring to Leslie of course. A husband puts himself at risk when he dares to speak for his wife, but I’m obviously a bit of a risk-taker. You’ll hear directly from Leslie soon. In the meantime, here’s my take on my better half’s feelings at this, the most difficult stage of the adventure.
“We gave up everything for this trip” was her expression last week. “We left our careers; vacated our house; and stored, lent, sold, or gave away our possessions. We left our family and friends, and pulled our boys from school and their friends. We pulled them from their activities: piano, choir, Rock Stars, soccer, basketball, swim team, and Boy Scouts. We moved into an inconvenient lifestyle: a cramped, low-tech, maintenance hungry environment. We’ve spent more money than expected and are taking more time than planned to get ready for this thing.” She’s concerned that at the spending rate of these past two years, we’ll be out of money in another two or three years; thus ending our trip.
Some people, when they ask us when we’re leaving, say it with a knowing tone, implying that we’re either over-complicating the process, or overly concerned about unimportant things, or too inexperienced to leave. “So, what’s the new departure date? Got one yet?” This embarrasses Leslie and the boys.
Last week, dropping Bryce and Trent off at school for what could be our last time for many years, Leslie succumbed to an overwhelming feeling of having to bear alone the responsibility of their educational futures, “You’ll be working on the boat, leaving the burden of their education to fall on me. You won’t do it, so I’ll have to, and I don’t feel capable of providing that type of education that I had without the help of the school system. It’s overwhelming.”
Leslie makes clear tasks take 40% greater effort to perform on a boat as compared to the same task on land. Doing simple daily chores such the dishes and the laundry require much greater effort. Just flushing the toilet is a workout. The living space so small (250 sq.ft.), anything left out quickly makes the whole space a mess. The family will have to be trained to immediately put their things away, contributing to the 40% boat-burden factor.
Some days, Leslie struggles to hold it together. She wants me to have my dream, but considering the high emotional, financial, and professional costs, wonders whether it’s reasonable.
“This is the hardest part of the process,” I remind her. “We’re paying the lion’s share of the cost upfront, with no appreciable benefit experienced. Once we get going, the daily costs drop and the benefits begin to flow inward. The longer we’re out, the less each year costs as the expense of today becomes amortized over a greater period. If we return in two years, then this was stupid. If we return in 10 years, then this was brilliant.” She thinks about it.
“You are never expected to handle more than you are able. You are not alone. I am here. You need to communicate your concerns, your fears, and we’ll find a solution . . . together. I didn’t know of your concern about the boys’ education until now. First of all, we’re not going to worry about the homeschooling process. We’re going to focus on teaching them how to work, how to problem solve, and how to plan and manage the process of sailing a boat around the world, working within the confines of other cultures. Secondly, we’re going to have them study every country prior to arrival, building their awareness and anticipation. Then we’ll have them report on the reality of what they discover. We’ll help them create a presentation, Power Point and all. And we’ll post it on our website for others to see. We’ll teach them to document in words and in video their experiences: cultural immersions, adventures, and nautical life; which we’ll also share with our audience.” I continue, “You’ll teach them music: to play instruments, to sing, and to understand music theory. And yes, we’ll have them work on their math, science, and English exercises—self-paced. Whatever academic/theoretical skills they’re missing when we return they’ll quickly make up in adult-education or community college. Technology is getting more intuitive, not less; so whatever technological solutions are in fashion at the time, they’ll easily pick up. So let’s not worry about homeschooling. We’re taking it off the table—for now.” She remembered that we were planning to do this all along and after hearing it again, her relief was immediately visible.
“I don’t buy the notion that we ‘gave up everything.’ Except for getting back our exact careers, we could get back just about everything else within a matter of a few weeks; back into our house with a refrigerator, dishwasher, and washing machine; place the kids back in school; sign them up for activities; and find jobs for ourselves. So what then have we really given up? That’s like saying we gave up everything to go to college and grad school, to get married, and to have kids; none of which are economically sound endeavors; but all of which enhanced our lives; just like this trip is going to do.”
I went on to say, “For nearly two years, we’ve paid the price without receiving any of the benefit. The ‘delayed-gratification’ equation is burdensome at this, the most difficult stage—the transition and preparation stage. No one we know who has sailed around the world has mocked us for our wanting to get the boat ready to our personal satisfaction. Only those who have never planned or prepared a five-year voyage have belittled our delay. I reject the criticism of those who talk without knowledge or understanding, treating this venture as if it were a six-month journey. What we’re attempting takes much planning and preparation, with the safety of our family ultimately at stake, and I have enough experience to know what’s needed to support a comfortable and safe experience, with the added ambition of documenting and sharing the adventure.” She relaxed.
Leslie is a hard working, courageous, caring woman. I am blessed beyond words to have her as my life partner, but then I knew this within weeks of meeting her 25 years ago. It’s no accident that we’re doing this together. She loves travel and adventure. She trusts my abilities and knows I’ll do everything within my being to make this a wonderful and safe experience for her and the boys. Their growth, happiness, and well being are paramount. I will not fail. These past couple years have been tough on me too. I’ve devoted all my available time to this goal. I near exhaustion about every fifteen days. But I feel this quest is part of my life’s purpose. Everything I’ve done so far, most every decision made since a teenager, has been in preparation for this trip. I cannot control the circumstances that confront us and I cannot control the attitude of others; but I can navigate toward favorable circumstances and I can shape the attitude of others by providing a positive example.
I don’t truly know what Leslie thinks, but I do know what I think . . . that I’m very lucky to have her in my life. Having two awesome sons is my preverbal ‘icing.’ We’ll leave when we think we’re ready.
Ventura photographer Pascale Landry took nearly a hundred fifty images of our family last weekend. We struck an assortment of poses around Kandu under the melting glow of the ‘golden hour,’ hoping to capture our Christmas photo this year. More than a couple dozen turned out very well, including the one we’re now using as our profile picture on Twitter, Instagram, and this website. Thank you, Pascale.
Walking down the docks where boats are slipped, be careful not to check yourself against one of the many pointed steel anchors that overhang the bows. It’s easy and painful to do if your not paying attention. If you’re someone like Greg Kutsen, you’re more than paying attention, your noticing how you can improve the design. With over a dozen anchors already on the market, it takes a bold and impassioned person to want to introduce yet another solution to what one would assume is a saturated market, but that’s what Greg did.
http://youtu.be/5F87LcOEXRU
Hearing in person Greg describe the thought process behind his designs, you can’t help but admire the solutions he’s developed . . . simple, smart, and artful. After learning about it, I bought and made his anchor Kandu’s primary anchor (she has five different anchors). The first time we dropped (meaning, let the anchor and chain play out to the sea bed when anchoring in a cove) his design, I was amazed, but not surprised by how quickly and securely it grabbed the bottom. The first time we deployed his bridle and chain hook, I was impressed by how quietly we held the hook (sailor slang for “anchor”). Here again, Greg sees things I don’t. Chain hooks have been around for over a hundred years. Tying a single nylon line (rope) to “snub” the chain (providing some elastic shock absorption against pulling too hard the stiff chain against the even stiffer deck hardware) has been around for over 50 years. And employing a chafe guard around the line to protect it against untimely wear and potential severing, especially in heavy weather, has been around longer than chain hooks and nylon snubbers combined. Greg sees a gap and takes it upon himself to design a smarter hook and then places it at the end of a beefy nylon bridle, a double nylon line configuration that centers the boat to the anchor’s pull. At the center of the bridle he includes a hefty thimble and chafing gear arrangement. He also has chafing gear sewn at the two ends of the nylon bridal, protecting them against rubbing at the chocks (cut-aways through which the dock lines and anchor rodes (ropes) pass). There is nothing under-sized about what Greg makes. It’s all big and strong, and surprisingly less expensive than alternatives or a do-it-yourself. But he didn’t stop at anchors, hooks, and bridles. He noticed that boat owners have three or four bronze “keys” dangling in the hanging locker (closet), each designed to open a different type of deck fill cap; lids that cover hoses built into the deck that lead into fuel, water, or holding tanks. Unlike someone who takes for granted “that’s just how it is,” Greg wonders why one key couldn’t service all deck caps. So he designs one and finds a way to include shackle key functions too! Instead of softer bronze, he makes it of harder stainless steel. Now Kandu only has one key (with a looped lanyard at its end to tie around our wrists so as not to lose this useful tool to “Davy Jones’s Locker”). I no longer have to hear the chime of multiple keys clamoring against each other. And I no longer have to untangle key tethers to free the one I want. Greg’s unassuming key, smaller than many of the standard keys it replaces, does it all. When you see it, like the preverbial sliced bread, you wonder why no one had invented it before. When I buy something that Greg made, I feel I’m getting something that embodies his engineering and manufacturing thoughtfulness, and his caring concern for properly servicing the boat owner’s needs. The research and discovery of a clever solution to common cruising problems is inspiring; other examples include Rich and Charlie’s high-volume water makers (read blog post titled RO 101), Marty’s powerful and compact cordless electric winch handle, and Jay and Haoyu’s long-range folding electric stand-up scooter. With our sailing days about to begin, more than the next iPhone, I look forward to seeing the innovations that companies like Greg’s will bring next.
Uncle Bill says, “If you have good ground tackle [aka anchor gear], you don’t need expensive hull insurance.” Knowing Greg, his engaging spirit, and the quality of his creations, I sleep soundly at anchor.
L to R: Eric Rigney, Greg Kutsen, Deneen Taylor, Leslie Rigney
This morning, Leslie notified Cabrillo Middle School that this coming Tuesday would be Bryce and Trent’s last day in school. We preferred they stay in school until next Friday, the last day before winter break, but the boys chose Tuesday. Maybe by leaving mid-week, the boys show their classmate that they really are leaving on the trip. Before rushing off to school, we provided them letters to give their teachers, explaining what we’re doing, hoping to enlist one or more of them to connect their classrooms with our adventure. We affixed our boat’s postcard to each letter as well. Cabrillo Middle School, Home of the Mariners has been a good experience for the boys, a school for our mariners. Leslie and I are grateful to have had them attend a near-by public school that is safe, clean, caring, and offers terrific extra-circular activities. Bryce particularly enjoyed woodshop and Trent enjoyed band, rare opportunities for a middle-schooler in California these days.
Here’s a copy of the letter:
Last Day of School: Tuesday, December 17, 2014
Bryce and Trent are leaving soon with us aboard our 42-foot sailboat, Kandu, to begin our family’s circumnavigation. More than sailing, we intend to immerse ourselves in the various cultures along the way. Were we to sail non-stop, we’d be done in less than a year. We anticipate being gone for 5 years, plus or minus a couple years, depending on how much fun we’re having and finances.
Our intention is to share the experience through our website blog and video channel, supported by Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. We plan to demonstrate cultural diversity, what other kids do for fun, what they eat after school, what their school and home lives are like; as well as the math and science associated with our self-contained nautical lifestyle. Bryce and Trent are surfers and we intend for them to chronicle their experiences, what they learn from kids of other cultures, what surfing requires of them, obstacles they overcome, posting on the blog and producing videos.
Our family is aligned with a couple studies and a volunteer program: collecting seawater samples to measure micro-plastic levels, measuring plankton densities, and delivering needed supplies to remote communities. For the American Numismatic Association’s educational branch, we will collect coins for their museum and share our traveling experience with their youth charters.
Our website is shaping up, and will include a map that tracks our current location. We will be able to send and receive text via satellite and email via high frequency radio. In ports with WiFi, we will be able to Skype or Facetime live, connecting classrooms of different cultures with each other, to share how they live, what they do at school. Our first destinations include Baja Mexico (fishing villages) and Puerto Vallarta, then Galapagos (Isabela Island), then Easter Island, then Pitcairn, then French Polynesia (Gambier, Marquesas, Tuamotus, Society) where we hope to stay for up to year (if we receive our one-year extended stay visa next month).
For school, we’ve purchased some home-school programs in math, English, and science. The boys will be participating in the process of navigating and maintaining our home afloat, where we must repair nearly everything ourselves, including our watermaker. They will learn how to relate to other cultures and environments, what each demands. Where possible, they will be introduced into classrooms of the regions we visit, attending for weeks or months at a time.
We cannot know what will happen, when, or where we will go until we get there. Circumstances of weather and life will drive much of what happens. If you’re interesting in learning more or ways to incorporate our trip within your classroom, please contact me. And of course, we hope you’ll follow along at: RigneysKandu.Com.
Eric Rigney
Bryce, last June, at the end of his seventh grade year. Kandu’s postcard
Last night, not a drop of water entered as Kandu weathered the heaviest rains experienced in Ventura over the past 5 years. While winds gusted to a crescendo at 1 a.m., I slept peacefully with the knowledge of how sound Kandu is, the benefit of having worked so hard and meticulously these past two years. In the aft cabin berth (bed), quiet and snug, I was able to take full advantage of being docked in slip with six dock lines (ropes) securing us, instead of being anchored in a cove and having to take anchor watches. Around 5 a.m., having knocked over and re-assembled the 4-foot Christmas tree Bryce had configured between their berths three days earlier, Trent crawled into our berth between Leslie and I, waking me up.
One of the neighboring motor yachts had their Christmas display damaged by the storm, its wooden frame collapsed, its black plastic sheeting shredded. With a break in the storm and some help from friends, the boat’s display looks as good as new and ready for tonight’s annual Parade of Lights, an event where lavishly decorated boats, bedazzled in lights, travel around the inside parameter of Ventura marina for the benefit of the city’s spectators. This year’s theme: “Holidays of the World.”
The storm has brought large surf, 15-foot waves and greater, so no surfing. When Bryce returns from school this afternoon, if better weather holds up, we’ll finish decorating our dinghy, installing his Christmas tree, mirror-ball, blue rotating police light, Trent’s stuffed animals, our mini-PA sound system with Christmas music, and tree lights powered by our little Honda generator. We’ll join the parade unofficially, putting between boats and waving to the crowds.
Repairs made on the recently storm-damaged Parade of Light’s motor yacht.
Two days ago, we visited the French Consulate’s office in West Los Angeles/Century City. A month earlier, Leslie, my first French angel (she’s not French but she speaks it and has a degree in French literature), made four appointments, as each person applying required their own time slot, most likely to allow time for the French clerk to review the requested documents. And there were many. The weekend before, while preparing the many documents, Leslie noticed the consulate provided an email address against which we could address any questions prior to our appointed times. We asked about the entry date, wondering whether we could post a date as late as June, and we asked whether all documents needed to be translated into French. I included my cell phone number in the email. Because we were sending the email so close to our date with the Consulate, I didn’t expect a response in time to matter. To my delight, a helpful clerk called me the afternoon before we were to arrive. She stated that French Polynesia and the consulate’s office understood that in the case of a sailboat, it takes greater than the 90 days typically required of applicants, to arrive in the French territory after submitting their visa requests. She also understood that sailboats often like to visit other countries along the way, and gave examples. She asked when I wanted to arrive in French Polynesia. I said June 1, 2015. “That would be fine, no problem,” she replied. I asked whether any of the documents we were providing required a French translation. She replied, no, that the LA Consulate and French Polynesia understood both French and English, and therefore no translation was needed. A huge burden immediately lifted from my shoulders. In my mind, her voice transformed into that of an angel’s.
She also said that the boys would not need identification cards beyond their passports, that their parents’ ID cards would cover them. I informed her that police departments wouldn’t provide clearance letters for the boys. “No problem, we don’t expect them for children,” she said.
“They don’t have their own financial statements either, just copies of ours,” I declared. She said that was fine too. I said that we’re providing a financial summary of our investment portfolio, indicating the value of our trust, instead of the bank statements requested on their website. She said that we must provide copies of our bank statements, that investment summaries could be included, but that French Polynesia wants to see bank statements. She then asked if we had the other documentation, going down the list of what was required. She said that with the boat’s documentation, we wouldn’t need to provide the original, as she understood it was legally required to remain with the boat. She asked about the medical insurance and had me read some of the information to her, after which she said that upon arrival in French Polynesia, if our visas were approved, we’d likely be required to show coverage over the entire one-year period we expected to be there. She was extremely helpful, and even though it meant even more printing and photocopying work for Leslie, the Consulate official gave us the information we needed to succeed in our endeavor to acquire a long-stay visa. I was so grateful. As tears of frustration welled in Leslie’s eyes, I pointed out the bright side: we know what is missing and still have the time needed to get the necessary documentation in order, that no translations were needed, and that we had the time we needed to sail to French Polynesia. We could now visit Easter Island, Leslie’s most anticipated destination of the whole trip, and spend more time in Mexico and Galapagos. This was for me a huge relief. Leslie was concerned that the significant sums of money spent on the boat these last months depleted our bank accounts, showing meager balances. We both had heard about a boat that was recently rejected for insufficient funds. We could only hope that the cruising nest egg that was our trust would be enough to convince them of our financial solvency, and that the officials on the other side would understand that that’s where we kept our funds and not in our bank accounts. Leslie went back to the task at hand, getting everything ready for the next day, spending the next three hours printing the additional documents and later, copying at FedEx.
The family awoke before dawn the next morning to drive down the picturesque Pacific Coast Highway to the French Consulate’s office in Los Angeles, the city of angels. We arrived minutes before our scheduled appointments. Because we’d been there eighteen months before, we knew that the visa office was outside, around the corner and not on the 6th floor where the main offices are located. After standing outside for a couple minutes, we were buzzed in by the security guard. With a look of suspicion, he confirmed our appointments and identities, asking that all electronic devices be shut off before allowing us to enter further.
As we entered, the clerk behind the protective glass asked to see us together. She looked at me and said that she had been the one who had spoken to me the day before. My second angel had a friendly face and an easy smile, and a great French accent. One by one, she requested documents as Leslie dutifully shuffled through her four folders, one for each crewmember, retrieving and furnishing the requested articles. After reviewing the documents, depending on the type, the angel would give us either the original or the copy to keep. Leslie had everything our angel asked of us. When it came time to hand over the financial documents, Leslie explained to the angel about the financial trust. Good thing too, because the angel had seen only the retirement accounts. After Leslie’s explanation, the angel nodded approvingly. After electronically capturing each crewmember’s fingerprints and mug shot, she told us the visa response would likely be provided to us in 4 weeks. Instead of mailing back and forth, they now scan the documents and email them back and forth. The website had stated 6-8 weeks and Leslie and I added another week atop that to allow for the holidays. The four-week timeframe meant we’d have even more time to visit other countries before arriving in French Polynesia. I was elated. For the first time in many months, instead of new problems popping up, events were seemingly working in our favor. We handed the angel the pre-paid, self-addressed FedEx box Leslie had prepared for our passports and other official documents to be shipped back to us, hopefully with visas affixed. She provided Leslie receipts for our passports, in case they didn’t arrive. And we were done. With a sweet “au revoir” from our angel, we passed by the now smiling security guard, leaving the visa offices toward the underground parking garage, the happiest six-bucks I’d spent in a long time.
Crew of Kandu celebrate on Rodeo Drive a successful day.
Excited and optimistic for our chances, I wanted to celebrate. Leslie had worked so hard to prepare all the documents; I thought she could use a special treat. Close to Beverly Hills, keeping it French, I suggested the Patisserie Artistique in the Rodeo Collection on Rodeo Drive. Thirty years early, I had worked as a captain* in what was the penthouse restaurant of the Rodeo Collection, Excelsior. The restaurant long since retired, the space was used for other business needs. At the pastry shop, Bryce chose a small white chocolate cake, intricately fashioned into a present with an edible colored bow and all. It resembled a decorated ring box. Trent selected a small circular pecan tart coated with caramel made on premises. Leslie picked a piece of sliced-pear tart with almond filling and a cup of French-roast coffee, in honor of our excellent French Consulate experience. It was a good day, filled with much promise.
* Footnote:*Wait staff in a traditional fine European dining room in the ’80’s, comprised typically of men, included a busboy, back-waiter, front-waiter, captain, and maître d’. I started at Excelsior as an evening elevator attendant, then worked my way up (pardon the pun) through the ranks, from busboy to captain. American-born captains were rare in Beverly Hills; a young one, even more so.
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