Learning that reverse osmosis (RO) systems require a regular “feeding,” every three to five days, whereby freshwater must either be made or flushed through the system, we would wait nearly a year after installing it before we would commission the unit into service.
Read the blog post titled, RO 101 and see the video to learn more about the RO process itself.
Cruise RO Water and Power, the purveyor of the RO system we selected for Kandu, is owned and operated by dollar-conscious, easily accessible cruisers. They’ve assembled their robust AC solution using off-the-shelf parts and supplies, not the more expensive (either way, it’s expensive) proprietary solutions common within the marine desalinator marketplace. If the cruiser includes the cost of a new gas-powered Honda generator, with the SM-30 model, she winds up with a Cruise RO system that has built-in redundancy and makes four times as much water for the same price as more popular options–30 gallons an hour, “Beast!” as thirteen-year-old Bryce is fond of saying. Cruise RO achieves this by configuring dual 40″ long membrane filters, a size much bigger than the typical compact stand-alone units offer. If one membrane fails, the operator can by-pass it and still get 20 gal/hr from the remaining membrane. For boats lacking space, and they all do, this may not be an option. But for those that do, a full tank of gas (0.95 gal) in a Honda EU2000i is suppose to produce about 150 gal. of water: a fair trade we feel for stinking up the environment. Additionally, Rich and Charlie of Cruise RO, the guys who run it, speak in laymen terms, a service I very much depended on to install and commission our unit.
To commission the unit, I wondered about the quality of seawater I could safely process. I considered anchoring off Santa Cruz Island where the seawater is much cleaner than in the marina where Kandu is moored. Oil can ruin an RO membrane and I would occasionally notice the sheen of oil in the marina’s surface. After discussing my concerns with Rich and with other cruisers with extensive marine RO water-making experience, I was assured that the marina’s water would not be a problem. They had all successfully made water under far worse conditions, explaining that because oil floats and Kandu’s seawater is drawn several feet below the surface, I wouldn’t have a problem–“It is what it’s for,” was the expression I heard time and again.
The commissioning process is clearly laid out in the user manual with color pictures and all. Even though it’s simple, I was nervous. I didn’t want to make a misstep that would cost a lot of time and money to rectify. Plus with all the first-time noises, it was a little nerve-racking. So after reading and re-reading the commissioning process (as technician in the post production world from where I came, I learned early on that the difference between a technician and an end-user is that the technician read the user manual), I called Rich to make sure he’d be available in case I needed his help. With him at the ready, I proceeded with the commissioning process. Under the din of noise generated by the two pumps and the excess brine water pouring into the cockpit drain, I checked all the plumbing and electrical, all the pumps, all the filters, opened and closed the necessary valves, bled the air out of the system, pressed on and off the pumps’ power switches, and carefully turned up the high-pressure knob as bubbles percolated for the first time within the flow meter. I felt every bit like Dr. Frankenstein, bringing my monster to life.
Once commissioned and with Rich’s phoned thumbs-up, I was ready to make water.
Here’s a video of my first water-making experience:
As the first trickles of water poured from the sample spigot and into the sink, I got excited. Using the total dissolved solids (TDS) meter provided, I collected in a clear plastic cup some of the “product” water to measure the parts per million (ppm) of salt and solids in solution. The water coming from the desalinator started off salty but soon came fresh. Less than 500 ppm is considered acceptable quality drinking water, less than 300 ppm is considered normal tap water, and less then 100 is considered soft. When the meter reads <500, you’re suppose to switch the water over to the boat’s tanks as it won’t be long before it’s producing water <300ppm. But being that it was the first time making water, I wanted to taste it. In no time, the meter read 114, so I tossed it and eagerly poured more of the clear manmade life-sustaining nectar into the cup . . . and cautiously tasted it. “Wow,” it was hands down the best tasting water I’d ever had. Like Tom Hanks in “Cast-away” after making fire for the first time, I thumped my chest, proclaiming, “I MADE water! I made that!” It felt especially apropos considering I’m an Aquarian, a water bearer bearing water. “I, Aquarian skipper of Kandu, bring you water!” It wasn’t long before I was able to pour a taste for Leslie and the boys. All gave a thumbs-up. Making water for the first time, although nerve racking at first, ended up very gratifying.
Thanks again to Rich and Charlie of Cruise RO Water and Power.
Rich Boren of Cruise RO Water and Power describes for us the reverse osmosis process, pointing out a system similar to that which we installed on Kandu:
http://youtu.be/d5OcTUaAs3k
RO 101, an end-user’s perspective:
Disclaimer: The detailed description and observations presented below make the operation sound more complicated than the practice. Because the system is preconfigured and tested, the hard part is done. Once properly set up, making water is simple. AC power supplied, it only takes two to three minutes from start before fresh water is pouring into your tanks. The freshwater rinse process following water making takes about 5-7 minutes from start to finish. I’m fascinated by the engineering art that occurs behind the scene and like to share my understanding (albeit, likely flawed). All in all, based on our current water consumption rate, we can make all the water we use in a week in about three and half hours. While docked, we’ve been using about 100 gallons a week, but that excludes the showers we take and the laundry we do on land. Don’t yet know what our consumption rates will be once untethered to land. So, back to this layman’s behind-the-scenes understanding of water making . . . .
The reverse osmosis (RO) process starts with raw seawater and ends with fresh safe drinking water. To begin with, the seawater sourced must be oil-free as oil will destroy the membrane, the core of any RO solution. Fortunately oil floats. Seawater extracted feet below the waterline (the further the better) will be oil-free. To get the oil-free seawater up and into the RO system, usually requires a water pump, called a “boost pump.” Inside the boat’s pump locker, Kandu hasa slightly noisy 12-volt low-pressure water pump for the job. They’re all a little noisy. It pulls seawater from outside the boat through a through-hull. Any hole, intentionally, installed in the side of a boat is called a through-hull. The intake for the RO unit on Kandu is shared with the engine’s raw water intake (raw is another way of describing unfiltered seawater that comes from outside the hull). Our engine’s raw water through-hull is located three feet below the surface, well below floating oils. Before it can be pressed into freshwater, the seawater must have all debris and nearly all marine-life removed. So with help from the boost pump, the seawater passes first through a large bronze screen plumbed just behind and below Kandu’s diesel engine, keeping the big stuff out. Via hoses, the seawater is then lifted up and through two sediment filters, cylindrical cartridges of folded paper, one finer than the other. The first and more coarse of the two, filters up to 20 microns. A micron is one-thousandths of a millimeter or 0.000039 of an inch. To give some perspective, a human hair is around 90 microns. The diameter of wool fiber used for making garments is less than 25 microns. So 20 microns is small, keeping out most particles and plankton. The next and finer of the two paper filters sifts out up to 5 microns, the size of a human blood cell, knocking out most of the remaining sediments and plankton, but not all bacteria. They get filtered out in the next phase.
The components of our Cruise RO SM-30 water maker (photo by Cruise RO Water and Power).
After the filters, the boost pump pushes the thrice filtered seawater to the noisier high-pressure (HP) AC electric water pump (Kandu uses AC, many boats use DC electric pumps). Using back-pressure, this power-hungry device, drawing about 8 to 10 amps (equivalent to a toaster*), forces seawater through the membrane at about 800 psi (that’s equivalent to the force of an adult male sea lion doing a one-finger (or flipper) pirouette on a light switch!**). When making water, the operator must first start the HP pump at its lowest pressure setting, waiting first for the boost pump to provide an adequate volume of seawater. Once that is achieved, the operator adjusts the back-pressure (preventing the water from leaving the membrane cylinders) created against the force of the HP pump. This is done by turning a knob, watching the pressure dial meter carefully, and adjusting to keep the pressure at a steady 800 psi. At such great force, over-pressurizing the system could cause great damage to the components or the locker compartment where it’s installed. The membrane is housed in a white plastic canister, capable of withstanding pressures of over 1000 psi. Inside the canister, the membrane itself comes incased in an unpainted cylindrical fiberglass shell. At its center extends is a dime-sized tube. Inside the shell, the membrane skin wraps around this center tube. Between the fiberglass shell and the center tube is the space where the filtered water is pumped into the membrane’s container; seawater enters through eight circular openings that encircle both ends. By restricting the exit flow at the outer edges of the canister, the pressurized water seeks a place to go. At 800 psi, the osmotic pressure of seawater, about 20% of the seawater finds its way through the membrane filter and into the center channel tube. Squeezing through the membrane, the filtered seawater is thus converted to bacteria-free “product,” otherwise known as fresh tasting drinking water. The rest of the unprocessed water, called “brine,” gets evacuated and directed back to sea. On Kandu, the brine is directed from the RO membrane canister to Kandu’s starboard cockpit drain, where we hear it spit and pour as some of the brine sprays out and onto the cockpit sole (floor). Kandu’s RO system control panel has a flow meter that measure the output rate of the product water in gallons per minute (gpm). Filled with a yellow liquid, the meter percolates like a chemistry instrument, lifting a small flying-saucer type disk along a vertical wire. Etched in the glass tube are marked the various flow rates, the smaller at the bottom; the greater, above. At 0.5 gpm, the rated output of our model, we produce about 30 gal./hr; an enviable quantity of water for most any sailboat.
Just as with the back-pressure of the filtered seawater, the unrestricted flow of product water is equally important to configure. With all that pressurized water looking for a place to go, the product water flow must never be blocked, or risk over-pressuring the system. To direct its flow unfettered, only constant flow valves are installed along the product water’s exit path. With these valves, no matter which way you set the valve handle, you can’t shut it off: the water goes one way, the other, or both, but never stopped.
Once pressurized past 600 psi, the boosted, filtered seawater begins to push readily through the system’s RO membrane and out the “sample” spout, located on Kandu at the galley sink where it drains to the sea. The system is easily brought up to the model’s preferred 800 psi. The initial water coming from the membrane is a little salty, but quickly freshens up. Before directing the product water into the ship’s tanks, the water is sampled, or tested, with a digital total dissolved solids (TDS) meter, mostly salt (NaCl). Power it up, drop the bottom end of the meter about 1/2″ into a small sample of the water and the meter provides an instant reading. Once the produced water measures less than 500 ppm, the minimum allowed by the EPA (other countries accept higher salt levels), the water is sent to the tanks by turning two valve sets: one re-directs the water from the sample waterspout to the second valve, which in turn is set to direct the flow to whichever tank the operator wishes to receive the freshly made water, either port or starboard. As product water continues to flow, the TDS reading quickly drops to below 150 ppm, the soft water range.
The system runs for whatever time the operator feels necessary. Between the generator and the pumps, the operation is noisy enough that it should only be performed when neighbors would typically be awake.
Shutting down the system occurs in two phases: the saltwater stop and the freshwater rinse. Before shutting down the system while seawater is still being processed through it, the product water is redirected to the sink and the HP pump dialed down to the lowest pressure possible. Then the high-pressure pump is shut off, followed by shutting off the low-pressure boost pump. The seawater intake valves are turned off and re-configured for the freshwater rinse. At this point, the two paper saltwater sediment filters and RO membrane are saturated in seawater, with all its lovely marine life. Saltwater doesn’t harm the filters or the membrane. It’s the marine life that does. Left un-rinsed, the microscopic organisms will eventually die and be consumed by anaerobic marine bacteria that will off hydrogen-sulfide (H2S) gas, a corrosive environment for RO elements, producing water that tastes like rotten eggs. To prevent this unpleasant biological reaction, freshwater from the ship’s tanks is redirected into the system to flush its components. Because chlorine is destructive to the RO membrane, an active carbon filter is installed in-between the freshwater tanks and the RO’s boost pump, ensuring that no residual chlorine that may have been added to the tanks by the cruiser to kill algae or bacteria growth (which occur naturally in stored freshwater) comes in contact with the membrane. So as part of the RO systems maintenance, it’s important to remember to change the carbon filter at least every 6 months. Just as with the pulling/pushing of seawater into the RO system, so too does the operator engage the pumps to pull/push freshwater. The RO system’s internal intake valve is turned away from the seawater intake and toward the freshwater intake. With the HP pump off and at its lowest pressure setting, with the product water directed to pour into the sink through the sample spout, the boost pump is again engaged. Again, once it’s flowing to where the operator hears a steady flow of waste/brine water, the HP pump is activated with the pressure setting still at its lowest setting. Freshwater pushed through the membrane at high pressure would damage the membrane so the HP remains at its lowest setting throughout the freshwater rinse. After pulling/pushing freshwater for about 3-5 minutes, the saltwater around the paper filters and RO membrane has been replaced by fresh and the system can be shut down: first turning off the HP pump, then the low pressure boost pump. The intake valve is shut off. The rinse stage complete.
In the above state, the system can be left idle for 3-7 days (the greater the marine life, the earlier the interval) before it must either be put into service to make water and rinsed again, or can just simply be rinsed again with freshwater, without making water. If for whatever reason a cruiser will not be engaging the RO system for an extended period of time, she can saturate the components in a food-grade antiseptic by employing a process called “pickling.” Pickled, the unit can be held in stasis for six months or more before it should be re-picked or brought back into service. A properly maintained membrane can last as long as 10 years before the product water begins to taste not-so fresh. The paper sediment filters are changed regularly too. In addition to the footprint an RO system occupies, supporting a water maker also requires stowage space for the three types of water filters, pickling power, and crank case oil. Even though RO water is free of bacteria, without a disinfectant in the water storage tanks, algae and bacteria can grow. For this reason, it’s prudent to introduce a product like bleach (1 tsp per 10 gallons) into the tanks, and then filter out the chlorine taste by passing the sanitized water through a carbon filter before drinking. Ultra-violet therapies are also available. On Kandu, our carbon filter has also a KDF*** element to remove heavy metals and kill bacteria. Between the financial costs, the 3-7 day interval, the stowage burden, and the noise factor, watermaking is not every cruiser’s cup of tea.
For those willing to accept the burdens that come with the freedom of converting engine time into safe drinking water, several makes and models of RO watermakers exist, in both DC or AC versions. Whether DC or AC, electric motors that pressurize seawater consume a lot of electricity To protect the boat’s house batteries from being drawn down too quickly, when making water, sailors support the electrical demand by either run the boat’s engine, an electric generator, or are connected to shore power. In essence, desalinators convert a petroleum fuel (gasoline or diesel) into freshwater. For the freshwater rinse, a cruiser with large batteries supported by passive charging sources such as solar panels and wind generators, may be able to get by without having to start an engine. The units typically found on a cruising boat Kandu’s size use DC electricity. They employ specially designed, expensive proprietary components, and produce around 6-8 gallons of water an hour. They cost about $5k-$6k. Some units are more automated and quieter than others. For Kandu, we went with the SM-30 by Cruise RO Water and Power, a non-propertary dual membrane AC model that efficiently outputs an impressive 30 gallons an hour. As I understand it, just idling or running free (not under the load of a spinning propeller) a diesel engine, it doesn’t get hot enough to burn off the carbon that otherwise builds up inside its cylinders and injectors, gumming them it up. So, to prevent possible problems with our boat’s auxiliary (another name for a boat’s internal engine), we felt it wise to buy a Honda generator to support the electrical needs of the HP pump’s AC motor when making water. For the freshwater rinse, we’re hoping our large battery banks and passive energy generation will support the occasional rinse cycle. The cost including the generator was just north of $6k. We’re excited and pleased to have it. Leslie set our smart phones to remind us to run the unit every three days (it just went off as I wrote this) The freshwater rinse process takes less than 10 minutes to complete. Overall, so far, and it’s early yet, the watermarking and rinsing processes have been painless, and in an odd way, rewarding and liberating.
Footnotes:
* 10 amps at 120VAC is equivalent to 100 amps at 12VDC. Batteries should not be drawn down below half their capacity. At 900 amp/hrs. total, Kandu has an available draw of 450 amp/hrs. Were we to run the water maker strictly off our batteries, we would in 4.5 hours deplete our “house” batteries (the term used to describe a boat’s main battery bank, supporting all but the engine’s starter) to a level that would normally take 5 days, a rate faster than the house batteries are designed to support.
** While researching 800 lbs animals, I learned that the testicle of a right whale weighs 1100lbs!
*** “Kinetic Degradation Fluxion (KDF) is a high-purity copper-zinc formulation that uses a basic chemical process known as redox (oxidation/reduction) to remove chlorine, lead, mercury, iron, and hydrogen sulfide from water supplies. The process also has a mild anti-bacterial, algaecidic, and fungicidic effect and may reduce the accumulation of lime scale.” –-Home Plus Water
Days before Thanksgiving weekend, the Ventura West Marina management reached out to us with an offer to move to a recently made available live-aboard slip. They needed to know for how long. Hoping to leave by Dec. 15, we gave a departure date of Dec. 20. They drew up the agreement. We gratefully accepted, signed, and moved to our new slip last Sunday, our fourth in six weeks. From here, we’ll either go to Santa Cruz Island for a few days, or directly to Malibu and Marina Del Rey.
Kandu’s new post-Thanksgiving slip, her fourth in six weeks.
Because of time restrictions associated with the French Polynesian extended stay visa, we’ll have to leave California soon after we get ours, which could take between 6-8 weeks to receive after our scheduled December 9 submission. Depending on which timeframe the French Embassy imposes, we’ve heard of two, we may not have time to visit either Galapagos or Easter Island. It takes about a week to sail directly to Cabo, 18 days from Cabo to Galapagos, 18 days from Galapagos to Easter, a week to Pitcairn, and then three days to Gambier (French Polynesia), an estimated total of 63 days. If the “120 days following the date of submission” rule applies, we wouldn’t have any time to visit the destination within which we intend to port. But, if the “90 days from the date of approval” rule applies, this would give us 27 land-days within which to visit them all, weather permitting. Frankly, these restrictions are putting Easter Island and Pitcairn at greatest risk, and possibly Galapagos as well . . . bummer. Seems sad to have to rush past so many beautiful anchorages, but necessary if we wish to spend as much time in French Polynesia as we would ultimately prefer. Or perhaps this will give us greater desire to visit them on the return leg, following transiting Panama. Decisions, decisions . . . .
Water – to make or not to make, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to collect water from local sources or to suffer the cost and noise of making your own is a debate among cruisers today on par with what I heard surrounding interior kerosene lights in the 70’s. When considering water acquisition solutions for long-distance cruising, you are really left with two options; passive water collection or active water making.
Passive, Water Collection: Collecting water from a municipal tap, a communal or private well or cistern, or from a natural spring, brings with it its own adventure, exercise, and local interaction. When plentiful and accessible at desired locations, that is to say, places you actually want to visit, it’s the simplest option and the most economical. Once a source of potable water has been identified and permission granted or purchased, the cruiser either fills her jugs or, if close enough to shore, connects his water hose and fills directly his tanks. Cruisers concerned about sediments, externally strain cloudy water through one or two sediment filters (discussed in more detail below) before it enters the boat’s water tanks. Sediment filters aren’t fine enough to block bacteria, so for every 10 gallons of water, it’s recommended to pour about a teaspoon of household bleach into the water tank (or other safe to consume antiseptic), and internally pull that solution through a combination carbon (chlorine) and KDF* (heavy metals and bacteria killing) filter as it is pumped electrically or manually (foot pumps typically) to and through the freshwater spigots. There are also on-demand ultra-violet light therapies available as well, which require electricity and spare bulbs. In either case, voila – good tasting, safe drinking water.
Cruisers following this practice are often prepared with long lengths of garden hose, several 5-gal. plastic jerry jugs (with arms stretched a little longer from the weight of carrying two +40 lbs. jugs at a time), and with a willingness to tie their vessels up briefly to docks, piers, and wharves if need be.
Rainwater collection is another passive water collecting technique. Most cruisers are in some way equipped to capture rainwater from their sails, canopies, and/or decks. Boats have been known to chase squalls in the middle of the ocean, sometimes even engaging their diesel engines in an effort to capture the freshest of water supplies, “liquid money” as farmers call it.
Passive water collection (not so passive, really) tends to make for a more conservative use of the ship’s water. Washing, rinsing, cleaning, bathing, and even cooking rely on fresh seawater (as opposed to seawater extracted from a cove or harbor). When sailing aboard Getel in 1976 with my uncle and his family of three from Ventura, California to Nuku Hiva, Marquesas, over the 30-day passage, the five of us collectively consumed less than 50 gallons. For the 18 months we were in French Polynesia, I personally carried and rowed nearly every gallon brought aboard, Papeete and Uturoa excluded as these ports offered access to taps and water hoses when we were Med-tied to their wharves. Being Med-tied is when one end of the boat is tied to the quay; the other end, anchored away from the quay, pulling the boat off far enough so as to not hit the top edge of the concrete wharf or wood-decked pier when a wake bobs the boat up and down, but close enough to support the use of a wooden plank between your boat and the quay’s edge.
Active, Water Creation: Another option available to cruisers is to make water with a desalinator, employing ever-popular reverse osmosis (RO) technology. (Read the blog post titled: RO 101 and see the video for a more detailed description of the process)
Owning a desalinator is a bit like caring for a pet: it needs to be tended to regularly. Because of marine life build-up on the membrane, even if it were rinsed with freshwater, desalinators must be run every 3-7 days to flush the membrane’s surface. If a cruiser isn’t making water every three to seven days, he or she must instead push freshwater through the system at the same interval of 3-7 days. A freshwater rinse takes from 3-5 minutes. Left un-rinsed, a membrane will build up hydrogen sulfide gas, a by-product of sulfur eating bacteria consuming remnant sea life. This reaction produces water tasting like rotten-eggs. “Yum, yum . . . sign me up!” If this happens, there is a cure: soak the membrane in a food-grade antiseptic, a process otherwise known as “pickling.” This is also what you do if you plan to leave your desalinator dormant for a while, preventing the issue in the first place. You can leave a system pickled for 6 months or more before you’ll need to re-pickle it again. So for those sailors with desalinators without an automatic flush feature must enlist the assistance of a fellow yachty (cruiser) to “feed” his or her “pet.”
Even though the RO process doesn’t pass bacteria, a cruiser still needs to add a little bleach to the water supply to keep algae from growing in the tank, and carbon filters to lose the bleach taste and to protect the watermaker’s membrane when flushing with freshwater (chlorine kills the membrane). It doesn’t hurt to pass the drinking water through a KDF filter as well.
Having a watermaker is a commitment of scheduling, money, and space (the unit + supplies + possible generator and gasoline). But cruisers accepting this commitment afford themselves the luxury of freshwater for cleaning and showers, the freedom to go and stay in areas less available to those who can’t make water, and most importantly, a supply of safe drinking water. In some cases, yachties have been known to supply remote families or villages with much needed water. As desalinator supporters say, “No one ever complained about having too much water.” For these reasons, we decided to install a desalinator, anticipating that the advantages of safety and freedom will be far greater than the cost and inconvenience of having an expensive “pet”. We chose to go with the dual membrane AC model offered by Cruise RO Water and Power. (The blog post Aquarian Rite describes the commissioning experience)
Footnote:
* “Kinetic Degradation Fluxion (KDF) is a high-purity copper-zinc formulation that uses a basic chemical process known as redox (oxidation/reduction) to remove chlorine, lead, mercury, iron, and hydrogen sulfide from water supplies. The process also has a mild anti-bacterial, algaecidic, and fungicidic effect and may reduce the accumulation of lime scale.” –-Home Plus Water
My best itinerary guess as of the morning of this writing
Borrowing from the Serenity Prayer and Alfredo Calimlim’s eulogy message yesterday at Kim’s memorial service, as we attempt to set off on our journey, may we begin to have the wisdom to recognize the things we can change from those we cannot. With that disclaimer, I present our latest stab at Kandu’s starting itinerary.
2014 Nov. 30: Leave Ventura West Marina, a week from today. The Ventura Yacht Club across the way is ready to take us for a week to 10 days. During this coming two week period, my focus will be to continue loading and to finish purchasing spare parts and maintenance supplies from our West Marine store in Ventura, managed by Jen, a formidable ally in our search for boat parts and solutions. And prepare our anchor rodes.
Items in storage to stow aboard Kandu
2014 Dec. 9: Appointments (each crew member is required to have his or her own) with the French Consulate’s office in Los Angeles. Between now and then, Leslie, among other tasks, will focus on compiling and translating the multiple documents necessary to properly submit a request for an extended stay visa in French Polynesia (FP). The visa will provide us the option to stay for up to one year within its five archipelagos instead of the automatic 90 day visitor visa granted to us as North Americans, 30 days of which would simply be travel time between island groups. One of the required documents is a police report/criminal history, supposedly insuring we’re not fleeing or a threat. Once we’ve successfully submitted our requests, the visa process takes 6-8 weeks to complete. Our application gets sent to Papeete for review and then their government’s response is sent back to the French Consulate’s office. We’re hoping the timing of this occurring over the holiday period won’t delay the process. Presumably, we have to land in French Polynesia within 120 days of our extended stay visa submission.
Dec. 10+: After four years of Kandu’s being worked on in her marina, the first good weather day following our appointments with the Consulate’s office, we’ll sail Kandu from Ventura, potentially not returning until after the completion of our circumnavigation (if ever).
As of this writing, we plan to spend several days unplugged and off the grid in the Santa Barbara Channel Islands, perhaps just Santa Cruz Island, but maybe we’ll venture further to San Miguel Island with her breeding elephant seals, or Santa Rosa with her new State park facilities, or all of them. We’ll check with our live aboard neighbors, Leilani and Mike of Lanikai, a surfing couple with extensive cruising experience in Channel Islands, Mexico, and Central America, about potential surfing spots for Bryce and Trent to try. We hope this remote experience at the islands will help us break-in further our systems and crew, and provide us feedback as to what other tweaks we will feel necessary to make at our next big stop. From the islands, we plan to head over to Malibu’s Paradise Cove and spend a day or two, weather permitting. There are supposedly some good surf spots there, and for various reasons, difficult to reach by land. Bryce wants to add Malibu to his surfing history. This just gave me an idea—have Bryce and Trent make a surfing passport, noting the various places they will have surfed around the world, gluing a sprinkle of commemorative sand next to each entry . . . “totally sick, dude!”
From Malibu, it’s off to Marina Del Rey (MDR), or depending on weather and preference, we may wish to spend a day on Catalina Island before pulling into MDR, Kandu’s documented homeport, where we’ve pre-arranged a live-aboard slip for 2-3 weeks. MDR, with a West Marine store managed by our good friend, Jose Barocio, is where we plan to finish up any remaining projects for Kandu’s preparations and get our “production” equipment and processes finalized (webpage architecture, social media foundation, video and audio production software and equipment, and amateur radio email). We’ll visit with our Angelino friends and neighbors, showing them Kandu and spend Christmas with Leslie’s parents in Palm Springs.
When we’re ready, we’ll leave MDR and sail down the Southern California coast, visiting whichever marinas we fancy, hopefully spending some reciprocal time at other yacht clubs (yacht clubs will often host members of other yacht clubs, allowing a boat stay 2-3 days free of charge at their guest dock or a vacant slip). Eventually we’ll find our way to San Diego where we’ll tie up any loose ends–boat, production, or visa–before selling our last car and untying Kandu’s dock lines from her last U.S. port for a while, entering into international waters. The long, arduous, sometimes torturous, phase of transitioning from land to boat life, of planning and preparing for a five-year voyage, will be replaced by the much anticipated processes surrounding cruising: course plotting and navigation, weather, maintenance, boat life, and foreign bureaucracies; seeking safe harbor, food, fuel, and adventure. In short, the fun part of the process begins.
2015 Mid to late January: If time remaining on the FP visa allows, we plan to first clear into Mexico in Ensenada, Baja California; a day sail from San Diego. Then sail down the rugged Baja coast to whatever surf spots and bays we think may be of interest to us, weather permitting.
At some point, we’ll wind up in Cabo San Lucas, with its marine chandlery, Home Depot, and Costco stores. We’ll pick up any last minute items, provision for two months of travel, and take our last hot North American shower.
Cabo San Lucas Marina (photo by commons.wikimedia.org)
Then it’s off to the Galapagos Islands (~18-day sail) where I think we get 10 days to visit.
Galapagos (photo by Burrard-Lucas.com)
Then off to Rapa Nui aka “Easter Island” (~18-day sail) where we hope weather will allow us to visit for a week or more.
Rapa Nui “Easter Island” (photo by visualphotos.com)
Then off to Pitcairn Island (~9-day sail) the last of our long sails for awhile and where anchoring and visiting shore can only be supported if weather is ideal.
Pitcairn (photo by travellerspoint.com)
Then off to the Gambier Islands (~3-day sail) where we enter the crystal clear lagoon waters of FP and our visa clock (assuming we get it) starts running.
Gambier (photo by wn.com)
Four days before Thanksgiving, while moored in Ventura, our transitional home for the past 18 months, this is the current outline of our intended itinerary. May that ‘serenity’ wisdom come soon.
When painting the bottom outside portion of the hull, the part that lives submerged underwater gets covered with a special paint designed to inhibit marine growth. Copper is toxic to marine life, especially as it oxidizes (rusts). The sailors of old covered the ship’s bottom with copper sheeting and copper nails.
HMS Bounty arrives in Tahiti 1788 (Painting by Jon Clayton)
In Tahiti, HMS Bounty had a problem with her crew and the islanders pulling the nails from the ship’s bottom for their personal purposes of trade. Not good for a ship needing to sail back to the other side of the world, or even just to Pitcairn Island.
The green rust that forms on the surface of copper is called cuprous oxide. In solution, cuprous oxide is used to clean algae from pools and ponds of water or the insides of water beds. If you staple bare copper wire around a flower bed, snails won’t cross it. Today, boat owners paint copper on the bottom. The price of the paint follows the price of copper. Currently, copper is expensive. A gallon of high copper concentrated paint sells for about $200. Alternatives exists, some more environmentally friendly than others, and each U.S. state has its own environmental laws identifying which active ingredients they permit for use in marine bottom paint.
Painting the bottom of a boat, the boat owner must decide how far from the bottom of the boat’s keel to paint the bottom paint; where to draw the boot stripe, the strip of paint that separates the upper hull from the lower hull, usually a different color from the two. For example, Kandu’s hull is white, her bottom is regatta red, and her boot stripe is forest green, matching her trim, the stripe along the upper hull that stretches just below her deck. So where does the boat owner draw the line? If it’s too high, exposed expensive bottom paint does little to protect the boat; if too low, marine life (algae, worms, barnacles, etc.) will form and have to be scrubbed off regularly, wearing down the shiny white expensive gelcoated surface (everything on a boat is expensive). In determining the waterline, boat owners must take into account how much equipment and stores they plan to stow aboard their boat. The more stuff you put in a boat, the lower the boat sits in the water, the higher the waterline must be. We bought Kandu from a couple that had sailed to Australia and back. When we purchased her, their waterline lay about 8 inches above sea surface, indicating that when they had Kandu fully loaded for their trip, she sat 8 inches lower. So we went with the previous owners’ line, maintaining the bottom paint at their previous level. For the four years we’ve owned Kandu, 6″-8″ of bottom paint has been exposed, but that’s now changing.
The darker part of the red bottom paint is the portion previously exposed.Close up, you can better see the cuprous oxide within the air-exposed portion of bottom paint.
Over the past three weeks, we’ve been loading Kandu. To state that not everything is loaded is an understatement. Additionally, because of the heavier equipment loaded into our shower (our “rec room” storage), we’re currently listing (as in leaning) to starboard. On the starboard side, we’ve about an inch of bottom paint exposed. To balance her out, we have to find objects to stow on the port side, heavy ones.
Kandu’s starboard waterline today.
Will we bury Kandu’s waterline or will we have her at the perfect level? It’s too soon to tell. By the end of next week, we’ll know. Keep your fingers crossed.
Many types live aboard their boats, of varying sailing ability and experience. An odd thing about boat owners: live-aboards or otherwise, most infrequently, and some never, take their boats out for a sail or a motor. Rare is the sailor who leaves the dock monthly. This includes Kandu. We went nearly 2 years without leaving the dock. Too few untie their dock lines. Live-aboards with extensive cruising are rare in a marina because they are typically sailing the blue yonder, or they’ve moved land-bound. Far more boats capable of cruising the world sit tied to a dock than sail the seas. As live-aboards in a marina, households (or perhaps more appropriately, “boat holds”) live nearly side-by-side, closer than mobile homes in a mobile home park. With many live-aboards being retirees, marinas in some measure take on the feel of an adult community. As such, we appreciate that many prefer children be “seen and not heard.” Non-liveaboards still working, having worked all week, like to spend a weekend sleeping in on their boats, bathed in seaside sounds while gently rocking. They don’t want to awake to kids playing near, and certainly not on, their boats. For this reason, some marina’s don’t allow live-aboards with children or large pets. Kids wake up early, either for school or for play. Fortunately, Ventura West Marina (VWM), where we’ve lived for nearly a year, allows both.
To offer a little more privacy, VWM staggers non-live-aboard boats between live-aboards. When in September we gave our required 30-day notice of departure based on our intention to leave with the Baja Ha-ha Cruiser’s Rally in late October, we gave up access to the live-aboard slip we’d occupied until then. In an effort to help us find a temporary home, the marina management asked and received permission to place us in-between two live-aboard boats.
Something of which some sailors may not be fully aware. A crew in final preparation for a multi-year long-distance voyage, as compared against a typical marina-bound boat, is significantly more active. From morning and into the evening, we are in and out of our boat, bringing on equipment, testing it, modifying it, and testing it again–add to the mix two active boys–et voila, ruckus aplenty. As compared to a more mature, perhaps sedentary neighbor, we are considerably more animated and thus relatively “loud.”
After only two weeks of this temporary arrangement, marina management informed us that one boat left the marina because of our higher noise generation and the boys’ handling of their boats, with even more boat owners threatening to give notice. “Noisy children” was the main reason given for the complaints. Ironically, none of them spoke to us directly about their issues, chosing instead to have others speak for them. Now, we’re not up too late. We’re in bed by 9:30 p.m. and up around 6:30 a.m. (I’ve been waking up around 4:30 and working on the computer). To abate the exodus, management moved us to another location, a slip with only one adjacent live-aboard, someone younger than me. When asked by other live-aboards why it was that we were moving so much, we’d tell them, “‘Cause we’ve been told we’re too loud.” They laugh and say we’re not. Some say they’re louder than us. But none of these people live directly adjacent to us or others for that matter. We hoped that management’s plan would work. After the first weekend, two days spent working with the boys, doing such things as filling water tanks, sorting sandpaper by grade, and showing them how to repair a polyethylene kayak (welding a narrow plastic rod to close small holes), hacksawing bolts of a Secchi disk (a device to measure phyto-plankton density), management notified us that they had received yet another noise complaint; this time from our new and only neighbor. Previously it took two weeks to have someone complain. This time it curiously only took two days. Although only feet away from each others “doors,” and having seen our new neighbor several times enter and exit his boat, he like the others, preferred to make his concerns known to “the office.”
Although for some über sailors it may be easy to prepare a twenty-eight year-old, 42-foot sailboat for a five-year circumnavigation with one’s family; and during the final two weeks of preparation have no one walk in and out of the boat, or talk or use tools, . . . for me, with or without a teenager and a pre-teen as crew, it is not. Understanding the unusual nature of our circumstances, we appreciate how the more typical, less-active of our live-aboard neighbors could be easily annoyed by our higher than normal activity. We are saddened that our neighbors find it difficult to appreciate our circumstances, that they feel uneasy discussing their concerns with us, electing instead to approach us through management. Management says we must leave their marina by November 30, the Sunday following Thanksgiving. Fortunately the Ventura Yacht Club is ready to receive us then, and another marina in Marina Del Rey after that. Some adventures start with a whimper, others with a shout. I suppose ours is starting with the preverbial door hitting us on the way out. It’s all good, for Leslie and I are making terrific progress, while Trent and Bryce find great ways to enjoy their time in pictoresque Ventura.
Post Script:
Several days before the required Nov. 30 departure, Ventura West Marina management offered and we accepted to stay in a newly vacated live-aboard slip, through the date of our choosing–Dec. 20th. On this, our national day of Thanksgiving, we are grateful for their thoughtfulness and the convenience it provides our family and effort.
Trent, Sunday evening, enjoying a little twilight bodyboarding after working on Kandu. Bryce catching waves in the distance.
The nine-year-old boy who made model planes and, from his living room floor, flipped through pages of images of America’s fastest planes came back to life as the crew of Kandu visited NASA’s Air Research Center yesterday. Previously called the “Dryden Flight Research Center,” in March the center was renamed “Neil A. Armstrong Flight Research Center,” after the first person to walk the moon’s surface. My brother, Tom, a NASA project manager at the center, offered last weekend when he and his family visited aboard Kandu, to give us a private tour of the facility, as its not open to the public. Located on the Edwards Air Force Base in the Mojave Desert lives this iconic ‘Disneyland’ of American flight engineering.
Nasa’s Armstrong Air Research Center from above (photo from Wikipedia)Crew of Kandu registered with the Visitor’s Center.
We were able to see and touch many of the favorite flight craft of my childhood fantasies: the sleek and mysterious “Blackbird” SR-71, the aggressively simple F-104A, a piece of the crashed X-15, and, most emotionally satisfying, the historic Lunar Landing Research Vehicle (LLRV), one of only two remaining in existance. The other three trainers were destroyed in flight tests. The LLRV and the Lunar Landing Training Vehicle (LLTV) were required flight training for all of the U.S. space program’s moon-landing astronauts. Knowing that every astronaut that ever walked the moon had flown the very craft I was touching somehow connected me in a small way to their greatness. At that moment, I hoped that some of the mojo of their courage and dedication might rub off on me, helping me guide our family’s exploratory watercraft safely around earth’s oceanic surface.
“Blackbird”“Starfighter”
Tom arranged for us to examine his team’s latest project: a Gulfstream III jet modified with their Adaptive Compliant Trailing Edge (ACTE) flaps. A week earlier, they had successfully completed their first full flight test. His press quote summarizes the project goals: “’The first flight went as planned — we validated many key elements of the experimental trailing edges,’ said Thomas Rigney, ACTE Project Manager at Armstrong. ‘We expect this technology to make future aircraft lighter, more efficient, and quieter. It also has the potential to save hundreds of millions of dollars annually in fuel costs.’” What happened next would be Leslie’s favorite part of the day, for Tom gave us a rare inside look of the test jet. The flight engineer allowed Bryce and Trent to sit in the pilot seats, panel lights on, sporting headphones with mics. Scrat, the acorn-obsessed saber-toothed squirrel from the the animated film series Ice Age, is the engineering team’s unofficial mascot. A mid-sized stuffed plushy of Scrat hangs from the aircraft’s ceiling, above racks of test equipment. The equipment measures something like 20,000 parameters.
The modified Gulfstream III outside its hanger. (photo NASA)View of the ACTE flap modification. (photo NASA)Drawing emphasizing the ACTE modification. (NASA)Ready to board the GSIIILanding alongside chase plane. Note the difference in wing shape between the experimental Gulfstream and the traditional chase plane. (Photo by NASA)Brother, Tom, boarding his team’s project test jet.“Ikhana,” a modified Predator drone, Tom’s previous NASA research project.
After lunch, Tom accompanied us to the Center’s fight simulator area. Walking through its second floor corridor, we passed sets of steel double-doors with each’s ceiling placards hanging above, identifying the craft that is simulated inside. We entered the one marked “Gulfstream III,” the actual jet that Bryce and Trent sat in earlier. We all got a turn at taking off, flying, and landing the plane that Tom’s team so deftly modified. Then it was off to the F-18, the fighter jet that chased the Gulfstream during its test flight.
Co-piloting the Gulfstream III simulatorSeated in the F-18 simulator cockpit.Piloting an F-18 over the Mojave Dessert at mach speed.
From the simulator center, we were off to the gift store where we said good-bye to Tom, and thanked him for the greatest of days. When Tom was 8, he drew rockets on pieces of lined paper and then dropped them into neighbors’ front door mail slots, ringing their door bells to alert them of the gift’s arrival before running off. To know what has become of that eight-year-old boy is a source of great happiness for me. Trent asked how old I was before I knew what I wanted to do. The experience of seeing Tom in his element may have triggered Trent to wonder when he might discover his career passion, or in my case–passions.
Bryce’s favorite experience was seeing the M-2/F2 drop plane, the predecessor to the futuristic Dream Catcher spacecraft whose simulator he briefly sat in. Trent liked seeing the Cessna Dragonfly trainer jet. Fortunately for Leslie and me, they both like the smaller crafts!
Bryce’s favorite aircraft, the M-2/F2, predecessor to the “Dream Catcher.” One of these crafts crashed landed here at Edwards. The footage was later used in the introduction of the 1970’s television series, “The Six Million Dollar Man.”Trent’s favorite, Cessna’s “Dragonfly” trainer jet.
Leaving the base, its Air Research Center and museums, the nine-year-old boy in me smiled with satisfaction, having been briefly brought back to life, making real as an adult what had previously been a childhood dream. The Center has a saying, “To create what others only dream.” We got a chance to touch dreams, making them real for me. With what rudder we have in the water, we hope to create a little of the same as we prepare to lead our own planetary adventure.
Installing, testing, and loading equipment takes up a large part of our weeks at this phase. One question was how well would our folding aluminum bikes tow our dock cart/bike trailer. On Sunday, we pulled the bikes out of their bags and attached the cart with a special towing arm converting our folding aluminum dock cart into a bike trailer. The arm attached to the bike post of one of our bikes using a bracket designed and fabricated by a professional car re-conditioner.
Trent tested folding bike cart on folding bike.
Taking advantage of yesterday’s day off from school for Veteran’s Day and the flat windless seas, Kandu and crew plus Uncle Bill motored 2 ½ hours through Monday evening’s heavily overcast sky over to Smuggler’s Cove on Santa Cruz Island. We chose Smuggler’s for its proximity to Ventura, easy grabbing sea floor, and large area; making it easy to ‘swing’ on one anchor without hitting other boats.
Nearly pitch black, we tested again our Simrad autopilot, and B&G navigation and RADAR equipment; learning how to dim the panels so as not to rob our night vision. Stationed halfway between Ventura and Santa Cruz Island, we motored safely past the oil platform and its large steel can buoys.
Passing platform Gail at night
Oil derricks in the Santa Barbara Channel are lit up like Christmas trees, so oil platform Gail is quite visible at night, but her buoys are not. The broadband RADAR work well to point them out to us before we saw the shadow of one of them against the glow of Gail.
Cautiously entering the dark cove, to confirm our location, we tried out our new LED spotlight. It worked like a champ, lighting up the shoreline and the Coast Guard’s mooring buoy. At a depth of 30 ft, we dropped hook (anchored) using our new 65 lbs Mantus anchor and snubbed it with our new Mantus bridle. The anchor impressively grabbed the muddy sand bottom. The thick nylon ropes and the innovative chain hook that comprise the bridle worked well to keep our motion gentle and quiet through the night. The crossing and anchoring were a success.
When anchored, wind blows a boat downwind. With the anchor chain fixed to the bow, the boat is held head first into the wind. Wind and swell usually come the same direction. In normal circumstances, a boat will rock in the more comfortable fore and aft motion, not side to side, which is uncomfortable. When rocking side to side, the boat rattles and rolls, making it difficult to sleep or work. That night, Smuggler’s Cove had a small, short frequency sea roll. Without wind to point Kandu’s bow, we often came sideways to the swell. At 3 a.m., I decided to deploy one of our two new, never-before-used stabilizers, or “flopper stoppers” as they are commonly referred. I quietly moved through Kandu’s interior, pulling from the main hanging locker (closet) the two stoppers in their separate bags and climbed one of them up the companionway ladder and into the cockpit. It took about 10 minutes to rig the unit off the mainsail’s boom, something I had previously configured at dock a few weeks prior. I locked the boom in place over the starboard quarter and dropped the shiny stainless-steel folding wing into the water. Leslie said the benefit was immediate: the boat rocked less. Later that morning, on the opposite side of the boat, I deployed the second stabilizer from the spinnaker pole. Roll was very slight after that.
Still awake at nearly 4 a.m., I decided to try and download a weather fax off the HAM radio and into our HP laptop. Excitedly I was able to receive several weather fax transmissions, sent by the Coast Guard at Point Reyes near San Francisco. Now I need to learn how to clean up the images. They came white on black instead of black on white, they split alignment halfway through the image, and are slightly fuzzy in sections.
Weather successfully received and downloaded fax onto laptop
After a hearty breakfast by Leslie, I worked to commission the watermaker. I cleared out all the tools and lubricants to gain access to the plumbing that supports the watermaking process.
Tools cleared to access water maker plumbing
The first step in the commissioning processes was to turn on the saltwater feed to the boost pump. When I opened the valve, seawater poured out from around the fitting that feeds the system, so we didn’t get any further in the commissioning process. I put everything back in its place, realizing this was an issue that will have to be addressed at dock where I’d have easier access to parts.
One of the main reasons for heading out to Santa Cruz the night before was to take advantage of the forecasted light winds that would allow us to sail for the first time our newly re-cut gennaker, our large colorful light wind sail. After lunch, while the boys kayaked to the beach through small waves, I rigged up the windvane self-steering, in hopes of testing it along with the gennaker. We pulled out from under Trent’s berth the newly re-cut gennaker sail, no easy task as the sail is large and the living space we walked it through, small. We prepared it on the foredeck. The netting I laced days earlier kept the sail from falling off the deck and into the water.
Foredeck netting
With the boys and kayak safely back aboard, we started the engine and weighed anchor. It came up fine, except, darn it, the sharp point of the anchor poked through the green gelcoat line of Kandu’s bow. I’ll need to take greater care when pulling up the anchor those last two feet. With anchor away and stowed, we motored past the Coast Guard buoy and unfurled the mainsail. Once set, we tied the mainsail’s boom preventer line to protect us from accidentally jibing, which means holding the heavy boom in place so it doesn’t dangerously swing over (or into!) our heads without warning. We proceeded to hoist the gennaker, Leslie on the foredeck, me in the cockpit. The light-wind sail easily slipped from its sock and gloriously made its colorful presence felt. We were impressed and pleased with the effort.
Gennaker off Santa Cruz Island.
Too soon the wind died and we re-snubbed the gennaker, pulling its enclosing sock down from its head (top) to its tack (bottom). With no wind, we were unable to test the self-steering wind vane, another thing for another day. Just as we had done the night before, we engaged the hydraulically operated autopilot to steer us home. We again motored past Platform Gail, this time noticing the sea lions basking atop her buoys.
Platform Gail in the daytime.
Before long, we entered Ventura Marina, successfully docking without any of the incidents or fanfare that occurred the last time we pulled from our slip. All in all, it was a productive 24 hour period, filled with good test runs, yet with still more to come . . . several more.
To improve her sailing skills and nautical vocabulary, Leslie volunteered as crew during this past summer’s season of “Wet Wednesdays” sailboat races, a series organized by the Ventura Yacht Club. Every Wednesday evening, around 5, the fleet of a little more than a dozen boats met just outside the Ventura marina to race around a course of buoys. The course was determined by the race committee aboard the committee boat minutes before each start. Where the committee boat anchored was where the race began. In these races, when sailing downwind, the sailboats typically deployed a spinnaker, the great-big colorful cloud-like sails you see billowing in those overly-saturated photographs of sailboats sailing in a cluster. Spinnaker sailing is something we won’t likely do aboard Kandu, but it’s great sailing experience.
Claudia, a new skipper with a new/used sailboat, a J-24, adopted Leslie. Claudia was very tenacious and eager to win. To expedite her learning, she sought and received guidance from more experienced J-24 skippers, who joined her on several of her races. By proximity, Leslie received an excellent education. As it would happen, within the first month, Claudia collided with another boat at the start of the race, an expensive error. From the other boat, Leslie heard from the skipper’s mouth words uttered only by drill sergeants and prison guards. He had just dropped (not a literal term) his boat back into the water after having it professionally painted, an expensive process.
A couple weeks later, during a Saturday practice trying new trimming skills, Leslie fell overboard. Her expensive hydrostatic inflator technology malfunctioned, so her lifejacket didn’t inflate. Fortunately, she held on to the genoa sheet she was trimming before she fell overboard thus not drifting far. Claudia immediately stopped the boat, and she and the remaining crew helped Leslie back on board. The life vest, which doubles as a harness, came in handy as a harness because the crew was able to hold onto her by grabbing the back of it. Leslie returned the vest to learn that it had been recalled earlier. The notice hadn’t reached us, but West Marine, the chandlery store from which we purchased the units, gave us a new vest to replace hers and one other to replace the one we had in stock that was also part of the recall.
About six weeks later, Leslie got the chance to try out her new lifejacket. Before the start of the last ‘Wet Wednesday’ race, Claudia arranged to practice jibing the spinnaker with Leslie as trimmer and added a very novice third crew member (fourth time to race on a boat) to perform as foredeck person (the one who stands on the deck in front of the mast and rigs and unrigs all of the headsails). When a jibe goes awry, a spinnaker often tangles around the headstay (the front cable that holds the mast up in place), and that’s what happened . . . but this time, a bit closer than usual to the beach. Claudia’s radio pleas for assistance went unheeded until it was too late; Within Reach drifted into the surf and onto the beach. Leslie jumped ship as the boat’s keel made contact with the sandy bottom, a wave knocking her off the hull side for good measure. This time the vest worked well (but this time it would cost $70 to re-arm it), and from where she fell from the side of the boat, Leslie’s feet touched bottom. Leslie was able to bob-walk safely to shore. After agreeing to the terms offered, Vessel Assist later worked successfully to pull the boat from the beach ($250/foot, so $6000!). The incident made the local paper, the Ventura Count Star.
‘Within Reach’ Beached Off Ventura Marina. Photo by Eric Rigney
That was Leslie’s last day aboard Within Reach, but not her last opportunity to fall overboard and auto-inflate her vest. Yesterday, while leaving for the first time the slip from where Kandu is currently berthed, as she jumped aboard Kandu’s forward port quarter (closer to the bow on the left side of the boat) Leslie noticed the bow was dangerously approaching the concrete pylon. In an effort to correct the boat’s trajectory, Leslie decided to jump back off Kandu back onto the dock to push the bow away. Leslie didn’t realize that in that brief moment, Kandu had backed far enough away to where Leslie was no longer above the dock. As she proceeded to jump back down, she fell directly into the cold grey seawater, weighed down by her clothing and equipment. She instantly sank several feet before her life vest auto-inflated, as designed, and popped her up to the surface, face first. Byce too had fallen in, but, with his light-weight life-vest, was able to readily get himself up on the dock. Leslie doggie-paddled to the other side, where the dock was lower to the surface and Bryce could help her up. The only injury sustained was a deep bruise to her right elbow and a little bruising to her ego. Fortunately, Leslie was not otherwise harmed and we continued with our sailing plans for the day.
As Bryce and Trent watch on, Leslie doggie-paddles to the lower dock where Bryce will walk around and assist her. Photo by Tom Rigney
Leslie’s boot camp has done much to build her confidence. Within Reach won two races and earned second place overall in the first session. Leslie’s practical experiences have taught her that she can survive very challenging circumstances. And I’ve learned as well. From now on, while near land, we’ll wear our standard static life-vests until we’re on longer passages. For now, we’ll put the pricey life jackets away. At $70 a pop (pun intended), Leslie’s boot camp was getting to be expensive.
Post Script: It just dawned on me that our policy of requiring everyone aboard Kandu to wear a life jacket paid off enormously Saturday. Wearing all her gear, without a life-jacket, Saturday’s circumstance may not have been so casually dramatic. Leslie sank so quickly, she didn’t have time to react before she fully understood that she was underwater, sinking. She said she didn’t know whether she would have had the presence of mind to have manually pulled the rip cord as quickly is it inflated on its own, or what she would have done had the vest not performed as engineered. With the auto-inflate feature built into the vest she was wearing, Leslie was at the surface before she had completely realized what had happened. Leslie’s dip could have been a tragic one were it not for our strict policy of wearing life jackets; either static or self-inflating. Were Leslie wearing a static life jacket, as we will in the future when near shore, she probably would not have bounced up through the surface as quickly, but she would have been swimming okay, instead of sinking like a rock. Bryce was dressed for swimming, so he easily swam to the dock and got himself out. But Leslie was not. To swim, a person either needs the resistance of bare skin against the water (try swimming with water socks and gloves on, you get no grab on the water) or be sporting a pair of swim fins. Leslie had neither. I was at the helm of a 15-ton sailboat, with 6 novice passengers aboard, backing toward many other boats. Had Leslie not worn the life vest and sank to the bottom (it was a very high tide that morning, so 20 feet), what could I have done and would I have thought to do it? I was fully dressed too. I would have had to strip down, grab our Spare Air mini SCUBA tank from under our top companion way step, and dive after her, leaving the boat adrift, hoping the others would steer her out of harms way from docks and other boats. As I write this, I now know I need to leave a set of flippers with our Spare Air, along with the mask and snorkel and dive knife we currently have strapped to it. I’m thankful that we are so stubborn about wearing life jackets aboard Kandu. It was a fundamental lesson taught to us as part of our Coast Guard Auxilary Safe Boating training. This experience strengthens our resolve. Thanks to the Coast Guard Auxiliary, to Mustang life-vest engineers and manufacturing, to Leslie’s experience aboard Within Reach and for West Marine’s swapping the faulty jacket, and to Leslie for wearing it (she had re-adjusted her vest’s straps less than an hour before her plunge, insuring her vest was snug to her chest); our family took the unplanned event in stride and enjoyed a lovely sail on what transformed to a beautifully clear day, sailing over calm seas in a light breeze along the picturesque Ventura coastline.
My 80 yr-old dad sailing with us after Leslie’s plunge, his vest a little too loosely fitted. Photo by Tom Rigney
Learning that reverse osmosis (RO) systems require a regular “feeding,” every three to five days, whereby freshwater must either be made or flushed through the system, we would wait nearly a year after installing it before we would commission the unit into service.
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