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.
I had my last day of school yesterday, Tuesday, December 16, 2014. From now on I will be home schooled or boat schooled. I left on a Tuesday. On Monday, my second to last day, I didn’t feel badly, but at the end of school on my last day, I felt really bad because right when I was leaving, some kids from class gave me notes like, “I will miss you.” Not everybody gave me a note, but everybody said goodbye. Ms. Myers, my English teacher, didn’t get to say goodbye because she was not present on my last day of school. It felt both good and really sad to say goodbye to my teachers and friends. But fortunately I collected a whole bunch of my friends’ phone numbers. I think I’ll miss my music at school because we just got to the good part of learning new music. I already really miss my friends because I might not see them until we are possibly 15 or older. I don’t think I’ll miss the schoolwork. I didn’t like most of the homework.
I have gone to four different schools since starting kindergarten – two schools in Los Angeles and two schools in Ventura. The difference between school in Los Angeles and Ventura is that every one in Ventura talks about the ocean. In LA nobody really talks about surfing or even the water. In Ventura I think the schools are better because in LA, I went to a German school and I had to study extra at Kumon. Maybe it was because the teachers taught in German and I could not understand. In Ventura the lessons were taught in English. I don’t know if LA middle schools are better because I never went to middle school in LA, but I really liked middle school in Ventura. Now I’m going to be boat schooled, and we’ll be in many different cities. I’m excited to be boat schooled by my parents, but I will always remember my days at school, the many things I learned, and especially the teachers and friends I met.
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.
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
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