Ensenada to Islas Cedros, Mexico3-27-2015 Friday, 4:30 am
Approaching Islas Cedros, the chart plotter shows Kandu’s location. The red marks are the RADAR reflections of the island, closer than charted.
This evening, I offer to take Eric’s previous watch schedule, covering two watches tonight, starting at 7:30 p.m. The three amigos are below deck by 8:00 p.m. In the dark, it is quiet. Trent comes up the companionway (doorway into the cockpit) around 9:00 pm; says he can’t sleep. He cuddles up next to me under the salty blanket. Trent is reading the Harry Potter series, so I offer to read aloud his book to him until his watch. It is nice, unexpected quality time with my 11-year-old son. Just before 10 p.m., Trent takes his watch. I feel badly that he doesn’t get a nap before his watch, but I’m tired. Before I leave, I help him get comfortable under the large folded blanket.
The seas remain rough. When I go below, the aft berth is rocking so violently to and fro that I can’t get comfortable enough to sleep. I think I will have to move to the saloon floor on future passages. Ugh! I finally fall asleep around midnight after Eric takes his watch and changes course to a more comfortable tack.
Four hours of sleep, back up at 3:50…Bryce likes to wake-up the next watch early…little bugger. Stars are bright tonight. I pull out my distance eyeglasses so that I can see better the myriad of constellations that envelope us: recognizing Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Orion and the Milky Way. Next watch, I will bring up my smart phone with its Star app to learn more of the night sky’s patterns.
Bryce catching Zzz’s while he can.
During my downtime and on watch, I have been reading Richard Henry Dana Jr.’s Two Years Before the Mast (Dana Point, our third stop down from Ventura, was named after him). I enjoy more listening to this book read aloud. Eric had downloaded it from LibraVox (free recorded audiobooks) and shared a couple chapters with his Kandu crew before we landed at Dana Point. On my own, I’m finding the book rather dry, although Mr. Dana has a prolific and eclectic vocabulary. His word choices are entertaining. Impressive is his ability to use such a variety of words to describe similar subjects…halyards, stays, names of sails, etc. But as far as emotional content is concerned, he leaves me parched. I’m reading it to learn more about sailing in a somewhat entertaining way, rather than reading manuals on sailing, and as a bonus, the book describes the California coastline in its early development. The book was published in 1840, just prior to the gold rush. It became an overnight bestseller, whereby he was elevated to rockstar status among gold rushers.
Trent and Bryce on watch to Cedros Island
On an entirely different subject, wearing our fancy hydrostatic life jackets all the time is annoying. Mine is starting to feel heavy and sometimes it makes me hot. Cooking yesterday afternoon was quite the chore because there were a lot of dirty dishes in the sink and the boat was bucking like a bronco, lurching deeply from side to side. I was crabby and frustrated. I stripped off my vest and found relief to move around and finish preparing dinner: macaroni & cheese, the boys’ favorite; served with the last of my fresh crudité, not the boys’ favorite. In Ensenada, I had stocked up with fresh vegetables, but these were mostly consumed while hosting Uncle Bill and family friend, Joe. I will have to find more fresh vegetables in Bahia Tortugas, i.e.: Turtle Bay.
Leslie coming into Islas Cedros after two nights at sea.
Life aboard Kandu while sailing on overnight passages and then anchoring instead of being tied to a dock, is smaller and larger at the same time. Living space is very tight on purpose to keep everything and everyone inside from rolling about when seas are rough. Yet, these imposed limits below deck encourage boat dwellers to ascend above deck offering limitless perspectives.
Ensenada to Islas Cedros, Mexico 3-26-2015 Thursday, 8:30 pm
Cedars Island is just above the cross of Lat and Long.
The boys have been rambunctious all evening having been stuck for the first time over 24 hours on the boat. Yesterday, Wednesday, March 25th, 2015, we departed Ensenada Harbor, 11:45 a.m., stocked with plenty of easy foods to snack on: fresh fruit of all kinds, yummy Mexican pastries, highly pasteurized boxed milk and eggs.
Joe Houska vs Sea Bass Beauty Contest in Ensenada
The seas since departing Ensenada have been so convoluted and muddled (we later learned the unusual mix of southern swell and northern swell was due to the aftereffects of Hurricane Pam which demolished Vanuatu the week prior to our departure) that not one of us escaped the effects of nausea. Thankfully none of us vomited. The fresh easy foods were a very good idea, because I didn’t feel like cooking and none of us were interested in eating much.
For the first time since we’ve owned and sailed the boat, we engaged the spinnaker pole to hold the genoa sail out (the large triangular sail in front of the boat), fully catching the wind. We’ve been sailing almost directly downwind (wind from behind). For comfortable sailing, Kandu prefers to be 10° off the wind. In the dark, on our first overnight, we did not want to engage in a lot of jibing, changing direction from starboard to port, as maneuvering a cruising sailboat like Kandu is not the same as handling a small race boat like a J24. Jibing Kandu is quite the process (you almost want to calendar it in), moving the spinnaker pole from port to starboard and back which requires changing out the fore and aft guys, and swapping out the topping lifts. Thus we kept the same downwind tack all night long, bobbing side to side while the sails crashed loudly: luffing and filling. Sometimes the sound was explosive. Hearing it, my head shuddered!
Wednesday evening was the start of our first night watch tours. Eric assigned himself the more fatiguing double watch 8-10:00 p.m. and 4-6:00 a.m. He woke Bryce for the 10-12 midnight. Bryce woke me from midnight to 2:00 p.m. I woke Trent for the 2-4:00 a.m., the easiest watch. Then Trent woke Eric again for the 4-6:00 a.m. Eric was so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that he woke Bryce again at 6:00 a.m. to take over while he grabbed some more sleep before getting on the HAM radio net for a 7:45 a.m. weather report.
My first watch was fine. Beforehand, Eric had taught us how to fill-in the “Passage Logbook” page, so I dutifully recorded our position at N 30° 52, W 116°32 with a compass heading of 146° South. Going roughly 5.5 knots, the wind was only blowing 8-8.5 mph. The night sky was clear; the air was wet, causing the blanket covering my legs to be damp: a king size synthetic blanket given to us 20 years ago for our wedding and previously unused. I was very happy to be covered by this perfectly soft blanket where the dirt wipes away easily and salty moisture dries quickly, keeping the user toasty warm. I almost didn’t bring it due to lack of space, but Eric recommended something for night watches and I remembered this one. Sure am glad I toted it along!
Kandu before leaving Puerto Ensenada for Islas Cedros
My two-hour watch did not seem terribly long. I was warm, but not too warm: comfortable under our dry hard dodger, but with the wet cool wind blowing up the rear, not too comfortable. My recent knee abrasion was tender. At the Ensenada Cruise Port Village guest dock, we moved Kandu from the end of B dock to the end of C dock. To catch the dock lines, I ran from one end to the other end. There was a stainless steel tube frame on the dock that I tripped over, landing hard on my right knee, the knee of my ACL replacement. My hands and forearms were superficially scraped, but my knee suffered terrible road rash, swelling, and bruising. Since then, it has been bothering me, reducing my ability to move quickly around the boat.
9:00 pm – my writing was interrupted by Trent, who couldn’t sleep. It seems for all of us, adjusting to life at sea and into the unknown will take some time.
Two days ago, we arrived in La Cruz, Mexico, not far from Puerto Vallarta. At first we anchored, but the next day, we rented a slip to make Internet easier. We have a lot of work to do that requires emailing and Internet research. Turning around Cabo San Lucas, we definitively hit a more tropical clime, T-shirts and shorts on watch. Since Ensenada, we’ve had two 2-night passages and one 4-night passage, stopping at three cove/bays. Some issues were shaken out of Kandu and we’re addressing them as timely and cost-effectively as we can. The hottest issue for us now is a leaking hydraulic ram used by the autopilot to steer the boat. Although it was recently rebuilt by the manufacturer, we need to replace it, an expensive and arduous task. My uncle, Bill, is really helping tremendously in this effort, postponing his joining us until he has a replacement in hand. It’s proving difficult to find an appropriate replacement, the right size for the available space. Consequently we think we’ll be “stuck” in Mexico for a couple of weeks, before we can head off to the Galapagos.
Leslie as we come into Cedros Island after two nights at sea.Turtle Bay Sunrise
Kandu at Ensenada’s Cruise Port Village with cruise ship dock before her.Kandu moored at Ensenada’s Cruise Port Village
Kandu departed San Diego’s Southwestern Yacht Club Friday (3/20/2015) at 5:00 a.m. with Uncle Bill and Joe Houska aboard. We bid farewell to U.S. conveniences…most especially our car!
Silver Gate YC amenity, evening Jacuzzi in front of Kandu lit by her spreader lights.
Arrived safely without trouble at Ensenada’s Cruise Port Village, Mexico around 4:30 p.m. We’re enjoying the sites, the color schemes, and especially the food – taking advantage of the great currency exchange due to a strong dollar…about 14.5 pesos per dollar. Friday night after we arrived, we ate at a great fish restaurant off the main drag: Mariscos Bahia Ensenada. The staff was excellent and the ambiance spiced up by Mariachis.
Celebratory dinner of delicious Ensenada seafood
Several times we ate fish tacos at a small stand near the Mercado de la Nueva Viga, the local fish market. Bryce thought it was cool that as we approached the area, we were beckoned into a taco stand where everyone inside agreed that we would taste Ensenada’s best fish tacos there.
Bryce prefers the sweeter Mexican Coke
The tacos were most definitely tasty, yet just around the corner we discovered probably another 20 taco stands, likely equally as good, butted up against each other adjacent to the fish market. After lunch, we strolled along the fish and fishermen at the fish market. The large selection of fresh fish and seafood is astounding in Puerto Ensenada. Such an incredible display of fresh fish and seafood: all varieties & sizes of fish, clams, oysters, abalone, shrimp, lobsters, etc. We were passing one sectional of fish sporting an enormous fish head (the head of a 400-lbs black seabass). The fisherman beckoned me over to take a picture with him and the trophy head.
Catching a halibut, the sea bass took the prize and became the bigger prize!
His display of fish included large steaks of smoked marlin. When I inquired in broken Spanish how long a red-colored smoked steak might last, he offered us a taste (which was delicious) and explained that unrefrigerated it would last, no problem, 7 days. Refrigerated, it could last up to 2 months. I told him we would be back to purchase some before we left. I also priced out a large Halibut – $10 – the equivalent in Ventura would have been $25. Could be a delicious lunch during our first passage. (So far we haven’t caught any fish while trolling down the coast.)
Ensenada Church while strolling on errands.
When we returned to Kandu, Uncle Bill and Joe finished the repair on the anchor locker hinges, which had gotten broken in Long Beach. We are so grateful for their help. Bryce and Trent enjoyed the opportunity to surf with Joe. “Ensenada Beaches” (about a 25 minute walk south from Cruise Port Village) turns out to have had decent swell for surfing and they had an adventure trying to load three rather sizable surfboards into a small Toyota Celica Taxi for the return home! The two smaller boards fit inside while Bryce and Joe supported the longboard just outside the windows. Talk about learning how to solve problems! With the exception of the boys’ surf trek, we’ve been walking everywhere. While they were off enjoying the water, Eric and I took care of laundry and found an open Smart’n Final for fresh vegetable provisions in preparation for our departure down the coast of Baja after finalizing Mexican customs.
Trent and Joe leave the dock for inland adventures
While we’ve been here, Trent has taken upon himself the challenge of learning Spanish. He has been studying and trying to remember/make-sense-of general greetings and simple phrases. It’s exciting for me to observe his enthusiasm. He even downloaded a Spanish learning game app to quiz himself on words and phrases. Bryce wonders at the lack of solid rules. It seems to him that Mexican people have more freedoms to do what they want. I explained to him that people here are less litigious, maybe because they don’t have as much to lose, and/or because Mexican bureaucracy (bribery) causes complaints to take much longer…there is definitely a sense of living at your own risk, fewer safety nets…hence the reason why when skateboarding, the boys must still wear their helmets!!! haha
Joe outside ECPV
We planned only to stay in Ensenada through the weekend, but on Monday morning, with the anticipation of a strong Northwest wind, Eric checked the weather through the Chubasco radio net and the meteorologist strongly recommended that we wait two days until Wednesday morning to depart. The winds were expected to blow up to 30 knots.
High winds give Kandu’s crew a couple extra days in EnsenadaPut the lime in the coconut and eat it all up!
Considering it would be the boys’ first experience with sailing overnight and having night watches, we decided to wait out the heavy breeze for a more-gentle send-off. I imagine once we make French Polynesia after sailing 3 10-15 day passages, 30-knot winds will be acceptable, but today, it’s best to be conservative. In any case, the two extra days have allowed us more time to explore the area, to add a couple more convenience touches to the boat, ie: bungee straps to stabilize bathroom garbage cans, and to refill our water tanks with reverse osmosis (RO) water, using shore-power to run the motors.
Last of the hot showers for awhile
It had been three months since Eric first ran the RO unit to convert seawater into fresh. Since then, Bryce has been actively rinsing the membranes with fresh water. Eric figured once he got the system working the first time, it would be ready to go on demand. Unfortunately, while teaching the boys how to work the system, the RO unit failed to work. After spending 2 stressful hours troubleshooting the problem, he discovered that the installed 15-amp circuit breaker for the booster pump (the 12-volt water pump that pulls seawater up to the high pressure RO pump for processing) was too small. Having been a professional technician, Eric is fond of stating that the difference between a user and a technician is that the tech read the manual. Thus, Eric calmly sat down to re-read the set-up installation instructions. He learned that the breaker amperage spec (20A) is rated higher for the system than the spec rating (15A) on the pump. Fortunately, he stocked a lot of spare parts, and was able to change it out that same day—problem solved!
Baja chart with surf spot notations
From here, we are headed south toward Turtle Bay, but will stop-off for the boys to surf off Isla Natividad, weather permitting. One weather report forecasts a southern swell for Thursday, so we’ll see. Then we’re off to “Mag Bay” and Puerto Vallarta, before our first big crossing: Galapagos. Here at Cruise Port Village, in the port of Ensenada, is our last chance to benefit from WiFi and hot showers for quite some time…maybe not until Puerto Vallarta. It may also be our last marina slip for several years, meaning we’ll be anchored off shore, taking our dinghy in, with no power connection to shore power. We’re unplugging!
Trent and Bryce prepared to dinghy off to Oceanside Harbor Beach.
Today, Feb 24, 2015, I had to solve a problem. Early in the morning I decided to motor the dinghy over to Oceanside Harbor Beach to check out the surf because the waves broke on the other side of the quay. Even though we were pretty close to the surf from where our boat was docked, we couldn’t see the waves. So I prepared all the equipment for the dinghy, put on my lifejacket and headed over to see the waves.
Arriving on the other side of the harbor, I sidled up to the dock without trouble and tied the dinghy onto one of the dock cleats, then walked over the quay to the beach to look at the waves. I thought to myself that the waves were just surfable. Satisfied, I returned to set up the dinghy to motor back to the boat. I got everything ready to go, started up the dinghy engine then pushed off the dock. The inflatable started to move forward a little bit, but then the motor just sputtered out. At that point, I was headed straight for the rocks, so I lifted the motor to make sure its propeller wouldn’t hit. Then I pushed off the rocks with my hand, angling back over to the dock so I could see what was wrong.
I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the motor. I tried starting it over and over again but it still didn’t work. I couldn’t call home because I hadn’t brought my phone. I could walk around the entire harbor, but then I would have had to leave the boat. That’s when I knew what I had to do. I set up the paddles and rowed back to Kandu. The return trip was a bit slower traveling, but only about 15 minutes.
When I returned to the boat, safe and sound, my parents asked what took so long. I explained to my dad the problem. He got into the boat and I watched him turn on the motor the very first time he tried. It was at that point that I remembered I had forgotten to push down the choke once the motor was ignited after pulling the starter chord. It was a good lesson in keeping calm and solving a problem. Next time I take out the dinghy, I will make sure to be a little more prepared.
The first real surf lesson I had was a private lesson with my brother Trent at Ventura Point. The instructor’s name was Jeff Belzer, a very cool and nice guy. He is also very well known in Ventura because he has won a lot of surf competitions and he is owner of a surf school and conducts surf camps: Makos Surf Lessons. To start off the lesson, we watched the waves and evaluated the surf, looking for the best wave break as well as determining the best spot for surf that day. It took five minutes to decide where the waves looked best. The waves were okay there, but we decided to change our spot to a bit better location and parked in front of our chosen surf spot. After getting our wet suits on, we grabbed our boards and walked down to the beach and started our warm-ups. We stretched and did jumping jacks then, headed into the water by ourselves without Jeff so he could evaluate our skills from the beach.
Surfer’s Point, Ventura, CA
As Trent and I paddled into the water, the waves crashed into us since, at the time, we didn’t know how to duck dive; it was very hard to paddle out. When I pulled into my first wave, I attempted to stand up, but tumbled headfirst back into the ocean. Trent on the other hand successfully stood on his board. Being the older brother, I was embarrassed that my little brother bested me. But within a minute I successfully caught a wave. After about 15 minutes of surfing, Jeff signaled us back to shore to give us a lecture on how to improve our surfing. A couple things he suggested included to go down the line when surfing, pop up quickly onto the board, and above all, always keep your balance.
We headed back out, but this time Jeff joined us in the water and Trent and I both caught some great waves. After 45 minutes of instruction in the water using our sushi boards, we got to try out some spectacular epoxy short boards that Jeff had brought along. I loved using these shorter boards! Part of the lesson was to have Jeff help us figure out what kind of boards we should upgrade to.
Bryce surfs with dolphin
When our sea time was up with Jeff, we met on shore and he gave us ideas of what the next step up for boards should be. Jeff suggested I get a wide 6ft 4” Roberts’s board, and make it wide. For my brother, he said the same but his board could be wide or skinny. Everyone liked the idea of epoxy boards since epoxy is stronger. Our boards living atop our boat Kandu, would likely fare better than fiberglass boards.
Thanking Jeff for all his time and great advice, I felt excited about how much I had learned. He gave us both great suggestions and pointers. I will always remember the advice that Jeff Belzer from Ventura Makos gave me.
Bryce with his Robert’s 6’4″ epoxy board at Surfer’s Point, Ventura, CA
Following our lesson with Jeff, we bought 6ft 4” boards and surfed with them frequently to put our new information to the test. We loved the feeling of the new boards! But for us it wasn’t enough. Trent and I decided to buy new smaller boards with our own money. Again at Roberts’ work surf shop, we found two beautiful surfboards. Trent bought a 5ft 7” fiberglass board that had a flaming paint job on it. I bought a 5ft 6” fiberglass board, which was just plain white: a blank canvas to paint a red and blue lightening bolt. We brought them both home and a few days later we were floating on clouds in the ocean.
Trent on Rapoza FireBryce’s Design Represents His Country and His Board Maker
After 21 days in lovely San Diego Bay and having imbibed various green beverages in celebration of last night’s St. Patrick’s Day*, Kandu and crew are prepared to leave San Diego for Ensenada Friday at 5 a.m. While in Ensenada, we’ll plan our sailing and surfing for the coast of Baja and over to Puerto Vallarta before heading out to the Galapagos. Friday will mark our first international port of call, an important milestone following years of preparation. Hope to have the inReach device working to post our positions for you. Follow as well RigneysKandu on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. We’ll do our best to keep you posted. Wish us luck!
*Trent and I took advantage of our last day of having a car and drove into town last night to enjoy some hot wings at Kansas City Barbaque, a restaurant used in the filming of Top Gun.
It’s funny how a single experience can taint one’s overall impression of a place. Having my phone pick-pocketed at Chula Vista’s Costco on Monday cast a negative shadow over this American border town. The officers of the Chula Vista Yacht Club have been one of the most welcoming of any club, with Commodore Ron and Dockmaster Jim coming down to greet us as we arrived at their spacious guest dock. They even arranged a fourth day for us. Chula Vista Marina is at the most southern end of San Diego Bay, just seven miles from the US-Mexico border. Coming in to the marina at low tide in the late afternoon was tenuous. Kandu’s depth sounder or transponder read 6.5’. She draws 6’. I couldn’t recall whether I set the sounder to display feet from surface or feet before grounding Kandu’s keel, a setting I’ll have to check this morning (no, duh). Chula Vista Yacht Club started in 1883, five years before the San Diego YC. But being at the harbors bottom and at the mouth of several washes, after a few flood rains, the basin silted up, and the club dissolved until 1988, around the time the harbor was dredged and the marina built. This is the first marina we’ve visited where a security guard patrols the docks. Still, we feel safe here, aboard our quiet home afloat, . . . that is, until the next day.
With their one-year visa, French Polynesia requires two passport photos per person upon arrival in French Polynesia. Our yacht agent at Tahiti Crew will be representing us, so we wanted to send her the photos to bring to the Papeete immigration office on our behalf. Costco is close to the Chula Vista Marina, so we drive over there to get our pictures taken.
It is quick. The photo clerk says it will be 30 minutes before they were ready: 3:50 p.m. We separate, Leslie and Trent go to the food court to get a ‘Chicken Bake’ for Trent, and I leave with Bryce so he can taste the various samples throughout the store. After half a dozen samples, we leave the warehouse interior to join Leslie and Trent outside, in line at the food court. I decide to get a ‘Latte Freeze.’ I don’t drink a lot of coffee, so when I do, I catch a significant energy high. After picking up our “food, glorious food,” I stay with Trent so he can eat seated. Leslie and Bryce walk over to neighboring Walmart to check out the $5 DVD movies bin. Since arriving to take our photos, I calculate that I’ve been at Costco for a total of about 30-35 minutes before Trent and I leave Costco and walk across the parking lot to join Leslie and Bryce and look for movies.
After ten minutes of sorting through movies, I realize that my phone is missing from my right, back pocket, which I recall having zipped shut. Bryce and Trent swear they don’t have it. A terrible feeling comes over me. Having recently reset the phone, the screen isn’t locked, providing complete access to my email and contact list. I fight off a sickening feeling, preferring instead to “review the situation.” First, I rush to our car to make sure I’m not having a “senior moment” (I now qualify for senior coffee at McDonald’s . . . ). Affirming it isn’t in the car, I rush back to Leslie and from her phone, call mine. Maybe someone found it and dropped it off with the store? Maybe someone was waiting for me to call it so they could return it to me? From Leslie’s phone I dial my phone. It rings. Someone picks up, but remains silent. I plea, “You have my phone. This is my phone. I need my phone . . . .” And they hang up. Now I know it is a theft.
So I call T-Mobile and shut down the iPhone’s calling service and lock its serial number so it can’t be enrolled in another plan. Talking with the T-Mobile technician about securing or erasing the media on the phone, he asks if I engaged the “Find My Phone” feature and whether I knew my Apple ID and password. That’s when I get an incoming call. Guessing it might be the person with my phone, I ask the tech to hold while I take the call.
“Did you call about your phone?” says a young man’s voice with a slight Spanish accent.
“Yes, do you have it?”
“No, but I’m with a man who doesn’t speak English who found it at Costco. He wants to return it to you.”
I’m hopeful that is was a dumb error and that I had actually left the phone somewhere and this good Samaritan was going to return it to me. “Great. I’m near Costco. I can meet you right now.”
“He’s not at Costco. He’s at the last trolley stop before Mexico.”
The sick feeling comes back. “How can I get it?”
“How fast can you get here? He’s on his way back to Mexico and wants to go now. Can you be here in 5 minutes?”
“I’m not from here, I’m at Costco, you tell me how long it will take and give me directions. I’ll leave now.”
“Is there a reward for the phone?”
“Yes. Okay. How much is the reward? What’s he want?”
“$20-$30.”
“Done. I’ll pay it. Where do I go?”
“Meet us at the trolley station next to Sunset Elementary. He’s wearing a red zip-up sweatshirt with a light-blue T-Shirt. What’s your car look like?”
“A red Prius. I’m leaving now.”
“See you.”
I tell the T-Mobile tech what I’m doing and to stand-by. He says he’ll call me back every 10-15 minutes to check up on me.
Man, I’ve got to pee, but do I have time? I shouldn’t have had that coffee. I’m buzzed. I take the time, then find Leslie and tell her what’s going on as she’s still shopping. I take Bryce and Trent because I think Latino’s like kids and are less likely to have any funny business in front of them.
Every stoplight is taking forever. Trolley trains are dropping arms in front of me. I’m nervous that this may be the very train the guy wants to take home. T-Mobile calls back. “Not now, Aaron, you knocked out my map!” I miss my turn and another trolley comes and drops the arms in front of me. I’m panicked. I’m taking too long. I shouldn’t have pee’d. The arms come up, I turn right, and tear down the street to the elementary school less than a quarter mile away. I pull up to the school and get out. A police officer, lights flashing, comes out of his truck behind me. “Identification and registration, right now!!! I’m pulling you over for speeding down Berry.” “I’m sorry. You’re probably right.” I get the documents he wants and tell him that this is a very bad day. “Some guy stole my phone at Costco and is going to sell it back to me somewhere around here, and now I’m getting a ticket.”
“We’ll get your phone back. And you won’t have to pay for it. Call your kids back.” I had Bryce and Trent looking for the guy, in case he was at the school. I’m concerned that he saw the police and took off with my phone. I am so frustrated.
“Here’s your citation. You can hire a $99 lawyer who can probably make it go away. Now let’s go get your phone.”
$250 Chula Vista souvenir
I park my car in a safer spot while the police officer writes up another ticket to a car parked near the school. Walking the three short blocks to the trolley station, I see a dark complexion Latino man in a red sweatshirt zipped down to show his light blue T-shirt. He’s leaning against the cement wall that leads to the trolley platform. A young man with curly dark brown hair leans adjacent to him, presumably the guy who spoke with me. They’re smiling as if one said something funny to the other. As I approach, Bryce and Trent catch up behind me. The two men are quiet. The young guy asks, “Come to get your phone?”
“Yes.”
The man in the red sweatshirt pulls out from his right pocket my phone. “Is this your phone?” asks the young guy.
“Yes.” And the red sweat-shirt guy hands it to me to check.
Whoop-whoop pops the siren, “You’re under arrest!” The traffic officer walks swiftly our way with has his hand over his handgun. “Show me some identification right now. Do you know it’s a felony to sell a . . . .”
I can’t hear him. My eyes are too focused. I see the left hand of the red sweat-shirted man pulling out a very stuffed leather wallet. His hand is gimp around the thumb. He couldn’t have pick-pocketed me, but he looks like a really bad guy. He moves very slowly and deliberately. I’m guessing he has people working for him, bringing them their catch, like the ‘Bill Sikes’ character from “Oliver.” I seem to recognize the young guy from Costco, looking at clothes, looking at me as I passed by him earlier that day. The young man is pleading his case, but I can’t hear him. I’m focused on what I see. The officer looks sternly at me and tells me to leave; reminding me that he has my information. “Get out of here, . . . go.” So we do . . . quickly, back to the car, with my phone and my ticket. The boys say they saw that the red sweat-shirted man had several phones in his pocket.
In the car, as I am driving away, my phone rings. It’s Aaron, the tech from T-Mobile. I update him. He says that this doesn’t happen everyday, and reactivates my phone. He said iPhones are hard to steal because providers can shut them down and track them anywhere in the world where there’s Internet. He thinks the thief realized I was actively pursuing my phone and thought it better to make money on the reward. Had I locked my phone’s screen, he wouldn’t have been able to locate the number from which I had called him. As we drive back to Costco where Leslie is waiting for us, Bryce puts the screen lock on my phone.
I feel uneasy, having been so close to corrupt forces. I think of all the heartache, sadness, and frustration these men cause and hope my odd series of misfortune takes them off the street for at least a little bit. Walking to our boat, I feel the need to lock her and all of our stuff up, the first time since owning her. Driving through Chula Vista, I’m not comfortable anymore. I’m on edge. The manager of the Costco said that in the two years that he’s been there, he’d never heard of such an incident, so he’s not prepared to change anything just yet. I’m most grateful for getting my phone back, not having to change all my passwords again or worry about everyone getting stupid emails from my email accounts. With the song “Pick a Pocket or Two” playing in my head, I think how sad it is that one incident can have such an effect on one’s perception of a whole city. But I’m optimistic by nature and know soon I will again feel that, all in all, “It’s a Fine Life.”
Things were looking up, passing under the Coronado Bridge on our way to Chula Vista Marina
Note to the reader. This is one of my long, “this is what I learned to today, everything you ever wanted to know about” blog posts. Not everyone’s cup of tea. But if you’re interested in the process of solving a problem on a cruising boat, and in state of the art biochemical technology, then this post is for you.
Diesel fuel ‘legend,’ Tom, prefers not to be photographed.
I woke up with one mission: to develop that day a cost and time effective plan to address our fuel tank problem. In order to develop a plan, I would need information, options. I usually do this by consulting with as many experienced yachtsmen and professionals as possible. From our cockpit I could see thunderclouds and the rain they carried, drifting off San Diego’s southern horizon. After breakfast, my father-in-law, Ron, who was staying at a nearby motel, visiting us, opted to join me in my quest. Together we headed off to one of the west coast’s revered marine chandleries: Downwind Marine.
Having the day before docked Kandu at the prestigious San Diego Yacht Club, we were only blocks away from this venerable vendor. Having previously visited West Marine, the US yachting industries largest (perhaps only) chain marine hardware store, didn’t carry fuel bladders. A fuel bladder is a sturdy bag capable of holding diesel or gasoline. Some boats have them to extend their range of travel (the more fuel, the further your engine can take you), but I wanted to use one to temporarily store the diesel within Kandu’s tanks, allowing me to clean the emptied tank without having to throw the diesel away. I had hoped that this privately owned shop would carry them, and true to their reputation, they did. I wanted a 50-gallon bladder, but the largest he had, held 25 gal. When I saw the price, $440, I realized a bladder was not cost-effective. I described to the clerk my intentions for the bladder. He then recommended a used plastic 55-gal. drum, sometimes free on Craig’s list. A second later, he explained that the fuel may be old and possibly contaminated. He suggested we consider having all 200 gal. of fuel pumped out and dumped by a qualified fuel dock, like Pearson’s down the street, then pump back in fresh diesel. At about $4/gal, $800 and maybe 4 hours to swap fuel, it didn’t seem crazy. I asked about cleaning the tanks. He recommended inquiring with Pearson’s for that as well, and provided directions to two marine diesel mechanic shops in case Pearson’s didn’t offer the service or have a recommendation.
Driving the four blocks down the street to Pearson’s, I was intrigued by this new option. It seemed viable, especially if our fuel were contaminated.
Exiting the car from Pearson’s parking lot, it started to sprinkle, so I pulled out a small black spring-loaded umbrella. Walking through the center opening of the beige and brown A-frame office structure to the fuel docks, I peek into their small offices but didn’t see any managers or clerks, so I continued on down the docks to the fuel pump area. A young attendant was casting off a cruising sailboat, presumably one which he’d topped up with diesel. As he walked back up the ramp I had just descended, I told him briefly about my fuel problem. He pointed to a guy walking from the parking lot to the structure and said; “See that guy in the red hat? His name is Jim. That’s the guy you want to talk to.”
Jim is an old salt: cynical, amused by the experience that others lack, and willing to help plebes like me. I told him my problem, that I had an engine with a fuel problem, about 200 gallons of two-year-old diesel in three tanks, and that I suspected algae had populated my tanks. He said, “A forest, and it’s more like 3 years instead of 2. I’ve been doing this too long. What type of boat?” When I told him a Tayana 42, he winced. I asked him why the look. He explained that Tayana’s have filters at the end of their fuel tank drawtubes, buried inside the tank, an unnecessary and annoying feature. He said that fuel filtering should be left to external fuel filters that can be easily replaced. He suggested I shock the tanks with a special additive engineered to address our problem, and added, “Hopefully you didn’t add BioBor?” “Just yesterday,” I replied. He winced again. “That stuff turns algae into tar, making it really tough to get it out of your tanks. You better talk to Tom. He’ll know best how to solve your problem.”
“Do I need to have my fuel pumped out and polished?”
“Talk to Tom.”
“Do I need to get my tanks opened up and cleaned?”
“Talk to Tom. He’s across the street at the yard, second floor, ‘Oceanview.’ Tom’s the guy . . . be sure to tell him about the BioBor.”
“I’ll tell him you sent me.”
“No need. He knows it’s me.”
I thanked Jim, and in the now pouring rain, searched out his highly recommended diesel fuel tank expert.
Finding Tom’s office wasn’t easy. Eventually we made our way to a boatyard’s receptionist. Wanting Tom’s best advice, I asked if she knew of the ‘legendary’ diesel fuel tank expert named Tom. She smiled and said, “So he’s a legend, is he?” and picked up her phone and dialed. “I’ve got two gentlemen in my office looking for the ‘legendary’ Tom?” The receptionist pulled the phone receiver away from her face and chuckled, “Did you see his name and picture at the Post Office?” She told Tom to come and get us.
Walking into Tom’s cramped office, Tom preceded to give us a thorough education on diesel fuel. It turns out Tom, former Navy, “loves” diesel, owns four diesel vehicles and four diesel vessels. He cleans tanks, polishes fuel, etc. His main business is salvaging boats. But more than anything, he likes solving diesel problems with simple solutions. He explained that we have a bacteria problem, not algae. That the bacteria grow in colonies between the accumulated water and the fuel at the bottom of the tank (water being more dense, sinks in diesel). The water comes from condensation that accumulates at the top of the tank from moist air by way of the tank’s air vent. Topping the tank minimizes this effect, but best practice is to burn through your fuel regularly. That’s why sailboats have problems with their diesel. They store it instead of burning through it like a powerboat does.
Tom explained that although the bacteria are small, about 1 micron, and could easily pass through filters to be burned up in the engine’s combustion process, they are unfortunately wrapped in a slimy coat of sugars that they feed off. This coating allows the colonies to stick together and accumulate on the surface of the tank, which makes them large enough to clog fuel filters. Their waste product (a.k.a. poop) creates a carbon like substance that aggressively adheres to the surface of the tank and offs acetic acid, the by-product that contaminates diesel. “If you don’t smell vinegar, then the fuel is fine. It takes 7-8, more like 10 years before diesel goes bad, so you’re probably fine to keep your diesel.”
Tom pulls open a file-cabinet drawer, reaches in, and lifts out a clear quart-size bottle of golden elixir. “This is what you need. This stuff came on the market only about three years ago. It dissolves the slimy coat that surrounds the bacteria, making them vulnerable. Dead or alive, they now pass through the filters and easily burn up through your engine. The elixir even eats up the by-product, ridding the tank of the hard dark-grey coating.”
“What about the BioBor that I added,” I ask.
“BioBor kills the bacteria, but leaves the dead bacteria and coating debris in the tank to clog fuel filters. This stuff,” holding the bottle up, “eats that dead coating debris too. It just takes longer. In about 4-5 days after a shock dose (2.5 regular doses) of this stuff and mixing it with your fuel polishing system, your tanks should be good to go. Remember to pour directly into your tanks, not the pour spout opening where it could sit in a down-hose bend. This stuff is putting my tank cleaning business out of business, but I have other things I can do that are more fun than cleaning tanks.” He showed us before and after pictures of a 500-gallon tank he cleaned using this product. “When I saw this,” he said, “I knew had to become a distributor.”
I inquired about the buried filter at the end of the drawtube on Tayana’s that Jim previously mentioned. Tom said it’s a two-edge sword. “Yes, it is a weak point, but it prevents larger stuff from getting stuck up and inside the tube, a bigger problem.” He explained that all sorts of stuff find its way into a fuel tank, from silicone remnants to candy wrappers. “You won’t believe what you can find in there,” shaking his head. He suggested getting a small fish net to try and capture whatever may be down there or paddle it up to see what floats up to view, and recommended trying to clean the drawtube filter if we can reach it, not often the case in an older boat.
Tom said one bottle should last me at least three years. Ron said, “We’ll take two,” and plopped down the cash. “My daughter and grandsons are on the boat. This chemical seems hard to get and I don’t want him to have this fuel problem any more.”
Tom reiterated the value of this new product and said before it, there was another product he raved more about: it burns off the carbon that accumulates around the top of the cylinders and injectors. But now he mostly sells this tank cleaning solution (which happens to be three times more expensive than his carbon cleaning solution). I told him that I’d heard that to burn off the excess carbon build up it’s supposedly good practice to run a marine diesel close to its top end, throttling up to its higher range of supported rpms, for the last 5-10 minutes of operation. He agreed and I bought the carbon burning solution as well.
Our lesson from the diesel ‘legend’ came to a close, our plan of attack formulated: add miracle solution to dissolve micro biotic sugars, check the bottom of tank for “God-knows-what-debris,” clean drawtube filters, and burn off the carbon build up.
As Ron and I left Tom’s office with our two bottles of elixir, I picked up and folded my umbrella. The rain had subsided and blue sky peeked out from around the billowy cloud-tops.
“Wasn’t that great?” I asked Ron.
“Unreal,” he said. “You should write what just happened in your blog . . . .”
Eric Rigney
Post Script: By popular (and obvious) demand, here are links and contact info to Tom and the golden elixir: Captain Tom Folkesson of Ocean View Marine(619) 523-4378 and Fuel Right
Leslie’s throwing things, Bryce packed his book backpack in consideration of running away, and walking out of the restaurant’s restroom, I realized I had just done my business in the ladies’ room. Only 11-year-old Trent seems emotionally stable during our final week in the USA—our last chance to get things right aboard Kandu before costs and timeframes dramatically increase.
To arrive in San Diego ahead of a forecasted 3-5 day incoming thundershower system, we head out before 5 a.m. Weather and sea state conditions were not ideal. The transit between Oceanside and San Diego had us in confused seas, nose to the wind. It shook Kandu up like a washing machine.
Along the way, fuel didn’t easily siphon from two of her three full diesel tanks, probably blockage within the tanks. Having not moved Kandu while we worked on her for over two years, the diesel likely developed an algae problem. We have to pump all the diesel out (180 gals), scrub the three tanks clean, and re-filter the fuel as we hand pour it back into the cleaned tanks. We might be able to do this in two or three days, or hire someone to do it. These three days were not on my to-do list. The professionals in San Diego want $1500 for the job. I’m eager to hear the cost estimate from Baja Naval in Ensenada, but they think they might be too busy to take us on at their yard at this time.
I still haven’t completely set up the windvane and tested it yet. This is the expensive mechanical device on the back of Kandu that employs the wind and water to self-steer the boat allowing us to not have to steer the helm ourselves—a valuable, arguably necessary tool. And the wind generator doesn’t seem to be properly configured to charge our batteries, so a San Diego-based retired marine electrician friend of my in-laws is scheduled to see us today. Getting the computer and radio to work better together to support Winlink and Sailmail at the same time (software that provides weather information and email communication) is also on the list, as well as getting all our paperwork ready for Mexico (fishing license, liability insurance, crew and equipment lists in Spanish, etc.). I’ve given myself seven days to get these and other tasks done, which will allow us enough time to visit a little of Mexico before we head off to the Galapagos and Easter Island and then arrive in French Polynesia in June (as the visa requires). It didn’t dawn on me that there weren’t any urinals.
