Category Archives: Prepping Kandu

Fuel for Thought, Part II

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.
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

Fuel Right (24oz)

Fuel for Thought

Forecasted thundershowers arrive in San Diego
Forecasted thundershowers arrive in San Diego

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.

Oops!
Oops!

Becoming “Socially” Aware

Setting up our website, blog, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Delorme inReach services/accounts has been an education.  Just two days ago, I set up a RigneysKandu Facebook page.  Yesterday, I started working on getting our inReach SE satellite GPS coordinates to show up on a map somewhere on our website, so viewers will know where we are and where we’ve been.  Still working on this feature, so bear with me.  This morning I set up an email subscription feature on the blog page that allows readers to sign up to receive an email notification and link to our most recent posts.  This application will do the same with our Twitter account.  If you’re following us on Twitter, a similar notice and link will appear.  (I’m actually testing these features with this post!)

And if I can get it going, the inReach SE satellite device software, in addition to location mapping, might allow us to post text updates regarding our status from anywhere in the world to both our Twitter and Facebook followers (I think . . . ?).

So there’s a lot of upgrading going on.  Hope to start producing and posting videos soon too.

RigneyKandu social media links (so far):

Email Subscription to our blog; submit your email in the upper right hand corner of the subscription tool

Facebook; Facebook.com/rigneyskandu

Twitter: @RigneysKandu

Instagram: RigneysKandu

Kandu in the palm of my hand at Oceanside Yacht Club
Kandu in the palm of my hand at Oceanside Yacht Club

Itinerary Update: 2015.02.23

Kandu’s stay at the Oceanside Yacht Club has been generously extended through Friday, when we plan to sail south to San Diego, where we plan to stay for about 10 days before leaving California for Ensenada, Mexico.

Bryce and Trent in the oldest standing portion of Mission San Juan Capistrano
Bryce and Trent in the oldest standing portion of Mission San Juan Capistrano

Rounding-up Imposter Jellyfish

Can you spot the imposter jellyfish?
Can you spot the imposter jellyfish?

Some party favors don’t do favors for our ocean friends. Leaving Alamitos Bay for Dana Point early Tuesday morning, miles off the coast, we noticed several helium deprived polyester balloons resting atop the metallic grey surface. From a distance, their forms resemble hazardous lobster pot buoys. It’s only when getting within 100 yards that we begin to make out the heart-shaped Valentines or the faded Disneyesque birthday wishes painted across the debris’ surface. Bryce, an intrepid thrill-seeker and do-gooder, mounted our dark blue soft-top longboard with bright yellow tow-rope in hand, like a cowboy with a bridle, and swung out to round up the soon-to-be turtle food, a fatal mistake for turtles and any other jellyfish eating marine creature.

Bryce, jellyfish imposter round-up
Bryce, jellyfish imposter round-up

There’s not much Kandu can do to stave off the multitude of plastic jellyfish imposters, but on this early overcast morning, Bryce rescued two: an infinitesimally small, but no less noble, effort, in the battle to minimize our harmful impact on this blue marble gem of a spaceship we call Earth, our only home.  Good job, Bryce!

Don't make Bryce sad.  Keep a tight rein on those potentially lethal balloons.
Don’t make Bryce sad. Keep a tight rein on those potentially lethal balloons.

Eric Rigney

Left Too Soon for Jellies

Kandu arrives at Alamitos Bay Yacht Club (photo Dave Terman)
Kandu arrives at Alamitos Bay Yacht Club (photo Dave Terman)

Tying up at Alamitos Bay Yacht Club’s guest dock for a couple nights, a welcome couldn’t have been more endearing. Firstly, ABYC member/ambassador and new friend, Yon, greeted us with an exuberant smile and two cold beers, making available his stand-up paddle board and surfing kayak. Within minutes of shutting down the engine, Bryce was paddling around the marina atop Yon’s paddleboard.

A former work colleague, Dave Terman, having videotaped our arrival, greeted us with gifts of fishing lures and rum. He explained all that was reachable by boat in Alamitos Bay.

I had no concept as to how much Alamitos Bay is a boater’s paradise, more a mini-Venice, Italy than a mini-Naples, the namesake of the island contained within the middle of the bay. Grocery stores and a farmer’s market, marine hardware stores, restaurants, movie theaters and live entertainment are all accessible by dinghy. There is even a canal reportedly teaming with jellyfish. For the active, there’s lots of open water space for small craft to explore: dinghies, outrigger canoes, kayaks, paddle bikes, paddleboards, sailboats, Jet-skis, and recreational fishing boats abound within and just outside the bay’s entrance. Outside the marina and along the beach thrive world-class surfing, sailing, and kite boarding. What an awesome discovery!!! We could hardly sleep.

ABYC Kandu 2
Sunrise at ABYC’s Guest Dock

The next morning, we woke Bryce and Trent up early to surf Seal Beach. Arriving at the nearly empty parking lot, we learned that the waves were small that day. Bryce felt he’d been lied to. I quickly explained the difference between a great surf spot and a great surf day–no spot, no matter how great, offers 24 hour, 365 day guaranteed excellent surf. Leslie declared that from now on, it would be his responsibility to investigate locations and conditions for great surf: wave height, frequency, and direction; wind speed and direction; tide height, ebb, and flow; and which way the beach faced. “Study these factors and you’ll have a better idea as to whether to wake up or not.” We suggested he keep a log of the factors, comparing it to the discovered reality of the circumstance, to develop his skill in surf conditions forecasting.

While the boys surfed, Leslie and I went to partake in a favorite Sunday morning ritual of mine . . . eggs benedict. A beachside breakfast café in the parking lot where we’d dropped Bryce and Trent off offered eggs Benedict, Caribbean-style with fresh-made Hollandaise—aaaaah . . . .

We returned to the ABYC with our surfers to find that a neighboring boat had sunk! In keeping up with a leaky thru-hole (remember, I replaced all of Kandu’s thru-hulls over the summer), the vessel’s bilge pump drained the boat’s battery before quitting. With nothing to counter the encroaching water, the boat succumbed to the forces of the sea, submerging completely her two large outboard motors. Only her dock lines kept her from resting on the sea floor. With help from a County Fire boat, she was raised, drained, and towed to safety, presumably to a trailer or boatlift.

With little time to spare, we cleaned up Kandu for that afternoon, my brother, Nick and his fiancé Gita planned a gathering of friends and family to bid us farewell. And we would provide the guests a tour of Kandu. Although in the midst of winter, it was a gorgeous summer day. It was encouraging to share with friends and family the result of 2 years hard work and the future plans for the voyage.

ABYC Clubhouse at Sunrise
ABYC Clubhouse at Sunrise

Making arrangements from Marina Del Rey, it was touch and go getting a slip in Alamitos Bay during the Valentine’s Day weekend, but somehow ABYC, the smaller of the marina’s managed to find us a place at their well maintained guest dock. Meeting Yon was the best part about landing at ABYC. His zest for life and generosity are infectious. The evening of my brother’s gathering, from Pretty Penny’s cockpit, Yon offered us sausages for barbequing and gave me a specialty ring, worn on a finger to pry open bottle caps—pretty cool. Yon even invited us to stay an additional day, stating that their club supports the sailing community and loved that we were leaving to sail around the world. Because of Yon’s hospitality, we spent an additional day at the ABYC guest dock, giving us time to deal with an unexpected repair.

With his infectious smile in the cockpit of "Pretty Penny", Yon, ABYC's most generous prince of hospitality, reminds Bryce how good life is.
With his infectious smile in the cockpit of “Pretty Penny”, Yon, ABYC’s most generous prince of hospitality, reminds Bryce how good life is.

We could have easily spent a fantastic week or more in Alamitos Bay and been thoroughly enthralled in the experience. But we must shove off if we are to be in French Polynesia by June. I hope for a next time. ‘Til then, here’s to the ABYC, Yon, and the yet-to-be-seen Alamitos Bay jellies.

Eric Rigney

Maybe I’m Just Sensitive, But . . .

When we arrived at the Del Rey Yacht Club, we pulled into their guest slip as prescribed, Slip D-289. We quickly settled into what was to be our base for three days, setting up power, draping our cockpit and setting up the cushions, configuring dock lines to keep us still, straightening up our deck, etc. An hour later, the club apologetically informed us that we would have to move a few slips over so that they could accommodate a larger guest boat: better now in the late light of day when we’re all awake than in the dark of night before bed. Trent was especially peeved, even after I explained that we’re guests and that we’re fortunate to have had them so quickly find a solution for us.

Our new spot was within “Battleship Row,” the unofficial term the club members use to describe the dock finger that houses their members’ shiny fleet of large motor yachts: Kandu was dwarfed.  Battleship Row enjoys a prominent position directly in front of the clubhouse’s bar and lounge, a frequented part of the club.  Of course, with our “Loud Family” Ventura West Marina reputation (read our earlier post, “The Loud Family?”), I carried a stigma that when combined with our cargo-laden decks packed with jugs of fuel and water, exposed dinghy, surfboards, kayaks, and paddles, . . . plus it didn’t help to have our laundry of beach towels, wetsuits, and bathing suits drying on the forward lifelines for all its membership to enjoy. The only things missing were empty beer cans and grandma rockin’ in a chair on the foredeck. So it was no surprise when later the next day the commodore and again, the dock master, explained that we would have to move one more time, but that we could stay there as long as a week (at the customary reciprocal rate of $1/boat foot length per night, after the third night, which is better than what the city charges for its municipal guest dock, $1.50/ft.) I asked the dock master if he could show me where we were to dock so that we could pre-set Kandu’s dock lines. He said, “It’s a walk,” looked at my shoes, “but sure, let’s go.” As we walked to the furthest corner of the club parking lot, and then down a ramp and a walkway that took us even further away from the clubhouse, we turned down the full length of E Dock, as far from shore as possible to its end-tie, Slip E-901. It was immediately apparent that we would be as far away from the clubhouse as any boat could be, while still remaining on club property. This would be the third time we would be docking at the club, equaling the number of days we would be staying at the club. This is where I think I’m over-sensitive.

Kandu in all her cruising glory within "Battleship Row"
Kandu in all her cruising glory within “Battleship Row”

From the very first, the club welcomed us without issue, providing us complete access to their wonderful facilities, including high-speed Wi-Fi and recreational equipment for the boys, basketball, Ping-Pong and tetherball, . . . and laundry.  They provided us with a parking pass for our car that Uncle Bill drove down for us. As stated, the boats they said were coming, came. And the view from our end tie was spectacular, with the Marina Towers and Ritz-Carleton facing us across the way. The Del Rey Yacht Club staff were courteous and accommodating. So I don’t think cutting us off their WiFi was intentional.

Eric Rigney

Itinerary Update: 2015.02.13

Plan to leave Marina Del Rey tomorrow for Alamitos Bay, Long Beach; then off to Dana Point, Oceanside, and San Diego. Once we’ve completed our last requirements of paperwork, we head off to Mexico, Galapagos, Easter Island, Pitcairn, and then enter into French Polynesia via Gambier.

Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz . . . .

“Now that the trip has started you must be ecstatic?” a phrase heard a lot once we arrived in Marina Del Rey. That’s not the feeling I have. Relief is the greatest feeling, followed by pressure to remember what needs to be done between now and leaving the U.S. for Mexico. But not far from the surface creeps anticipation of wonderful adventures to come.

During these past few years of preparation, I couldn’t allow myself the ‘distraction’ of imagining the future fun. It would have pulled limited time away from preparation, for knowing me, I would have started researching the possibilities and basking in glorious anticipation of experiences to come. With too much to do to prepare the boat and learn about social media and video production, I couldn’t afford any diversion—vegetables before dessert. It’s only in the past couple of days that I have begun to allow myself the pleasure of envisioning some future experiences: seeing calving grey whales close up, catching pelagic fish during passages, snorkeling in the bountiful aquarium that is the Galapagos, hiking the ridge of an equatorial volcanic crater, collecting water samples and Secchi disc reports, watching and recording the boys surfing, touching the Moai of Easter Island, enveloping the people we meet and immersing in their culture, meeting the descendants of the HMS Bounty Mutineers, seeing long-time Marquesan friends, and placing the boys in a French school. For two years I’ve been in a chrysalis of preparation, shielded from exposure to future joy and excitement. That makes for a grumpy dad, but it was what I felt I needed to do in order to stay on task, getting the boat ready for lengthy open-ocean voyaging and extensive stays at some of the planet’s most remote islands. Self-sufficiency and safety were at the top of the list. With just a few loose ends to tie, I allow joy to get a little closer, but not quite enter my psyche: still much to do during this period of transition from boat preparation to international travel. But Tuesday night, Leslie’s birthday, for the first time in 18 months, having safely and comfortably motor-sailed 8 hours from Ventura, lounging in Kandu’s cockpit with a glass of nigori sake while securely moored at the guest dock of a yacht club that is not located in Ventura, I felt I could afford to feel some sensation of the satisfaction that begged to be experienced. Significant relief, the absence of stress, was truly the only sensation that I felt I could reasonably allow. Not complete relief, but great relief, about 75% less. We had made the first tangible step toward the benefit side of what, until now, had been the exceedingly high financial and emotional weight of our journey’s scale. Leslie and Bryce had big smiles. Trent was immensely pleased he had not gotten the least bit seasick. Seeing their happy faces was my greatest reward.

Thrive or Survive?

 

Bryce expresses in image the crew's feeling of leaving Ventura Harbor after a year and half of delay, Santa Cruz Island in the foreground, the autopilot set for Marina Del Rey.
Bryce expresses in image the crew’s feeling of leaving Ventura Harbor after a year and half of delay, Santa Cruz Island in the foreground, the autopilot set for Marina Del Rey.

In 1990, a different crew of mine and I had planned to sail out of Ventura Harbor aboard Getel, my uncle’s 32-foot sailboat, for the Marquesas in French Polynesia, where I was to conduct research for my thesis study. The date we chose was February 9th. Having waved good-bye to family and friends, we motored out of the marina with the intention of “swinging our compass” (calibrating it). The seas proved too rough to perform the operation so we returned to execute the maneuver inside the marina. Once complete, we felt it too late to head back out so we spent one more night in Ventura, aboard Getel. We left pre-dawn, after I made a pay phone call (remember those?) to wish Leslie a happy birthday. With calmer seas, we successfully departed and 25 and half days later, arrived in Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas.

Flash forward 25 years, my mate and I planned to leave Ventura Harbor for Marina Del Rey on the 9th of February, initiating our “slow start” to our world cruise. The morning of our planned departure, with better technology available, we could read that the seas were high, 10-15 feet, and that a Small Craft Advisory was posted, warning smaller boats like ours of the challenging conditions. Taking advantage of the forecast, seeing a window of benign weather for the next day, we postponed our departure one day, leaving again on Leslie’s birthday.

My cousin-in-law, Scott Landry, not one for coincidences, believes we contrived this circumstance in order to create an interesting blog post. He would not be convinced otherwise. That’s one of the take-aways I find so interesting about the cruising lifestyle: it provides an abundance of unbelievable stories, events that are difficult for non-cruising families to fathom. Delaying our trip the one day, having just delayed it two days because of a forecasted rainstorm (which came as predicted), brought great disappointment to the crew. Bryce and Trent moaned when they heard the news. Leslie was incredulous when before dawn I told her we’re not leaving. I had to prove my case, offering NOAA weather forecasts, real-time weather buoy data, and the red-lettered small craft advisory atop the NOAA Marine Weather Forecast page. Then there were the sneers from yacht club members who felt that if we couldn’t handle uncomfortable conditions for a brief, 10-hour trip to Los Angeles, how could we expect to handle the rigors of the open sea, across much longer passages? There was significant peer pressure to leave that drizzly morning, with the sound of waves breaking over the detached breakwater, the barrier of stout guano-covered boulders that protects Ventura Harbor’s entrance. But I held my guns, which leads me to the other take-away I get from the blue-water cruising lifestyle: philosophical perspective development.

This past year, one lesson keeps popping up time and time again: whether to live a life of avoidance or a life of purpose. A cruising sailor can plan routes to avoid hurricanes, or he/she can plan to arrive during the region’s prime weather windows. It’s a subtle but significantly different approach. The first means a sailor is willing to skirt the bounds of the worst weather, knowing they can survive what’s in between. The second means a sailor is aimed at enjoying the experience, knowing full well that difficult, unforeseen circumstances can occur. The difference is that the former, in avoiding disaster, is willing to survive the experience of cruising, whereas the later, seeks benignity, accepting the unforeseen hardships that inevitably arise with any venture. Sailors know that even though regions close to a hurricane belt may not experience the full force of 70+ mph winds with enormous surge and seas, they will experience stormy weather with winds of 50 mph, heavy rains, and thunderstorms (lightning): an unpleasant experience at best. I can’t afford that. If I want to sail around the world, I have to manage two things: 1) our costs; we spent well over our preparation budget, pulling from our cruising kitty, potentially shortening our trip, and 2) our enjoyment; if Leslie, Bryce, and Trent aren’t having great experiences, they’re not going to want to continue. So, if I want to sail around the world with my family, I must find inexpensive ways to create positive experiences. One simple principle is to allow weather to dictate your schedule. It is often said among cruising sailors that the single most dangerous threat to the wellbeing of a vessel and her crew is a schedule. Keeping a schedule, trying to depart from or arrive at a particular location at a specific time is what gets most cruisers into trouble.

On the first day of our voyage, I didn’t want to knowingly create an uncomfortable experience for my novice crew, sailing against a small craft warning. Let the negative come unforeseeably. I choose instead to take the peer pressure and depart under a favorable weather forecast. I’m glad I did. Our first of hopefully many more sojourns to come was a benign one. Leslie awoke the next morning, happy and excited for the cruising life we’ve begun—my birthday present to her, but even more so, to myself. I can’t control the weather, I can control when we leave. When possible, I prefer leaving within a good weather forecast window to a questionable one, choosing thriving o’er surviving.

Kandu tucked between Del Rey Yacht Club's mega-yachts.
Our first stop, the Del Rey Yacht Club Guest Dock.  Note how Kandu is tucked between DRYC mega-yachts and the Ritz-Carlton to the background on the right.  This isn’t Ventura any more.

So, if postponing departure for but one more embarrassing day makes for not only a ‘thriving’ experience, but also an historic coincidence, then so much the richer the event, so much the sweeter the story, so much more important it is to follow one’s truer purpose.

Eric Rigney