Ok, I understand that my first attempt at blogging fell short in follow through, but I'm back with a new batch.
If you haven't heard, Mary and I are taking off around New Year's to cruise around the Bahamas for several months. We're going to sail, dive, surf, fish, explore, and do whatever looks interesting.
I'm going to use this blog as a means to a) update everyone to the fact that we are still alive and afloat and b) what we've done, seen, and heard.
We're going to have another boat tracker that you can follow us around on as well, more details to follow.
And in my new found interest in creating a significant and meaningful integrated digital presence I'll be linking this to my fledgling Facebook account with the help of my more competent acquaintances.
STAND BY....
15 December 2008
18 June 2008
Part 3 - Pensacola Preparations
Mary and I were roused from our nap by some other folks looking to make room on the Pensacola Yacht Club's T-Dock for another boat, which we obligingly did.
That afternoon, my dad and his wife Amy stopped by to check out the boat. I gave him one last chance to come on board as crew, but he declined. However, they were kind enough to let us use their "Red Truck," a big Chevy 2500 DuraMax diesel 4x4 crew cab that they use to haul horses with. It may be the most fantastic pick-up truck in the world. The DuraMax diesel, complete with turbocharger, will push it well above 100 mph. That's 160 kilometers per hour for all of you metri-cized people out there. Leather seats, a Bose sound system with controls right on the steering wheel, and heated seats make for one sweet ride. I'd put it up against any luxury sedan anyday.
So now we are terrestrially mobile. First things first, we went out for Cokes and Pringles. Then I got into repairing the seawater fountain that had made our trip over so uncomfortable. It took all day to get the old hose off, and when we did we could clearly see a 2-3 square inch hole in the side. Mucha agua.
The next day we woke up to get the critical repairs finished and pick up the dodger. The dodger is the canvas and plastic "glass" that protects us from the waves in the cockpit, much like a windshield. We had been in the process of getting a new one made for a long time, not for an insignificant amount of money. And without whining or going into great detail or potentially becoming the object of a libel suit, Island Canvas or Bill's Canvas (it was never clear to me which they were) do not do conscientous work for the price they charge suited to an offshore yacht, or for that matter any yacht whose owner takes pride in its appearance.
We had to drive to the hinterlands of Mobile, Alabama, between it and Dauphin Island to pick up the dodger. Bill's "shop" is located down the end of a dirt road in which we had to negotiate barking dogs, trailers, cars on blocks, and a worn Confederate battle flag. The "shop" itself was a cross between a barn, a garage, and a chicken house. The rework to the rework still didn't meet our expectations, but it was obvious by now that we weren't going to get it. So we took what we got, hopped in the truck, and headed back towards town before encountering a Deliverance episode.
That afternoon, my dad and his wife Amy stopped by to check out the boat. I gave him one last chance to come on board as crew, but he declined. However, they were kind enough to let us use their "Red Truck," a big Chevy 2500 DuraMax diesel 4x4 crew cab that they use to haul horses with. It may be the most fantastic pick-up truck in the world. The DuraMax diesel, complete with turbocharger, will push it well above 100 mph. That's 160 kilometers per hour for all of you metri-cized people out there. Leather seats, a Bose sound system with controls right on the steering wheel, and heated seats make for one sweet ride. I'd put it up against any luxury sedan anyday.
So now we are terrestrially mobile. First things first, we went out for Cokes and Pringles. Then I got into repairing the seawater fountain that had made our trip over so uncomfortable. It took all day to get the old hose off, and when we did we could clearly see a 2-3 square inch hole in the side. Mucha agua.
The next day we woke up to get the critical repairs finished and pick up the dodger. The dodger is the canvas and plastic "glass" that protects us from the waves in the cockpit, much like a windshield. We had been in the process of getting a new one made for a long time, not for an insignificant amount of money. And without whining or going into great detail or potentially becoming the object of a libel suit, Island Canvas or Bill's Canvas (it was never clear to me which they were) do not do conscientous work for the price they charge suited to an offshore yacht, or for that matter any yacht whose owner takes pride in its appearance.
We had to drive to the hinterlands of Mobile, Alabama, between it and Dauphin Island to pick up the dodger. Bill's "shop" is located down the end of a dirt road in which we had to negotiate barking dogs, trailers, cars on blocks, and a worn Confederate battle flag. The "shop" itself was a cross between a barn, a garage, and a chicken house. The rework to the rework still didn't meet our expectations, but it was obvious by now that we weren't going to get it. So we took what we got, hopped in the truck, and headed back towards town before encountering a Deliverance episode.
17 June 2008
Debrief Part 2 - Pre-Race Transit
We stayed on the boat Friday night 9 May, and woke up the next morning and got off the dock about an hour after sunrise. We motored out of Oak Harbor Marina and into Lake Pontchartrain for about a mile before hanging a sharp port turn to head underneath the I-10 Twin spans. It's really the double twins as they are hilt deep in the construction of a new bridge to replace the ones damaged in Hurricane Katrina. The cool part is that they drove steel piles into the lake bottom to tie up construction barges and they only have about 2-3 feet freeboard from the surface, so needless to say, avoiding them is important.
Then we skirted the edge of the Lake down to the Rigolets (pronounced like the gum Wrigley's). It's marked as a channel, but I wouldn't call it much more than a glorified ditch. It's about 12 ft deep, and on the lake side it drops to 3 foot flats pretty quick. Again, did not want mishap this close to home. Then we turned to port into the Rigolets, which is a narrow winding estuary that leads into the Mississippi Sound. Tides and runoff really rip through there, resulting in going from the 12 ft depths of Lake Pontchartrain to 150 ft deep!! I am certain that some kind of Cajun Swamp Kraken lives in there but have yet to encounter it.
We motored through the Rigolets and approached the CSX Railways Rigolets bridge, which I think is a New Deal project, and looks it. It was damaged in the hurricane as well and is in a constant state of repair, welding leads and junk everywhere. Behind us, we saw a sail, which shortly passed us, Blue Heron under motorsail, also on their way to Pensacola to participate in the race. On we motored into now unfamiliar waters that ranged between 3-20 ft deep. But we were in the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway), the interstate for barges and towboats, moving fuel, grain, aggregate, space shuttle booster tanks, and anything else you could imagine along the Gulf Coast and even around the Florida Keys and up the East Coast of the U.S. seaboard. We stuck to the channel and tried to stay out of the way of all the Cap'ns pushing loads through.
Blue Heron was now a couple miles out in front of us and veering off to the Southeast to take a shortcut through Cat Island pass. It is a great time saver and the skipper knew the waters well, there is a marked channel, but surrounded by extremely shallow shoals. We decided to play it safe and keep to the ICW. By this time it was about lunch, 90 degrees, few clouds and humid.
And on we motored, we weren't familiar enough with the waters to raise sail and there wasn't enough room to manoeuvre. Two hours later we were at the Ship Island Channel, which is between Ship and Horn Island, we turned hard to starboard heading nearly due South and out of the channel. This channel is 25 ft. + deep and sees car carriers, bulkers, tankers, ocean barges, and even warships. Plenty of room for us. We motored into the wind heading out. By this time it had grown cloudy and there was a short sea running into the inlet. In the pass itself the seas grew to 4-6 ft. and extremely short, we were pitching up and down a good 10 degrees and really slamming into the bottom of the waves, slowing us from 5.5 knots down to 2 or less. We kept banging our way through as best we could. I looked behind me and saw a 500 ft. car carrier rocking out through the channel, doing at least 15 knots. I steered over to the port (east) side of the channel to her room, and reduce the likelihood of getting crunched, as best as possible. As he glided by through the waves that were making shit fly all over below, some dolphins came shooting out of his bow wake, getting a solid 20 ft. of air. They both made it look easy. A couple of the crew were hanging out at side shell openings about 30 ft above the waterline. Smokin' cigs, doin' not a damn thing. Easy.
After a half hour of beating ourselves silly we cleared the bar and motored another couple miles south before making a southeasterly turn. Then we set sail. Full main, full jib, full staysail. We were heading off close to close hauled, trying to get offshore a bit further and gain some sea room. It was gettin' on to sunset about this time. Mary went below and knocked up some pasta with Cajun Power spaghetti sauce. I had been in the sun all day and was hungry and chowed down.
I was beat. I'd been at the helm all day long. Mary took the helm and I went below and hit the rack. Dark was falling. I was out in no time.
Around 2100 (9pm) the wind picked up, the seas picked up, and Mary was smoking along at 7.5 knots. A storm rolled in blowing 25+ knots, gusts to 28. We were somewhere near the Mobile Bay Bar. Then she started running out of water. She was in 45+ feet of water, which dropped to 25 feet, which dropped to 12 ft. That's when I heard the yelling for me to get up there. The charts showed the Mobile Bay bar with lots of tiny little sand spits, but none of them indicated such shallow depths. We thought we were far enough offshore, but we were wrong.
I rolled out of the rack. We were in 6-8 foot steep seas pitching like a fork. I grabbed the chart and rolled it out on the salon dining table. I won't be macho and admit I don't get seasick, I do. But it has to be the right combination of factors, the frequency of the motion, what I am doing, etc. Reading chart in stuffy cabin on pitching boat? Yes, that'd be the one. And the more I started to concentrate on the chart, looking at all the little obstructions, the poorer I felt. Then, and I only know this because Mary told me, we hit a series of really big steep waves, probably 10 ft.
And a quick digression here. We only had one significant issue with the boat on the way over. There are scuppers that drain water from the main deck outside overboard by running through a pipe, much like a gutter spout, down through the inside of the boat and out just above the waterline. What we didn't know from sailing in the lake was that over the years a hole had been rubbed in it. When we sailed on the lake, we'd have a cup or two of water on the floor. Well, with 6 ft seas crashing against the side of the hull, they pumped water into the drain, up through the valve and pipe, and out of that hole in the hose like a geyser. So the cabin floor was covered in water. Kind of hard to stand still on a slippery floor.
What I do know is that all of a sudden I was airborne and came down chin first on the table. The table did not break my fall. I took the table with me. I was stunned for a few moments, then thought I should get back up. My brand new ($50) charts were crumpled up from the fall. I stood up. I was immediately thrown down again. Much like a boxer who decides whether to take the 10 count, lose, and go home, I laid on the floor for a few seconds, really not feeling so well. And realizing that I was in my home and was about to run up on a sand bar in a storm, and to lose meant more than money or pride. So I got back up. And was immediately thrown down again. TKO. But hey, there's no referees out there. I realised that the chart wasn't going to help us, and that the best thing to do was to get on deck and help Mary. I looked down, and there was my newest issue of Harper's Weekly, floating around in the water on the floor. Unreadable. Very disturbing.
I made it up into the cockpit and got Mary to put us on a reverse heading back towards where we came, and deeper water. Then I got the engine started. By this time, we only had a couple of feet of water under the keel. Mary and I will argue the point, but she believes that right as we were turning, we fell into the bottom of a wave and scraped the bottom. I'm not sure that we did, but if so, it was just a love rub. Did I mention I was not feeling well? During our tack, a line got fouled, and Mary went forward to free it. I was about as useful as teats on a boar at that point and was good for holding a course at the wheel and that's it. Mary got back, sopped up the water from Old Faithful down below, and took the wheel, at which point I graciously decided to share with our waterborne brothers and sisters the tasty treat that is partially digested pasta with Cajun Power sauce. At this point we were heading nearly due south, past the oil rigs, and slowly getting into some deeper water. In all the chaos, I do remember a PAN PAN call come over channel 16 describing a 46 ft. cabin cruiser that was on fire in Mobile Bay. Our experience was comparatively good.
I passed out in the cockpit for a couple of hours and then went below. Once Mary got South of a couple of rigs, at about 0300, she turned back to the east towards Pensacola. Mary sailed through the night, and was greeted at dawn by a merry band of dolphins charging ARGO, leaping out of the waves, and surfing down our bow wave in front of us. A good conclusion to the previous nights events.
I wake up about 0700 feeling much better. We have some toast and coffee. The sky is steel grey and we hve 4-6 foot long wavelength seas running on our quarter, and we are feeling pretty good. I take over at the helm, and we start to make our way towards the Pensacola Pass channel sea buoys. By 0800 we are at the first buoy and make our way North through the channel. Off to the port side are the two things that we want no part of. The USS Massachusetts, the first US BB battleship is out there, it is awash at low water, and while a great dive, not something we want to tangle with today. And then the Caucasus Shoal is breaking all over the place, a half mile offshore at least. It doesn't look real clean, so I don't call my brother and tell him to get his board and get out there.
We made it into Pensacola Bay easily and started motorsailing in. We passed Pensacola Naval Air Station, the onetime training command of all Naval Aviators, including George Bush, Sr. and John McCain, and other persons more well regarded. The bay was calm, but a squall rolled up on us from behind. It dumped huge raindrops on us for about five minutes, then passed on by, giving us a refreshing freshwater shower after a lot of salt. We turned to head into Bayou Chico and the Pensacola Yacht Club and unfortunately Mary's sacred Baltimore Orioles ballcap went into the drink. We tried several times to recover, but it went down. We motored up to the dock, tied up, and looked for the dockmaster to no avail. At that point, we opened all the hatches and portlights, turned on the fans, and hit the rack for some much needed rest.
The mess that was down below and the other 500 things we had to do before the start of the race could wait.
Apparently, we had ridden a feisty little storm out there. BLUE HERON had gone back in and anchored behind one of the barrier islands to wait it out. I'm not sure if it was the same storm, but the favored yacht in the race, DECISION, a TransPac 52, had run aground on the Mobile Bay bar and damaged its keel. It had to sail into Mobile for repairs. Once tied up to the dock, it was struck by lightning. They didn't compete in the race.
So, this concludes the story to get to the real story. I hope I'll get the time and muse to write it soon. Also, the movie from the trip and a whole heap of photos should be coming out within the next two weeks....so stay tuned.
Then we skirted the edge of the Lake down to the Rigolets (pronounced like the gum Wrigley's). It's marked as a channel, but I wouldn't call it much more than a glorified ditch. It's about 12 ft deep, and on the lake side it drops to 3 foot flats pretty quick. Again, did not want mishap this close to home. Then we turned to port into the Rigolets, which is a narrow winding estuary that leads into the Mississippi Sound. Tides and runoff really rip through there, resulting in going from the 12 ft depths of Lake Pontchartrain to 150 ft deep!! I am certain that some kind of Cajun Swamp Kraken lives in there but have yet to encounter it.
We motored through the Rigolets and approached the CSX Railways Rigolets bridge, which I think is a New Deal project, and looks it. It was damaged in the hurricane as well and is in a constant state of repair, welding leads and junk everywhere. Behind us, we saw a sail, which shortly passed us, Blue Heron under motorsail, also on their way to Pensacola to participate in the race. On we motored into now unfamiliar waters that ranged between 3-20 ft deep. But we were in the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway), the interstate for barges and towboats, moving fuel, grain, aggregate, space shuttle booster tanks, and anything else you could imagine along the Gulf Coast and even around the Florida Keys and up the East Coast of the U.S. seaboard. We stuck to the channel and tried to stay out of the way of all the Cap'ns pushing loads through.
Blue Heron was now a couple miles out in front of us and veering off to the Southeast to take a shortcut through Cat Island pass. It is a great time saver and the skipper knew the waters well, there is a marked channel, but surrounded by extremely shallow shoals. We decided to play it safe and keep to the ICW. By this time it was about lunch, 90 degrees, few clouds and humid.
And on we motored, we weren't familiar enough with the waters to raise sail and there wasn't enough room to manoeuvre. Two hours later we were at the Ship Island Channel, which is between Ship and Horn Island, we turned hard to starboard heading nearly due South and out of the channel. This channel is 25 ft. + deep and sees car carriers, bulkers, tankers, ocean barges, and even warships. Plenty of room for us. We motored into the wind heading out. By this time it had grown cloudy and there was a short sea running into the inlet. In the pass itself the seas grew to 4-6 ft. and extremely short, we were pitching up and down a good 10 degrees and really slamming into the bottom of the waves, slowing us from 5.5 knots down to 2 or less. We kept banging our way through as best we could. I looked behind me and saw a 500 ft. car carrier rocking out through the channel, doing at least 15 knots. I steered over to the port (east) side of the channel to her room, and reduce the likelihood of getting crunched, as best as possible. As he glided by through the waves that were making shit fly all over below, some dolphins came shooting out of his bow wake, getting a solid 20 ft. of air. They both made it look easy. A couple of the crew were hanging out at side shell openings about 30 ft above the waterline. Smokin' cigs, doin' not a damn thing. Easy.
After a half hour of beating ourselves silly we cleared the bar and motored another couple miles south before making a southeasterly turn. Then we set sail. Full main, full jib, full staysail. We were heading off close to close hauled, trying to get offshore a bit further and gain some sea room. It was gettin' on to sunset about this time. Mary went below and knocked up some pasta with Cajun Power spaghetti sauce. I had been in the sun all day and was hungry and chowed down.
I was beat. I'd been at the helm all day long. Mary took the helm and I went below and hit the rack. Dark was falling. I was out in no time. Around 2100 (9pm) the wind picked up, the seas picked up, and Mary was smoking along at 7.5 knots. A storm rolled in blowing 25+ knots, gusts to 28. We were somewhere near the Mobile Bay Bar. Then she started running out of water. She was in 45+ feet of water, which dropped to 25 feet, which dropped to 12 ft. That's when I heard the yelling for me to get up there. The charts showed the Mobile Bay bar with lots of tiny little sand spits, but none of them indicated such shallow depths. We thought we were far enough offshore, but we were wrong.
I rolled out of the rack. We were in 6-8 foot steep seas pitching like a fork. I grabbed the chart and rolled it out on the salon dining table. I won't be macho and admit I don't get seasick, I do. But it has to be the right combination of factors, the frequency of the motion, what I am doing, etc. Reading chart in stuffy cabin on pitching boat? Yes, that'd be the one. And the more I started to concentrate on the chart, looking at all the little obstructions, the poorer I felt. Then, and I only know this because Mary told me, we hit a series of really big steep waves, probably 10 ft.
And a quick digression here. We only had one significant issue with the boat on the way over. There are scuppers that drain water from the main deck outside overboard by running through a pipe, much like a gutter spout, down through the inside of the boat and out just above the waterline. What we didn't know from sailing in the lake was that over the years a hole had been rubbed in it. When we sailed on the lake, we'd have a cup or two of water on the floor. Well, with 6 ft seas crashing against the side of the hull, they pumped water into the drain, up through the valve and pipe, and out of that hole in the hose like a geyser. So the cabin floor was covered in water. Kind of hard to stand still on a slippery floor.
What I do know is that all of a sudden I was airborne and came down chin first on the table. The table did not break my fall. I took the table with me. I was stunned for a few moments, then thought I should get back up. My brand new ($50) charts were crumpled up from the fall. I stood up. I was immediately thrown down again. Much like a boxer who decides whether to take the 10 count, lose, and go home, I laid on the floor for a few seconds, really not feeling so well. And realizing that I was in my home and was about to run up on a sand bar in a storm, and to lose meant more than money or pride. So I got back up. And was immediately thrown down again. TKO. But hey, there's no referees out there. I realised that the chart wasn't going to help us, and that the best thing to do was to get on deck and help Mary. I looked down, and there was my newest issue of Harper's Weekly, floating around in the water on the floor. Unreadable. Very disturbing.
I made it up into the cockpit and got Mary to put us on a reverse heading back towards where we came, and deeper water. Then I got the engine started. By this time, we only had a couple of feet of water under the keel. Mary and I will argue the point, but she believes that right as we were turning, we fell into the bottom of a wave and scraped the bottom. I'm not sure that we did, but if so, it was just a love rub. Did I mention I was not feeling well? During our tack, a line got fouled, and Mary went forward to free it. I was about as useful as teats on a boar at that point and was good for holding a course at the wheel and that's it. Mary got back, sopped up the water from Old Faithful down below, and took the wheel, at which point I graciously decided to share with our waterborne brothers and sisters the tasty treat that is partially digested pasta with Cajun Power sauce. At this point we were heading nearly due south, past the oil rigs, and slowly getting into some deeper water. In all the chaos, I do remember a PAN PAN call come over channel 16 describing a 46 ft. cabin cruiser that was on fire in Mobile Bay. Our experience was comparatively good.
I passed out in the cockpit for a couple of hours and then went below. Once Mary got South of a couple of rigs, at about 0300, she turned back to the east towards Pensacola. Mary sailed through the night, and was greeted at dawn by a merry band of dolphins charging ARGO, leaping out of the waves, and surfing down our bow wave in front of us. A good conclusion to the previous nights events.
I wake up about 0700 feeling much better. We have some toast and coffee. The sky is steel grey and we hve 4-6 foot long wavelength seas running on our quarter, and we are feeling pretty good. I take over at the helm, and we start to make our way towards the Pensacola Pass channel sea buoys. By 0800 we are at the first buoy and make our way North through the channel. Off to the port side are the two things that we want no part of. The USS Massachusetts, the first US BB battleship is out there, it is awash at low water, and while a great dive, not something we want to tangle with today. And then the Caucasus Shoal is breaking all over the place, a half mile offshore at least. It doesn't look real clean, so I don't call my brother and tell him to get his board and get out there.
We made it into Pensacola Bay easily and started motorsailing in. We passed Pensacola Naval Air Station, the onetime training command of all Naval Aviators, including George Bush, Sr. and John McCain, and other persons more well regarded. The bay was calm, but a squall rolled up on us from behind. It dumped huge raindrops on us for about five minutes, then passed on by, giving us a refreshing freshwater shower after a lot of salt. We turned to head into Bayou Chico and the Pensacola Yacht Club and unfortunately Mary's sacred Baltimore Orioles ballcap went into the drink. We tried several times to recover, but it went down. We motored up to the dock, tied up, and looked for the dockmaster to no avail. At that point, we opened all the hatches and portlights, turned on the fans, and hit the rack for some much needed rest.
The mess that was down below and the other 500 things we had to do before the start of the race could wait.
Apparently, we had ridden a feisty little storm out there. BLUE HERON had gone back in and anchored behind one of the barrier islands to wait it out. I'm not sure if it was the same storm, but the favored yacht in the race, DECISION, a TransPac 52, had run aground on the Mobile Bay bar and damaged its keel. It had to sail into Mobile for repairs. Once tied up to the dock, it was struck by lightning. They didn't compete in the race.
So, this concludes the story to get to the real story. I hope I'll get the time and muse to write it soon. Also, the movie from the trip and a whole heap of photos should be coming out within the next two weeks....so stay tuned.
03 June 2008
Pics
I'm lazy at the moment, so instead of continuing the saga of our journey verbally, here are some pictures of Mexico.
Yes, a traditional folk dance that involves balancing a bottle of liquor on your head. These ladies and gentlemen are talented.
Yes, a traditional folk dance that involves balancing a bottle of liquor on your head. These ladies and gentlemen are talented.29 May 2008
Debrief - Part 1
I'm going to break the debrief of our odyssey into many parts so hopefully it'll be more digestible and less boring. Keep coming back, because our crewmember and most excellent Navigator Mark Carpenter will be editing all our footage into a fun filled film.
The overview- we made it there, we made it back, the tracks will continue to be archived on the iboattrack website for your post-race analysis and discussion. We had to make the unfortunate decision to engage the motor for propulsion in the hopes of getting the crew back in time for their flights, and thereby disqualified ourselves from the race. Out of 9 boats in our division, only 3 actually made it all the way down under sail. Out of the fleet of 24, only 20 made it to Isla Mujeres. One, enroute from New Orleans to Mobile prior to the race (read our account as well) ran aground, suffering damage to the keel, and had to limp to the dock where it was promptly struck by lightning. Two withdrew for mechanical problems, and one unfortunately dismasted and lost the whole rig shortly after the start of the race. So considering that, we did well.
Look for Part 2 - Pre-Race Transit in a day or so
The overview- we made it there, we made it back, the tracks will continue to be archived on the iboattrack website for your post-race analysis and discussion. We had to make the unfortunate decision to engage the motor for propulsion in the hopes of getting the crew back in time for their flights, and thereby disqualified ourselves from the race. Out of 9 boats in our division, only 3 actually made it all the way down under sail. Out of the fleet of 24, only 20 made it to Isla Mujeres. One, enroute from New Orleans to Mobile prior to the race (read our account as well) ran aground, suffering damage to the keel, and had to limp to the dock where it was promptly struck by lightning. Two withdrew for mechanical problems, and one unfortunately dismasted and lost the whole rig shortly after the start of the race. So considering that, we did well.
Look for Part 2 - Pre-Race Transit in a day or so
21 May 2008
WE MADE IT
Just a quicknote. We made it safely. I¨m in a internet cafe on tropical Isla Mujeres. Much to come on the post race debrief.
09 May 2008
Call Me the Breeze
Well, it's that time. Mary and I are casting off at civil daylight tomorrow morning to make the transit from New Orleans to Pensacola, so this may well be the last blog until the race is over.
It'll take us about 16-18 hours to get to Pensacola, where we'll tie up at the Pensacola Yacht Club. Then we'll do our provisioning, do some odds and ends, get our dodger back on the boat, and make last minute preparations. Monday night our crew: Anjula, Erica, and Mark will join us, and we'll spend the better part of Tuesday doing the fun and necessary business of safety orientation, watchstander training, and man overboard drills. Then off to the skipper's meeting and to bed to await the exciting days to follow.
We're close enough to race time that we can look at the weather forceasts with confidence. You can too, click here, then scroll down til you see the Gulf and click the big middle portion. The wind is going to start building out of the South, by Thursday up to 30 knots or more. And since the wind doesn't like to travel alone, she'll be bringing somewhere between 5-16 ft seas, to be determined. And the best part is that we get to head straight into it. For four days.
The Coronas are going to taste especially sabrosa upon our arrival. At a minimum we will publish a post notifying everyone of our safe arrival, and don't forget to chart our progress here:
http://charthorizon.com/races/2008_pensacola_islamujeres/htdocs
It'll take us about 16-18 hours to get to Pensacola, where we'll tie up at the Pensacola Yacht Club. Then we'll do our provisioning, do some odds and ends, get our dodger back on the boat, and make last minute preparations. Monday night our crew: Anjula, Erica, and Mark will join us, and we'll spend the better part of Tuesday doing the fun and necessary business of safety orientation, watchstander training, and man overboard drills. Then off to the skipper's meeting and to bed to await the exciting days to follow.
We're close enough to race time that we can look at the weather forceasts with confidence. You can too, click here, then scroll down til you see the Gulf and click the big middle portion. The wind is going to start building out of the South, by Thursday up to 30 knots or more. And since the wind doesn't like to travel alone, she'll be bringing somewhere between 5-16 ft seas, to be determined. And the best part is that we get to head straight into it. For four days.
The Coronas are going to taste especially sabrosa upon our arrival. At a minimum we will publish a post notifying everyone of our safe arrival, and don't forget to chart our progress here:
http://charthorizon.com/races/2008_pensacola_islamujeres/htdocs
29 April 2008
Race Time
The Cruising Division race start will be at 1100 on 14 May, inside Pensacola Bay near Bayou Chico. We'll be out on the water by 0800 most likely vying for position and getting all the screaming and yelling out of the way. It's a pretty tight start out in front of the bayou and through the bay and out the Pensacola Pass, not hitting the sand bars, the Russian freighter and the USS Massachusetts (BB-2) that just break the water, and a couple of other hazards to navigation. But once we're past that we have the entire GOM at our disposal.
The Race Committee is employing some pretty cool technology this year that will enable anyone to track the location and progress of boats in the race. We mount a transponder to ARGO and it reports our position and speed every 15-30 minutes, all race long, provided that we are not stove in by a kraken or captured by bandidos.
You can watch the whole thing from your computer with graphical internet access, stubby in hand, at www.iboattrack.com . If you follow the links to the racing section, you can look at the results from a race that just finished, the Regata del sol al Sol, not to be confused with our race, the Regata al Sol. Long story. I'll try to post the specific URL when it's made available to us.
The Race Committee is employing some pretty cool technology this year that will enable anyone to track the location and progress of boats in the race. We mount a transponder to ARGO and it reports our position and speed every 15-30 minutes, all race long, provided that we are not stove in by a kraken or captured by bandidos.
You can watch the whole thing from your computer with graphical internet access, stubby in hand, at www.iboattrack.com . If you follow the links to the racing section, you can look at the results from a race that just finished, the Regata del sol al Sol, not to be confused with our race, the Regata al Sol. Long story. I'll try to post the specific URL when it's made available to us.
28 April 2008
28APR08 - Official Gear
Costa del Mar sunglasses are now the official sunny's of ARGO for the race. Mainly because I just bought myself a pair. And I'm buying Mary a pair too. I, in an uncharacteristically un-seamanlike fashion, failed to yell "heads"when heaving Mary a dockline on Saturday, and, in addition to hitting her on the head, I knocked her Smiths into the water. Those Smiths saw heavy action in Australia, outback, Flinders Ranges, Eyre Peninsula, Whitsunday's, you name it. They went down fightin' and now I owe her a new pair.
But, I have promised to dive the Smiths up from the bottom this weekend. The best part is that in the aftermath and slow rebuilding progress of Hurricane Katrina, there are no local pumpout stations for onboard blackwater (sewage). So, I need to tell the other boaters around the marina not to flush for an hour or two.
We also need an official beer, rum, and rum drink of the race, and I'm open to suggestions.
But, I have promised to dive the Smiths up from the bottom this weekend. The best part is that in the aftermath and slow rebuilding progress of Hurricane Katrina, there are no local pumpout stations for onboard blackwater (sewage). So, I need to tell the other boaters around the marina not to flush for an hour or two.
We also need an official beer, rum, and rum drink of the race, and I'm open to suggestions.
21 April 2008
Tuesday 21APR08 Bienvenidos
Welcome to the blog of Sailing Vessel ARGO, call sign WDE3361. This is her, there will be much more to come in the following weeks documenting our race in the Regata al Sol from Pensacola to Isla Mujeres, Mexico. Yes, that's the Island of Women.
Check out the link to the NOAA website, you can look at the map of the Gulf of Mexico that we'll be sailing straight through the middle of. Only 12,000 ft. deep.
http://www.charts.noaa.gov/OnLineViewer/411.shtml
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