March 7th - Making Bail,
Equipment Failure and other
fish stories
We left you as we were in the
Gulf Stream, heading north. We're
on our way to Tiger Point Marina, in Fernandina Beach, FL, to
pick up Lydia's son, who's coming to sail with us for a few days.
When he leaves the
boat, he'll then give us a ride back to the
area we left when we moved aboard Flying Pig. Flying Pig will be
grounded for a while, during our shoreside adventures - which I'm
sure you'll hear about in Lydia's log postings... When we've
finished, we'll return, and do some
work before our next big
trip.
Before leaving
Miami, in preparation for putting Flying Pig on
the ground, I used our hookah rig (like a
scuba dive without the
tank, but instead, a long hose) connected to our
compressor both
for
inspection and
cleaning of our
hull. When I dove the bottom
to clean off the accumulated grunge which is the inevitable
result of staying in one place for a while in the
marine
environment, and to clean up the impellers which tell us how fast
we're going, I discovered that there were some places on the
hull
which apparently had no
bottom paint on them. As that's what
prevents the critters which, if they make the bottom of your
boat
their home, causes your boat from going as fast as it can, from
gaining a foothold, that's very important to us. Given that we
did it ourselves, we're quite sure those places had an ample
amount applied. However, it may be that they are among the areas
repaired during our wreck rehab, and the surfaces needed
different preparation than we had done. Either way, when it comes
out of the
water, we'll see what's needed there.
The other things we have to do are pretty minor, too, and I'm
thrilled to report that I'd bet I now have a lifetime supply of
alternator belts, as the one put on when we changed the pulley on
the
alternator is still going strong. Little by little, our
shakedown's shaking out. Like any boat that's 30 years old, ours
will require constant attention, but there's nothing we can't
handle.
However, back to our story.
So, it was a dark and stormy night, as the saying goes, and Lydia
wasn't feeling all that well, what with the rock and roll,
pitching and the like. You'll
recall that we had all the
steadying we could manage, with all the
sails pulled blade-tight.
Still, the motion was considerable. She hung in there, though,
until, as was frequently the case, all night long, there was one
of those tiny jibes. Those happen when you have a steadying sail
up and the
wind at your back, but it shifts, flopping the sail
over to the other side.
That sudden movement is very forceful. It's for just that reason,
with a longer movement as would be the case with the boom way
out, in a run, that we use the preventer. And, you may
recall
from a prior log entry, we'd already broken a shackle on one end
of the preventer, and, in the same day, later, broke off the
attachment point on the boom where the preventer mounted. Both of
these occurred just as the sail started the other way, without
the momentum that a full switch from one side to the other would
provide. That gives some indication of the
power of a crash jibe!
On the impact of that mini-jibe, the welded piece of stainless
steel which attached the sheet (the line that controls how far
out the boom goes) to the boom broke. That allowed the
mainsail
to fly out to a point where the boom was resting on one of the
standing
rigging wires. Ironically, at that particular point,
the sail was relatively stable, but having the boom pushed up
against the
shroud (the wire holding the lower part of the
mast
in position) wasn't a good thing.
That's because in addition to the pressure on the
shroud, it
would be entirely possible that another roll of the boat would
produce another crash jibe. This time, however, it would be from
one far side to the other, gaining considerable momentum and
quite possibly
dismasting us as it hit the opposite shroud. So,
despite the additional drive (the speed went up by a couple of
knots with the sail out), we needed to resolve the instability of
the
mainsail. So, of course, Lydia came and woke me, only a
couple of hours into my sleep. The
noise of the failure had
already raised my consciousness level, and I was topsides in a
jiffy (well, and some sweats and my foul
weather gear).
After assessing the situation, we rehearsed what we'd do in order
to make this a stable
environment. Aside from the
current
weather, which meant very lumpy
water and high winds, the
solution wasn't markedly different than would be the case in
lowering the sail as we prepared to
anchor. The key difference
would be that we would not have the main sheet to control the
boom's swinging once we had the sail lowered. So, I turned on the
spreader and foredeck lights, got into my harness, latched onto
the jackline, and went forward to the
mast while Lydia turned
Flying Pig into the
wind.
Even my going forward would not have been needed to drop the
sail, due to our new sail
hardware and lazy jacks setup, and our
already having our lines led aft, into the
cockpit. Those allow
us to release the
halyard (the line hoisting the sail to the top
of the mast), and the sail merely falls into place. However, the
topping
lift, which controls how high the boom is, would need to
be played carefully as the boom swung back and forth in the
rocking due to the waves. I'd have to time its swing just right
to lower it into the boom crutch. Fortunately, that proved no
great difficulty, and I unclipped my harness from the mast,
reclipping it to the jackline, and went aft.
There I lashed the boom to the crutch, effectively making it
impossible to jump out of place. The lashing took the place of
the normal down pressure we would have exerted with the sheet.
With all secured, I turned off the lights, kissed Lydia
goodnight, again, and returned to my berth. Despite the increased
motion due to not having the steadying influence of the main, I
was asleep again in moments. Flying Pig continued to motorsail
under nearly bare poles, entirely safely.
As dawn approached, Lydia again woke me, as she'd been battling
seasickness her entire watch, and the accompanying sleepiness was
beginning to overcome her. I got up and settled in to enjoy the
ride, which was becoming more adventuresome by the mile. The
waves built, and the wind howled, as we saw over 20 knots astern,
to go with our 7-8 knots of forward motion. Better yet (heh -
euphemistically stated), we were in the counter-current (the
reverse flow next to the Gulf Stream). That meant that our boat
speed (as compared to ground speed) was over 10 knots, into the
square chop produced by the wind against the
current. That
produced a very wide range of motion, and some of the following
waves would roll us 30 degrees or so, then fling the stern over
90 degrees in the opposite direction as the wave passed beneath
us, at the same time as it rolled the same 30 or so degrees in
the opposite direction. Hooray for our
fuel polishing system, as
the usual response to such motion is one of the failures we have
yet to experience.
That is, most sailors whose boats have auxiliary
diesel engines
will eventually experience those engines stopping due to fouled
filters restricted so much that
fuel can't get to the
engine. The
nature of
diesel fuel in a
marine environment with low turnover
is to grow critters and accumulate grunge as they die, along with
the dead-dinosaur-stuff nature of sludge formation along the
sides and bottom of most fuel
tanks. Rough seas lead to stirring
all that stuff up, and typically, eventually, a clog making its
way into the system, usually resulting in the need for a filter
change. Of course, the time those instances occur is usually
about the worst time you could choose to have to replace a
filter - rough seas making it even more uncomfortable than it
already is, in a hot
engine room. Worse, if your engine was
running in those conditions, you might be in a position where you
were dependent on it to keep you out of trouble, such as going
aground on the rocks!
So, having religiously run our fuel polishing system whenever
we're
in lumpy water, and especially so when sailing but with the
engine off, the better to avoid sucking grunge into our supply
filters, we believe we have the cleanest possible fuel for Perky.
I'm sure, having made that statement, that our comeuppance will
arrive sometime in the near future, engine hours-wise, but so
far, we've escaped that experience! When we return to Flying Pig
after our time ashore, I'll change out the polisher filters and
the
Racor (the ones which are before the engine in the fuel
flow), even though the vacuum gauges don't indicate the need.
They'll have been in for a year, and I'll change them on a
preventive basis.
Fortunately, those are the only
equipment failures we've had this
trip. Everything I read suggests that every
passage will have
equipment failures, and of course, those failures usually will
occur under stress. That is to say, when you'd least like to
discover them! More will arrive, no doubt about it, but we'll
continue to address each in its turn. Lydia's
cabin fever aside
(she really and aggressively needs to get off the boat as soon as
we
anchor, each passage), we continue to be reminded of how
perfect this home is for us. Time and again, we'll say to each
other, "I really love our home." So, what about the
fish
stories??
You may recall that we've had notable failure in our attempts to
make fish a major portion of our diet. Aside from the couple of
catches in the
Gulf of Mexico under the experienced hand of a
professional fisherman, on the first leg of our journey, our only
success had come on our brief trip to Rodriguez Key, and those
were pretty small. However, hope springs eternal, and we set out
our lines on the beginning of this
passage. Many hours passed,
with no more results than that the lures got thoroughly wet. We
reeled them in as night fell on Wednesday, not being comfortable
with dealing with a pitching
deck, rain and darkness, should we
manage to catch something.
Thursday morning, I put them out again, with about the same
results. That is to say, for many hours, the only result was a
bit of
grass on the tuna
plug. However, as the day wore on, and
the weather forecasts continued to indicate some heavy stuff
coming up, we eased out of the main part of the
Gulf Stream, and
into the side edges. That also led us to slightly shallower
water, which was apparently home to more (or at least, hungrier)
fish, because we noticed that our starboard line, the one with
the skirted lure, was tight and the pole bent.
We don't know how long that had been like that, but it was
obvious that we had either a substantial
grass catch or some
reasonably large fish on the other end of the line. Throttling
back and turning to starboard to release some of the pressure, I
started reeling. Whatever was on the other end wasn't grass,
though, as it moved first behind the boat, and then in front. As
Lydia played the throttle and
wheel, I continued to reel. Soon,
it became apparent that we had a dolphin. That's not a porpoise,
but instead that blunt-headed fish with the iridescent skin (not
scales).
Being towed for however long it was had tired our gal (a female,
as determined at first glance by the shape of the
head, and
later, preparing her, by the roe sac), and we soon got her in a
position to gaff and bring aboard. Following the taking of
pictures of our first "real" catch, I dispatched her with a
hammer, put her into a bucket,
head down, and we resumed our
journey.
Once back under way and on course, Lydia filleted the 33"
dolphin, discarding the very full roe sac, head and tail. Of
great interest to us was what was in the stomach, however, as it
was apparent she'd been eating actively. We have no idea where
they may have come from, but there were many worms wriggling in
among the several sardine-sized fish in her stomach. Are there
marine worms readily available for eating? Was she infested with
some sort of gastric parasite? In any event, she resulted in
several very sizeable chunks of meat, along with some small
scraps saved for Portia. Even those, entirely raw, with no
seasoning or other alterations such as would be the case with
sushi, were delicious.
Gluttons that we are, after having caught no fish for us, all
this time, this bounty lasted us only two
meals. The first was
simply marinated and immediately grilled, mostly rare. Delicious
as it was, we decided that the following night, which we did at
anchor in the rain in Fernandina (to the accompaniment of the
paper mills' aromas of, alternately, sawdust and sulphur), we'd
make some changes. Those changes were mostly in the seasoning and
marinating, along with a longer
cooking time. The results were
very satisfying, and we'll use that recipe again.
For those interested, in the fashion of one of our favorite
books, An Embarrasment of Mangoes, a recipe follows this chapter:
Dolphin on the barbie.
Marinade: Crush 5 fresh garlic cloves, add dashes of key west
spice and cilantro, to combined fresh lime juice from 3 limes,
olive
oil and a splash of paisano (red wine from Gallo). Use
Braggs amino instead of
salt. Marinade in ziplock bag for 30
minutes, turning frequently. Cook over very hot
grill, turning
only once. Do skin side down first, time to suit for doneness.
Season with Cajun spices from shaker on both sides as the other
side is
cooking. Rewet first cooked side with remaining marinade
before seasoning. Serve over rice or other side dish to
preference.
L8R
Skip
Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
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