report from the boatswain's chair

We decided to do the forestay in Dyneema along with the rest of the standing rigging. I think we were worried about getting a new rod forestay and attachments in time for our vacation, and wire didn't seem like a great option either. Well, we are here to say with some amount of authority: don't do Dyneema with a jib with hanks. The Dyneema begins to fray right away, it isn't that slippy, and when you buy new sails you have to specify hanks that fit big ol' Dyneema.

We got new laminate sails and the hanks did not really fit.

So Jarred called BSI and they happened to have a T-bar fitting from Tartan 101 that would work for us. We got it a week later along with a rod forestay.

So up the mast I went. I am not afraid of heights, and I went up the mast for the Haida 26 ten years ago or so. But I think it takes a while to get used to, like maybe more than twice in ten years. I think I was tense enough that even some minor wrenching was tiring for my hands. And I couldn't look down much until I was done - horizon good, task at hand good, straight down not so good. It didn't help that I had to bring up the rod forestay in an armpit hold - next time I tie stuff on, since I hate to think of what would have happened if I had dropped a 40 foot rod forestay on the deck. I had also stuffed most tools in my bra top - T-bar, measuring tape, wrench, Loctite, paper towels, cell phone all were in trusty bra top.

rod forestay attached up top, Jarred tightens it the bottom. Dyneema forestay dangles.

armpit hold of rod forestay while putting T-rod fitting in mast.

didn't really look down until done with work. 35 feet up.

hi mom!

new jib fits!

home sweet home

While on vacation we didn't know where we were returning to. We'd been subletting a slip from Port of Everett, one of the biggest and nicest marinas on the west coast but a 25 minute drive from our house, that belonged to a couple on a boat sailing to Alaska and back. They returned early because of poor weather, so we found another couple from Port of Everett sailing to almost Alaska and back and stayed in their slip until we left on vacation. We were second on the list for a slip at Port of Everett, sixth on the list for the Port of Edmonds (15 minutes from our house) where sailboat slips are much more limited, and there was room available at some marina a bit up the Snohomish River in Everett, where, as Jarred reported, there were a few sunken boats and the average depth was something like 6 feet at low tide, which is a little more than what we draw.

We met up with our second subletters in Port Browning, CA on their way back home and our seventh night on our two day cruise. We both anchored in the bay and dinghied to shore at dinnertime. We exchanged stories, theirs big, considering where they'd been, and ours small, over beers and burgers at the local bar.

Several days later we got the voicemail from Port of Everett that we were at the top of the list and we had our choice of four slips. One was on A dock, which we figured from our marina guidebooks was near the entrance. This meant exposure to weather, and views. We thought about it, discussed it for about five minutes, then called back and took it.



It's fun and all to be at the dock looking at the butts and other anatomy bits of other people's boats, but there is something to be said for looking at an island (Jetty Island), and over it another island (Whidbey Island) and over it the mountains of the Olympic Peninsula. And so that's what we have for now. We also have a front row view of the fuel dock and the boats, especially lately a lot of fishing boats and their tenders, that visit it. And we can see the boats coming and going through the entrance. We are pretty impressed so far by the number of sailboats headed out at twilight in cool fall weather to go sailing for an hour or two, presumably with beer. And, we have a big sailboat and an even bigger powerboat to our southwest side, which is where most of the weather comes from.

Everett is a bit of a haul so we are still trying to figure out what to do in the long term. It might be a year before we end up at the top of the list at Edmonds, so we probably have plenty of time to decide and enjoy our luck.

view from A dock to entrance

Cruise #1: Type II Fun

The two week cruise to the San Juan Islands and southern Gulf Islands was challenging and great. For us, cruises are a series of evenings when we decide what door we will enter the next day, and then the next day is all about getting to that door and then going through it and seeing what is on the other side. Sometimes we end up going through a different door then planned the next day, but it's usually a similar to the planned one, such as picking a different anchorage with pretty much equally spectacular view because we wanted to keep sailing past the first anchorage with a spectacular view because we were having too much fun to pack it in.

As an example when we were forced to pick another "door", there was the time on our first boat Tatsao when we came into a long bay that our recently purchased cruising books showed containing a ferry terminal, a public marina and a restaurant. At the end of that bay, where the marina was supposed to be, there was a sign saying the entire marina had blown away in a spring storm. Nearby there was a smaller private marina with fishing boats. But it looked full of boats and nobody seemed to be around. We did circles out of the way of the ferry while looking at the charts for another "door" to go through. The mud flat was too shallow to anchor on and the ferry wash probably wasn't a good mix for that anyway, the nearest real marina was 10 miles away in Sidney, which would be difficult to navigate for the first time in the dark, and we had about an hour until dark. Then a woman came out and invited us to tie up to a fishing boat. We gratefully accepted, and then we found the terrific restaurant with organic food and great views down the bay on the other side of the ferry terminal, so we could look out to where we were going to go tomorrow. 

Tatsao tied up to a fishing boat, Saltspring ferry terminal in the background.

Generally, we had a really smooth time cruising with Tatsao, because she was so well sorted out by Jarred, and we were somewhat sorted out as cruisers, with over maybe five years owning the boat before we ever went on a cruise. We had gone on overnights, we'd raced, we'd cooked at the dock and at anchor. So, our only real constraints were ourselves, weather and, occasionally, out of date information.

Elixir was potentially different. Jarred went through a lot of her between April and September, but we had never really sailed her. But we knew that getting to know the boat was to be part of the adventure.

As it turned out, the sailing parts of Elixir were always good and almost always downright dreamy. We went through a baby gale (30 kt winds) for the first time on it, and while the old mainsail flapped like crazy, the boat took the waves well and kept us going towards Friday Harbor. We didn't know we were sailing into a gale. The morning's weather forecast said 10-20 knots. But, the Coast Guard helicopter circling around us and the other few boats out, followed by a Coast Guard fast boat buzzing us all out soon after, should be a clue to the rest of you to check the weather again when this happens to you. We had almost made it to Friday Harbor in decent style, with a ferry going by, when almost simultaneously we saw the dinghy was unattached to us and then the mainsheet separated from the boom. The dinghy incident was funny to me almost immediately, since Jarred spotted it about 200 yards behind us, upside down, and we knew we could retrieve it. I'd like to imagine it breaking free and rising up magnificently from the water like a flattish short red orca, glistening wet oars waving in the wind like flippers, before it landed flat on its back. The bridle (the rope around the boat that the line was attached to) had busted clean through, so there must have been an impact, maybe with a floating log (of which there were many that day.)

At the short term dock at Friday Harbor after the baby gale. The mainsail is bunched around since Jarred had to bring it down after the mainsheet separated from the boom (which is held down temporarily with some dock line.) We had four hours free at the dock, and in exactly that amount of time we walked into town for breakfast at 1 pm (finally), and then I provisioned while Jarred bought the new alternator that we had ordered two days ago, installed and tested it, and spliced up a brand new bridle for the dinghy.

So there was the gale, and there was a ton of light wind, perfect for the first real sail with Jarred's dad, raising the spinnaker for the first time, and messing around with all the new things.

first sail off Port Townsend.

first flight of the spinnaker, a mile from the US/Canada border.

sailing in small wind. We are in Canada, and the RCP came roaring up a minute after I took this shot. I was worried they'd give me grief about getting towed in a dinghy, but they just wanted to check our customs number. They were really cool.

Jarred resplicing the mainsail reefing line while we sail all the way back across the Strait of Juan de Fuca on our way home.

And then there were the quiet evenings in places we'd been once or twice or more before.

at a state park buoy on the south side of Jones Island.

Conover Cove, Wallace Island. It's small, so we have to stern tie when we anchor. Some pretty big winds came through that night, and the stern swung around with the gusts, and we didn't sleep that much, but our anchor held.

Sunset at Conover Cove.

Port Townsend.

The only downside to the trip was our alternator. The old one didn't work, which means when we motored, we weren't charging.

motoring through glass, not charging any batteries.

We didn't need an alternator if we plugged in at a dock every other night. We have two batteries, one for navigation electronics, lights, and the little car fridge we had just bought, and the other to start the motor. But Tatsao had an outboard that was pullstart, so having to save battery to start a motor was new to us and our planning style. The inboard diesel motor on Elixir came with a hand crank, but it looked like something dug out of a pet cemetery. So, first, we tried ordering a new alternator, which was flown from the east coast and then brought to Friday Harbor via the ferry. We waited around two days for it, feeling like we were on a leash. It was shiny new, and it looked like it worked after installed, but the batteries still didn't charge. So we docked a total of four nights when we would rather have been on the hook.

what, these guys are blocking our view!

And we always made sure Battery 2 was not being used for other things besides motor starts. But this meant no fridge. Which is fine if you're a vegetarian eating dried stuff, veggies, and tofu and fake sausage and cheese. We just couldn't store leftovers for more than a day, and, well, the beer wasn't that cold. But it also meant only one night of anchor light and one day of navigation software. And that's what stopped us from going through a few doors we wanted to go through. One evening, sandwiched between a huge fancy yacht (above) and a large crappy yacht, we sort of lost it for a bit. There were small kids on the next dock, yelling and catching small fish and jellies and stomping on them, who really, we felt, belonged down below playing quiet games on their large crappy yacht while we sipped $12 bottle white wine from stainless steel wine glasses. And that night, instead of an unobstructed view of the sunset, we got a partial view of the sunset and a direct view of the skipper of the huge fancy yacht, who at bedtime got busy with his Sonicare toothbrush for a full minute in front a window that was directly across from our cockpit. But at some point I realized that Jarred and I were dangerously like Todd and Margo of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, seeking the perfect private experience when others around us were just seeking and sharing the same joy differently. And, it didn't matter if we did the same thing twice. And, we'd be back soon, even more sorted out.

what, this crummy old dock at Port Townsend, again?

Looking south from our northernmost point on this trip: the north tip of Wallace Island, which is a two mile trail run from Conover Cover.

The fall vacation burka, AKA the Burkalounger, at Spencer Spit.

panoramic cheers and a half from Spencer Spit.

remasting

Because Jarred had replaced all the standing rigging, from hardware at the mast and the deck to the Dymeema lines, remasting was a moment of truth. Five of those Dymeema lines (forestay to the bow and the four shrouds on the sides) have only a couple of inches of adjustment in them, and those inches are really destined to accommodate future stretch, not past mistakes. And it wasn't just about measuring - each line was stretched after Jarred spliced them together. 

The other three (backstay and running backs to the stern) are quite adjustable so involved less nailbiting. 

Also getting a 100 pound, 37 foot long post that is top heavy onto a specific spot on a floating boat takes three people and some concentration. Even the outgoing tide was a minor factor for the crane operator since the boat was slowly dropping while Jarred attached all the lines. 

It all went fine though, except for the use of a borrowed pole to reorganize a couple of lines that were tangled. 

standing rigging was stretched between a big dock cleat and our truck with a come-along.

about 2000 lbs of tension for prestretching. the rounded plate at the top of the photo is the type of hole that is in the mast, and the spliced line that loops around the eye attached to it is part of what needs stretching. the truck started to slip at this point so Jarred had to put it in four wheel drive, although the e-brake is in the rear and so it's pretty easy to make the truck slide when it's empty in the back.

cleared the light pole by a couple of inches.

holding onto the bottom of the mast while the crane moves it down and over to the boat.

mast in place. the forestay and shrouds are hooked up, Jarred is attaching one of the running backstays.

Dyneema lines are spliced around teardrop shaped "terminators" that Jarred made, which in turn are hooked up to turnbuckles which are the only adjustment for length in the system, which in turn are hooked into loops bolted into the hull.

all standing rigging (except the backstay) attached and taut enough to hold the mast up, ready for final tuning back at our slip.