Channel hopping

A mostly gastronomic delight of sailing a QUALIFYING passage for the Yachting Monthly Triangle race is now complete.

As with all plans, they never quite go as we'd like entirely. But as this was our final weekend with opportunity to cover the required distance, we had little choice but to go for it.
The previous weekends glorious sunshine and light winds we had hoped would bless us for our qualifying passage were swapped for strong winds, gale warnings, squalls, hailstorms, thunderstorms and an on the nose southerly wind all the way to Fecamp, where we were due to meet up with a whole flotilla of others who were taking part in the annual Royal Escape from Brighton.

"I'm not leaving without a passage plan?" I say, "I'm not leaving without a food plan?" my co-skip replies. 

 

We all have our priorities in life. I'm glad ours are complimentary.

Hazel turned up with bags of food and a moderate level of optimism that we might set sail at our predetermined time of 0000 Friday morning to catch a fast tide toward Brighton before heading south toward Fecamp.
But as thursday evening drew closer to the planned departure time, the winds built and built. In the mean time, in a sleepy over worked haze I attempted to make some semblance of a passage plan, however forgetting which way up my breton plotter works and clumsily wielding my dividers didn't immediately instill confidence in my co skipper. I tried to reassure that actually I've been doing this for years but gained no further confidence. I really must remember to switch on brain and engage thistle (1 - ref 1m18s) if I'm to ever be taken seriously as a capable sea dog.
All the while, the wind howled and the boat shook, rocked and rolled on it's pontoon berth.

So we made the choice of sane people and chose our beds, rather than a night of hellish weather on the water. I was quite thankful for the sleep. There's a rumour I don't need sleep. I do.
Being hyperactive, I'm either  go-go-go, or stop. So people rarely see me tired. I'm very lucky though, I could sleep on a washing line if I needed to.

The next morning, no sign of the weather being any less howling, we sat and waited. Quietly contemplating.
Until 1600 and finally the weather calmed enough to reverse out of our berth and head off in an approximately southerly direction on a revised passage plan.

Hazel at the helm, letting the autopilot take the strain

having food that can be chucked in the oven and left is ideal at this angle

I administered the seasickness tablets from the off. I didn't fancy a green faced repeat of our last attempt. Especially given the fantastic food Hazel had prepared and stowed in the fridge.

The first culinary delight was chicken tagine. Though, it was more a moroccan chicken dish cooked in a pyrex ovenable bowl, rather than an actual tagine. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

We started our watch pattern at 8pm. two hours on, two hours off. This seemed to work well. I took the 0000-0200 watch happily, returning for another dose of cold night air in the channel at 0400.
The saloon served as hot bunk for both of us, as it's the most comfortable place to sleep at sea.

 Around 20 hours after we set sail, we spotted land again. It would take a further 8 hours to reach it though and this, despite being the sunniest part of the day was torturous. We knew there was a small party going on ahead of us in Fecamp with the other crews who had taken part in the Royal Escape and we wanted to be part of it.

During the trip, we had squalls, hailstorms, thunderstorms, becalming and sunshine. So a fairly good test of team work. One of the battens decided it was a javelin and flew out of the mainsail and is now an underwater ornament.

We arrived in Fecamp at 8pm British time, which gave us just enough time for cheese and wine at the yacht club where a few of the revellers from the Royal Escape were ending their night.
We waddled back to Boogie Nights around 2am, after a social gathering on another boat, called Ocean Dream. I quietly prayed that the invisible forcefield would keep me on the mini finger pontoons or bouncy springboards our boats were tied up to and not have to rely on crawling along it to stay on.

The next morning as Hazel and I caught up on much needed sleep, one of the crew from a boat we had been guest to the previous night brought round fresh bread. I can only apologise to the lovely chap who delivered it for what must have looked like a creature dragged from the bottom of the black lagoon via a hedge backwards, that greeted him.

"That was one too many dark and stormies for me I think."

 A beautiful sunny day greeted us, with sausage rolls for breakast. A quick wander around the town to show me the place as it was my first visit, as well as a quick stop for pastry and the eclaire "where chocolate goes to die" was carried back for closer inspection.

a chocolate eclair, where chocolate goes to die.

Back to the passage planning and the best tide looked like a 1900 departure time from Fecamp. Oh and quel ser -fucking-prise, the wind shifted to northerly. The weather can be a right cunt sometimes.

 It rained. It rained, and it didn't stop raining for twenty hours straight.

The beef bourguignon that Hazel had pre-prepared in the slow cooker at home was excellent and really kept spirits high, despite the damp. And a hot french pain au chocolate for breakfast is always a winner.
What wasn't a winner was Co-skipper almost knocking herself unconscious on a closed companionway hatch at 0400 in the morning as we were due to swap watch. She was promptly sent back below to lay down and recover. re-emerging at just after 0700 looking fragile. Just as I'd peeled off my wet clothes I was summoned back up to help put a reef in. This should have been a 5 minute job, I didn't bother with foul weather gear. Just a life jacket. But tiredness got the better of me and it took more like 15, plus a bit longer to rescue a stray spinnaker halyard that was flying loose.

"Still, I did laugh, as the rain soaked me to the skin again. What fun this boating lark is."

Jayne on helm, a rare moment of hand steering. 

But, the job is jobbed. We logged 145NM (28 hours) to get down there and complete our qualification for the race and another 110NM (20 hours) for the trip back.

The Journey typically would take around 85NM  or 16 hours on average if going direct. 

Now, I just have my snagging list to complete and get the boat to Torquay for June 13th.

This game is rigged

You know those straightforward jobs you see other people doing and plan to do yourself?
Those little things, such as unstepping a mast to replace the standing rigging (the metal cables that hold the mast up to non-yotties) and then put it straight back again and go sailing?

Well, that's exactly what I planned just over a year ago.

According to insurance companies when rigging passes its 10th birthday, it is no longer fit for insuring. It ceases to be. It is no more. It suddenly turns to marshmallow and is instantly vaporised by a mere sneeze.
Despite looking to be perfectly healthy, it was finally time to swap out the metal cables for new ones.
Fucking insurance, they're riding the pockets of the riggers, no?

£1600 for a new set of standing rigging. Great. Where's my credit card.

I had the mast unstepped for the first time and carefully tagged all the cables, coiled them up, put them in the Clio of doom and headed to the Plymouth based rigging company, where they made me a new set while I waited.

Casually, the director of the rigging company asked me to remove the spreader brackets when I got home, "give them a bit of a clean" he said, "tell me what it looks like" he said, "then put them back with loads of sealant" he continued.

I felt sweaty palmed about this request. What did he know that I didn't? I mean, I'd never heard of a Dehler mast failing. This is German manufacturing. They're supposed to be pretty fucking marvellous aren't they?
Not a mention of any mast worries on my insane 50 page survey that went into minute detail about a corroded tab on a bus-board and slight crazing of a window. You'd think that mad surveyor might have mentioned something, right?

It took a week before I had the courage to drill out the rivets and unbolt the spreader brackets from the mast.

This is what I saw.

A mocking smiley face.

With each mocking face, another few thousand of my redundancy payout kerchinged its way past my bleary vision.

This wasn't what I had hoped to see.

What had happened was, when Dehler assembled the mast in 1989, they hadn't sealed the stainless steel brackets from the alumium mast. Over the years, salt water had seeped into a hollow area between the bracket and the mast and effectively became an electrolite. The two metals are of different nobility, the aluminum turned to salts and eventually the area thinned significantly, causing a hole to appear and weakening the area generally. The spreaders can really load up the mast in these areas when sailing in strong winds. What potentially could happen is that the mast could fail at any one of these thinned areas. If the mast failed, it could cause serious injury. It could kill a crew member or hole the boat as it comes down. You know a big enough hole to sink us. This kind of thing is never taken lightly.

Without hesitation, I called the man in Plymouth. At the same time Dave Nicholls, my friendly local Essex based rigger had a look and also spoke to the other rigging company on my behalf.
Was it repairable? If so, how much?

The answer was yes. But it would be costly. A rough estimate of around £3000 was quoted to sleeve the mast at both spreader sections. Internal sleeving was deemed not possible.
£5000 was quoted for a new mast.

I called my insurance company. Surely they might help. Afterall, that's what insurance is for, right?

Wrong.

It would seem that had I left the spreaders alone, never inspected under them, allowed it to fail, then the insurance would have paid up.
However, since I had found the problem (a manufacturing defect that I couldn't have known about in advance or prevented) and avoided possible crew death or boat sinking issues, the costs of this are entirely my own.

Thanks Velos Insurance, thanks for nothing. Shysters.

I decided to go for a new mast, as I didn't want to devalue the boat by having a sleeved mast.
While I was going for a new mast, I had to get a new boom to match. And while we were adding a new boom, then we needed a new vang. (we meaning my husband Dehler, the sidekick furry beast Banjo and I of course)
And since we were having a mast made from scratch, then I could specify just what I wanted from the outset.

• Inner forestay - check
• extra trisail track - check
• double jib halyard - check
• double main halyard -  check

---

It's a bit like having a partner and you don't like his appendage anymore. 

"Yes, I'd like a new one please, can it be a bit deeper section, same length, yes I'm happy with the length, but can you make it a bit more useful, you know, can it do a few more party tricks?  Oh and make it shiny too. I'd like to be able to polish it as well as climb it."

---

nearly two months after the promised delivery date, at the very end of July my new mast finally turned up.

I had planned to be over half way around Britain by then and I still had to get new sails made.
The Funny Way Round project clearly wasn't going to happen in 2013.

---

The breakdown of what re-rigging costs, for those curious:

• Single Clutch £49.92 plus vat
• 6 x blocks £123.24 plus vat
• Mast base £183.74 plus vat
• Delivery £15 plus vat
• Dehler 36 CWS Mast £4,053.73 plus vat
• Selden B152 Boom £1,097.89 plus vat
• Rope-3rd Reef/Luff lines £58.68 plus vat
• Short spini track/plunger £214 plus vat
• Fit owner supplied Inner forestay £76 plus vat
• Winch Pad 110x110/5deg £52.74 plus vat
• Cleats on mast x 4 £76 plus vat
• Clutch XAS-Genoa halyard x 2 £99.84 plus vat
• Steaming light cable only £30 plus vat
• Deck light cable only £30 plus vat
• Rod Kicker/10S/HD Spring £348.34 plus vat
• Tri-sail track £318.95 plus vat
• Carriage of Tube/Plymouth £240 plus vat
• Carriage of Mast/Essex £400 plus vat
• Block PBB50 Fiddle/Becket £44.45 plus vat
• Block PBB50 Fiddle £25.10 plus vat
• Rope B/B 8mm White £7.44 plus vat
• Splice BOB £10 plus vat
• Walder boom slide £30.65 plus vat
• Halyard - Main/D2  £207 plus vat
• Halyard - Genoa/CS £142.71 plus vat
• Halyard - Genoa/MB £85.50 plus vat
• Halyard - Spinnaker/BOB £78.38 plus vat
• Boom Lift/BOB £40.42 plus vat
• Toggle for bottom of Forestay £43.75 plus vat
• Screw Luff 6x17.5 FLX200 £5.60 plus vat
• Labour/FOC as above £0
• Sheave Box Al-70/RivetFix £32.38 plus vat
• Inner Forestay Fittings Strip/overhaul furlerdrum £40.41 plus vat
• Block, BBB30 SGLE, Swivel £29.36 plus vat
• M6 Fastenings for winch £5.20 plus vat
• Lewmar winch for mast £220
• echomax active radar reflector £380
• radio aerial £donated
• tacktick wireless wind speed £800
• deck flood light £70
• friendly local rigger labour time £900
• replacement standing rigging £1600 

                               Totals: £13,925

  ------

 ...You'd think this should be the end, but it isn't...

Between a wok and hard place

There comes a time in every culinary challenged persons life when they buy a wok.

That moment arrived for me when I was 23 years old and my mother bought me the best wok in the shop. Behold, the Typhoon. A 35cm double handled traditional steel wok.

It saw 2 and 3 times weekly action, sometimes more.
It was the stepping stone I needed to discover "the stir fry" method from which countless incarnations of Indian,  Thai, Chinese and Mexican dishes have borne forth. It's perhaps the easiest quickest way to knock up a meal for one or a house full of friends. And on a boat,  this single item of galley paraphernalia is a vital component to crew happiness.

But,  14 years on and after 4 years of living in a cupboard, frequently awash with water,  the typhoon is looking very sorry for itself.
Neglected due to its insane size,  brought out on fewer and fewer occasions,  the wok that uses an entire 3 burner optimus stove top has reached the end of its useful life.
It spans the entire surface of the gimballed cooker and is impossible to stow anywhere practical. I've put off replacing it because it holds so many memories of evenings with friends.  And it was a present from my mum (one of the best ever,  but she would never know it as she's never actually been here long enough for me to cook a meal)

So say hello to the newest, neatest,  smaller but hopefully high performing kitchen beast. The Prestige.
A stainless steel,  shiny thing that I hope will last as long as the Typhoon. And I hope will be the centre of the table for many more friendship gatherings to come.

It's these small things that take life on board a boat from bearable to wonderful.

Got a stiffy?

I was out having a nice little sail the other day with my co skipper Hazel when the steering went alarmingly stiff.

I had ignored the warning signs for the past two years by pretending it was in fact me, that was getting weaker, and not the reality of the boat getting stiffer.

So after a quick lap of the Isle of Wight, a fight with a wheel and the executive decision that it was impossible to complete the extra few miles required for the purpose of the trip in the first place (qualification, read on for explanation) I realised it was time to head back to the marina and consult my naval about what to do next.

I had hoped it would be a quick and easy to fix universal joint, or something that wouldn't require the boat to come out of the water.
All hopes faded as the steering was disconnected from the rudder and and the wheel spun freely.

So we went to the pub to ruminate. I had scampi.

A call to the local provider of lifting-outery and I was quoted 250 for a lift and hold for one hour and an extra 200 for each hour extra.
I then called the emergency dad-line. You know the one that begins with the number Daaaaaaad, in a slightly raising tone asking a pertinent question resulting in a potentially time consuming and expensive trip south from Derbyshire.

Time is of the essence you see. Both Hazel and I need to qualify for this thing called the Yachting Monthly Triangle Race and we are running out of weekends in which to complete our 125 mile passage.

So, my genius dad came up with a plan and a tool to skim out the bottom rudder bearing which had expanded gradually since it was fitted a while ago, see my previous blog entry about that…

I will add a diagram of the tool set up  shortly.

but first, here is the boat out of the water, ready for rudder bearing fettling.

The long and the short is, the tool worked like a dream and the steering is now back to finger tip control and no longer a white knuckle bear wrestle.
The auto pilot is sighing with relief.

One year later

One year has passed since I last wrote anything at all on here about anything at all.

One year has passed since I was made redundant (voluntarily) from IPC Media with just five days notice.

It was a fairly difficult time.

Just as my near 13 year run at IPC Media came to a close (not long after my heart said goodbye to two people  Mr X and Lady Grace and even less time since I attended the funeral of a dear Aunt),  I found out that the boat needed a new mast.

This was the start of what turned out to be one of those horrible anus's the Queen talked about one time in her annual speech.

What should have been a quick lift out, a bit of a fettle and back in again turned into nine months of labour and twelve months before the boat would sail again.
Twelve months of extreme expense culminating in

• An entire new rig (read about that here)
• A broken heart (twice)
• Almost bankruptcy
• Landing a fantastic job on the south coast.
• A surprise visit from Mr X
• Leaving friends behind in Essex and relocating 150 miles away
• My car being cloned and having to prove my innocence
• Being taken to court by a patronising jumped up solicitor

It's rather difficult to know where to start with that lot.

One thing I've learnt in 2012-2013 is that there are a lot of cunts about who don't give a shit about any other cunt except for looking after numero-uno-cunt.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, when the trouble kicked off.
Are you sitting comfortably?

"It was 2012, the Olympics were over, the embers of the paralympics were just simmering to  a close.
And there it was. In all it's glory. My nemesis. A person to whom I remotely answered, bold as brass knobs on a spindleback chair, uttered the statement. (not for the first time I should add)
"we can't put those on the front cover, they're unsightly"
To what was being referred? The paralympians of course. Multiple gold medal winning paralympians. The same paralympians that had just hours ago made grown men weep at the arena side. The same paralympians that had momentarily united a nation in support for all people, of all abilities.

Such prejudice has no place in modern journalism.
It's hard to know what to do in such circumstances. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't.
So I made a statement. It caused a stir. My card was marked. And that, one moment in my unblemished history of working for IPC Media, was the beginning of the end of a long chapter in my life. 

May 1st 2013, a new chapter begins."