Colombia.  I don’t even know where to begin.  But I guess I’ll begin at the beginning.  Since that seems like a logical place to start. 

Leaving the Rosarios

After a couple of days of relaxing and exploring, we were ready to move around.  The question was whether to move to another island in the Rosarios or to head to Cartagena.  After some back and forth we decided to go for a dive and work it out later.  But first we did some research, the subject being:  how many ways can one jump off of a sailboat? 

The boom swing

The bow flip

The bow flip 2

The side dive

The sugar scoop backflip

The sugar scoop backflip 2

The arch swing

The arch swing 2

The sugar scoop springboard dive

The sugar scoop springboard dive 2

The sugar scoop front flip

The sugar scoop front flip 2

After the research, we went for a dive.  Nobody saw anything crazy, until the end of the dive where I saw a really nice Dog Snapper.  Naturally he was on to me, and  managed to escape with only a scare.

Post-dive we were all on the same page – let’s get to Cartagena.

So the next morning we woke up early, pulled up the dingy, and took off.  The wind was very fickle and I quickly gave up resetting the sails every few minutes – choosing to drop sail and motor the remaining 20 miles.  Pulling into Cartagena was cool.

Boca Chica Cartagena

Boca Chica again

NOMAD in CTG

To really grasp the impact it had on me and the crew – you have to consider that I hadn’t had    S/V NOMAD anywhere near civilization during my entire time aboard.  But now, I was motoring right into the middle of a fairly modern, historic, and friendly South American city.  It was awesome and we were all really happy to be there. 

There was about an hour of motoring once we got into the bay, to get to the area that we wanted to drop anchor.  We were in no hurry, so I settled into the captain’s chair, watched the AIS, and fiddled with the autopilot to keep me entertained while I chose music to fit the mood. 

El Capitan

 

Once close to Club Nautico (our anchorage), we putted around looking for a spot close to the dinghy dock.  We dropped anchor in one spot, but eventually moved.  Then at the second spot we dropped anchor we were a little close to a neighbor, but not close enough to bump.  So I called it – we were officially in Cartagena.

Anchor Beer Cartagena

Now, we’d been saving beers for our traditional anchor-beer.  In fact, our last three beers had been off limits since San Blas.  The fact that they actually survived until Cartagena is a miracle, but they did – and an anchor beer has never tasted so good.  Nor has it been so earned, on S/V NOMAD.  The crew all did their jobs.  The captain managed to not sink the boat.  And we actually arrived where we wanted to, without having to stop and ask for directions.  That’s a win in my book. 

Estoy En Cartagena

Things happen quickly in Cartagena.  You make friends quickly.  You find your way around quickly.  People try to get your money quickly.  Everything is fast, unless it comes to boat work or paperwork – in that case, it’s still manana-time.

So it wasn’t a huge surprise when we went ashore, found the main party street, found the main party hostel, had our first Colombian beer, paid for the dinghy dock access, went shopping, and checked into the country – all in the first two hours. 

First Colombian Beer

Enter the Disney’s

On the way back to the marina I saw a familiar face chatting streetside.  We’d first met Nick and Andrea Disney (whose name I didn’t remember at the time) at Australia Day in San Blas. My buddy Rob had a group of people over for drinks the night before, and Nick and Amanda were part of that group.  We’d met briefly, seen each other at the party – and then Nick and Andrea had sold us some rum (they needed American Dollars, I needed rum).  Fancy seeing them here, huh?

The introductions were short, I was tired and hoping to get back to the boat ASAP.  But there was an invite for a beer aboard their boat, which was docked at the marina.  We said yes, and thus began one of my favorite cruising friendships to date.  Many a sweaty Cartagena night was spent with these fine folks. 

The A Team

Of course the beers onboard Disneyland (our nickname for the Disney’s boat) led to some beers at a local bar.  This bar had a pretty awesome band.  We all enjoyed the music, the beer, and being in an actual bar.  At this bar, we met Kevin and Pollo Brown.  Kevin had a boat in the anchorage, Pollo Brown was the substitute guitarist.  We enjoyed it so much that we felt it the next morning.

A Party?

The next day we were being lazy.  Nobody felt like doing much so we didn’t.  I settled into a series on the computer and drank cold drinks to fend off the sweltering heat.  We cooked a tiny bit, just enough that we wouldn’t starve. 

About 3 PM Kevin rowed by and asked if he could use my kitchen to cook food for his birthday party (which was that night).  I said yes.  He took off again.  About an hour later Amanda came back to the mothership with interesting news:  there was a party onboard S/V NOMAD very soon.  This was news to me.

When I inquired who was throwing the party on my boat, and what the occasion was, it was apparent that there had been a bit of miscommunication.  In that miscommunication, the entire anchorage had been invited to Kevin’s birthday party – on my boat. 

No problem.  I rallied.  The party was kicking off at 5 PM.  It was 4.  I had some work to do.  I started hiding valuables, setting up cushions, and putting dirty clothes where they were supposed to be.  Unfortunately I had to pause Deadwood. 

A Party!

About 5 PM people started showing up.  By 7 PM there were 15 people onboard, most of which I didn’t know.  Kevin showed up about 8 PM (late to his own party, on my boat) with two Israeli friends and started cooking hummus, pita bread, etc.  At this point Pollo Brown and one of his friends showed up.  Suddenly there were 22 people onboard, and the dinghies kept coming in.  We had a date at a bar at 11PM, though.

The party

Fiesta in CTG

Just one more…

Dinghy parking

There was a boatwide warning about 10 PM that we’d be leaving the boat (meaning the party needed to go elsewhere).  By 11 PM it was more “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”  Even then, dinghies kept showing up for the party. 

So we shut down the party, went to the bar, and watched some more music.  We had so much fun, again, that we felt it the next day. 

We’d accomplished alot in our first two days in Cartagena, including meeting half of the anchorage. 

Clearing stuff up

Some quick notes, based on some recent feedback:

• I use “and” and “but” to start sentences often.  I do it because I like to.  I realize it’s not technically correct. But if we all only did things that were technically correct, it would be a very boring world.  And I’m going to keep using “and” to start sentences (see what I did there?).  And if you don’t like it, I’m sure there’s another sailor out there that writes more boring, technically correct stories.  Find that guy/girl and read their stories to go to sleep :)


• I do know how to spell (despite evidence to the contrary).  But writing takes time, editing takes more time, and posting takes even more time.  That is to say,  this all takes time away from sweating and bleeding in my engine rooms, which is where I should be right now.  Please overlook the spelling errors, they are not intentional. 


• I use punctuation incorrectly.  That is (usually) purposeful.  See bullet point number one regarding my general feelings about technically correct writing.  Hint:  it’s boring and lacks style.


• I often use fragments.  I often use run-ons. Those are also done on purpose.  See bullet point number one regarding my feelings about technically correct writing.  Hint:  it’s boring and lacks style.


• Cartagena is a very long word.  I am tired of typing it.  I now use CTG, which makes sense because it’s the airport abbreviation.  I hope that doesn’t kill your buzz.


• On the shipwreck thing – there was a bit of drama following that whole ordeal.  I’m opting to stay out of it, by not publishing it.  That said, I did receive a couple of negative notes.  To be clear:  I received no financial compensation for helping.  I asked for none, expected none, and that’s the way most sailors would treat other sailors. My crew and I helped because it was the right thing to do.  But I did receive a gift from Hank, consisting of four blocks.  I’m really happy with that gift as it gives me something to remember Hank and the shipwreck by. 


• Here’s the official story regarding the shipwreck:  The boat was a 2007 Beneteau OCEANIS 523.  Hank was a very experienced sailor who knew his location to be 15 miles off the reef, who reduced sail, set the alarm and had a quick nap (it was night, he was singlehanding). The current pushed the yacht to shore.  The yacht went right over the reef, keel and all, and fell onto its starboard side, sustaining most of the damage above the waterline.  Eventually, post salvage, they floated the yacht off of the reef, repaired some holes and towed it back to where it sits today:  Isla Linton. Special thanks to Rob (and Laurie, of course) for clearing up what was a murky situation and for looking after Hank. 

So.  With all that cleared up, I hope to be able to get back to regularly scheduled programming.  Which is to say there’s still a (relatively) young, dumb gringo stumbling around CTG.  And he’s still making bad decisions, then writing about them, purely for your entertainment.

Estoy En Cartagena

We were out of San Blas.  Really out.  Something like 20 miles out, doing 7.5 knots into a 5 foot sea as the sun set over the islands where I’ve been diving, exploring, and sailing for almost a year off and on.  But our minds weren’t really on leaving – more on the voyage to Colombia. 

Amanda was still ill, she was below trying to sleep.  But at 7.5 knots, the water makes quite a bit of noise as it slides by the hull.  Let alone the pounding we were doing into the seas, which can make a special kind of bone-tingling thud. Rob called me when we were offshore and we managed a quick phone call before we lost reception.  Always good to hear a friendly voice before one takes off on a crossing. 

To Colombia

Luke was up moving around.  He’d become so fixated on Colombia that he was having trouble keeping a smile off his face.

I was happy to be moving on, but a little nervous about taking a crew of relative greenhorns across what can be a very nasty sea, this time of year.  And Amanda was ill. And we really needed to slow down – I’d planned between 4 and 5 knots.  Not 7.5, which is what we were doing now.  But I was confident in the fact that we’d done most (if not all) of the necessary stuff before we’d pulled anchor.  Finally, the trip wasn’t very long, for voyaging standards. 

This was my first real crossing.  Nothing too crazy, really – we were prepared.  I’d studied the weather for over a month, looking for the right time.  I’d cross referenced every weather-window.  I’d talked with everyone I knew who made the crossing.  I had shed my fair share of blood, sweat, and tears in the engine rooms.  We had all the safety gear ready.  I explained clipping off, and how to use the harnesses.  Luke knew how to sail her by himself.  We had food prepped.  Our paperwork was in order.  In short there was no apparent reason to worry – besides the obvious:  shit always breaks, and you never know what it will be until it happens. 

Before the sun set I reefed the genoa to try to slow us down. Then I took in more on the genoa.  Then I just pulled it in completely.  We were still doing 6 knots, and the genoa was helping us point into the wind.  So I put it back out.  Luke helped me put a reef in the main.  Then we put in another.  Then the main was fully reefed, the genoa was fully out and we were doing 6 knots again.  Apparently I should have planned for 6 knots. 

When Luke took his nap in preparation for his shift, we were doing 5.5 knots with the main fully reefed and the genoa with a single reef.  The winds and waves were just a bit more than they’d called for.  The good news:  it didn’t look like we’d need to do much motoring;  the bad news:  it was going to be a bit more bumpy than we thought. 

The next two days were a blur.  We spent some time under motor, but most time was spent trying to slow down while pointing as deeply as possible into the wind.  For all the talk about catamarans (except daggerboard catamarans) not pointing into the wind – we do pretty well.  In fact, a good portion of the monohull sailors I speak with point about as well as I do. Sure, it depends on the catamaran, the sails, the load, and the sailor – but sailing a catamaran doesn’t mean you can only motor in tight wind angles.    We can always use “just another 5 degrees” into the wind, but when you’re doing 7 knots into 5 foot seas, and only 35 degrees off the wind – well. That’s hard to complain about, considering you’re in a floating condo with less than 38 foot of waterline.  But back to the crossing…

Amanda was slowly recovering. Crossing the Carribean at this time of year probably wouldn’t be the doctor’s orders – but she was keeping down crackers and some fluids.  That was improvement.  Luke was doing well.  I could see the shifts wearing on him a little.  I was feeling it too, but I’ve done far worse shifts in far worse places.  At least here there weren’t roadside bombs here.  We had a few minor goofs – but overall, we were kicking royal ass. 

The biggest issue was that the hardware holding up my dinghy, wasn’t holding up.  We had the dinghy well-secured, but the pounding was taking it’s toll on the (apparently) lightweight hardware. 

The Dinghy Is Down

There are a myriad of potential problems I thought about and mentally prepared for.  Failures in my dinghy-holding hardware was not one of them.  I thought about the stress on the davits, the lines, etc – but never expected the hardware itself to fail. That was metal, I used to have more faith in metal things…

Amanda was shaking me awake and though she was calm, I could tell there was some urgency in her voice.  She said:  the dinghy is down.  I jumped up and ran upstairs.  As I passed out into the cockpit Luke said:  “Autopilot is off, she’s pointed into the wind.”  Which is exactly what he should have done. A+ for Team NOMAD. 

Looking back, the ass-end of my dinghy was banging against the inside of my starboard hull.  Upon inspection, in the middle of the night, while the waves smashed around, I found that one of the stainless steel connections on the block used to raise the dinghy, had sheared off.  Fixing it was precarious, but necessary.  I used some spectra to tie the area that had sheared, then we lifted it back up.  I was unhappy with the failure but happy with the fix and soon we were off to the races again.  Naturally that screwed up my sleeping pattern, a little bit of adrenaline makes it hard to go back to sleep. 

Soon enough it was daylight and we were cruising across the open blue – in something like 1500 meters of water.  That’s deep.  It’s been so long since I’ve been out in the blue that I really missed the feeling of not seeing land (or the bottom) – everything fading into the horizon (or into the blue).  I took the opportunity in between one of our tacks to jump overboard and remove some fishing line from our port prop.  Which made me miss bluewater diving even more.

That night in the middle of my shift we again reached 7.5 knots and the seas increased.  We were pounding through the slop at what seemed like warp-speed.  I needed to correct our course a bit, so I kept full sheets out.  We were about to turn deep into the wind anyways, which would definitely slow us down.  As our plans took us into the Rosarios in the morning, slowing down was fine – but speeding up would mean we’d be flopping around offshore waiting on the daylight. 

7.9 Knots …

Long story short, shortly after I went back to bed from this shift – just when I was starting to feel like we were going to make it to Colombia without any more issues:  I was woken up by a familiar person with a familiar sentence:  the dinghy is down (again).  My brain wasn’t quite working, so what would have typically been a long string of profanity turned into:  what, really? 

I was sure that the Spectra rig I’d tied had either:  a) come untied or b) chaffed through.  I saw those being potential issues so I tied safety knots and arranged things to protect the Spectra from chafe.  The Spectra didn’t fail. It was the damn chain that was holding my dinghy up.  Let me repeat that – the chain failed.  This isn’t anchor chain, it’s not rated for 25 tons of shock-load, but it is chain.  It should be fine for this limited application.  Apparently not.

At this point we were close to shore and I was completely done fighting this fight. It was a stupid fight. We dropped the dinghy from the davits and towed it.  Clearly, among the variety of other things that I need to replace, rethink, and fix in Cartagena – my dinghy-carrying rig is on that list.  After all of this, I’m considering heavy-duty Spectra as my material:  it’s lightweight, has incredible strength, and is very simple to tie/untie/secure. 

Land Ho!

After this last minor failure – I took another hour nap and then came up and took control for our final approach into the Colombian islands:  the Rosarios.  We eased in under power at about 9 AM, perfect timing.   We navigated around a couple shallow reefs and watched our anchor drop in 15 foot of crystal clear water, and we were the only yacht in sight. 

Land!

After some inspection of the dinghy and the dinghy engine we decided we could get to shore – we wanted to get a feel for this place.  We went in search of a fruit plate, egg arepa and a drink.  $10 US for this, at a resort.  I have a feeling Colombia and I are going to get along famously.

When we got back it was finally after 11AM, which is our time-rule for drinking onboard.  We had been saving two ice-cold Balboa beers for our “Anchor Beers” here.  Saving two ice cold beers for more than a week onboard S/V NOMAD is a record, surely.  So Luke and I had our anchor beers – in another set of beautiful islands, in another country.  And we earned these.

The rest of the day we spent relaxing in calm, blue water.  It is beautiful in the Rosarios, but very different from Panama.  The coast is desert (ish), and this being a tourist-type area – everything is nicer.  There’s some pride in the country here.  

Hopefully this “rain” shit stays away for a while – I won’t miss it.  Right now, Panama seems like a fraction of the country that Colombia is – but this is pretty early in my relationship with it, and I haven’t seen much of it yet.  All that said, the people seem prettier, nicer and I can’t complain about the prices and the landscape.  And Cartagena is well known for quality boat-labor;  which makes me happy just thinking about it. 

Fingers crossed, I hope this country-relationship is a gratifying one. 

To Colombia

San Blas in the Rearview

After three tough days working trying to salvage what we could from the shipwreck, my crew and I were both drained.  But Hank was still working.  We all felt so heartbroken for Hank.  We were worried about him.  We were all impressed by him.  But we left him and One World in The Hot Tub – we needed to get to Colombia.  And before Colombia was a water and food stop.  Then a day of final prep for the journey. 

Nargana

We sailed to Nargana without major issue, though we bent and broke a couple pieces of minor rigging on the way.  I had spares and we were fixed within a few minutes.  We anchored close to shore and I immediately sent Luke in to grab diesel/gas/propane and arrange water.

I jumped into the engine rooms and completed a couple small projects.  I did a bit of writing.  We made a shopping list.  Then I rigged a better pump to move the water from the launchas to my water tanks. 

Water Launcha

Eventually we got the system set up, got a launcha with some water alongside, and filled my tanks.  Next was a shopping run.  Luke and I went in and grabbed what we could.  There were no tomatoes – which is a deal-killer. 

After a quick conversation it appeared that there may be tomatoes within a half hour.  So we got back to the dinghy, loaded the diesel, gas, propane and groceries onto NOMAD and I went back for tomatoes.  Thankfully there were some. 

West Cocos

We managed to get out of Nargana early.  So we sailed to the West Cocos in search of decent freediving and spearfishing.  Immediately after dropping the anchor, we were accosted by the local Kuna.  He wanted to know what we wanted – I told him nothing.  He was legitimately stumped and left us paddling and talking to himself. 

Though tired, we rallied for an evening dive.  The reef here was very alive.  The fish life was fair, but the visibility was mediocre.  I saw a couple of nice snapper but they were doing the typical nice snapper thing:  running.  Regardless of how much time I spent on the bottom – they weren’t interested.

Luke planted a spear in a tasty Ocean Triggerfish.  Amanda found a very large Channel Clinging Crab.  I hunted down the crab and managed to land him.  A real giant.  Then I went back on the snapper hunt.  I found one more snapper as the sun was going down but when I was hanging on the bottom waiting for him to get curious – another, larger, Channel Clinging Crab came out from under a coral formation and started waving his tasty claws at me. 

It’s always a rough day when you forget where you’re at in the food chain.  I try to keep that in mind when playing with things that are larger than me (or just deadly).  This crab lost sight of where he was in the food chain – at least momentarily.  And when he came out swinging those tasty claws – he got the shaft. 

With two of these crabs and a triggerfish, waning light, and an exhausted crew – we headed back.  It was actually getting a little cold too.  Back onboard we de-geared and began cooking.  The crabs were so damn big we couldn’t figure out how to cook them.  We ended up boiling their claws/legs in the pressure cooker – and grilling their bodies.  Then we were stuck the next dilemma – how to get the meat out of those massive claws? 

Crab Claws

Giant Crabs

More Giant Crabs

My last tangle with these crabs ended with us using ViceGrip pliers to crush the claws.  But the pliers had just been cleaned, so they had a bit of oil on them and that leaves a distinct taste in one’s mouth.  So we tried a few different things, all of which helped us get crab meat all over the inside of S/V NOMAD.  We were stuffed, and we had crab leftover.

That night the wind picked up and the anchorage became almost untenable. No fun sleeping like that.  We moved ASAP in the morning.  We motored to Green Island, where we tucked in behind the island – very close.  There was virtually no wind and absolutely no rocking.  Luke was pressing to leave that evening – but there was plenty to do and we all needed rest.  Passages are better when everyone is rested, there’s some food pre-cooked, and all mechanical/electrical/rigging has a quick once-over. 

Green Island Sunset

So we did a bit of work that afternoon, then went to the island where we had our final beach-fire-night in San Blas.  It was a completely still night – we could see the reflection of everything on the water, as if it was painted on.  Absolutely stunning. 

Green Island

The next morning Amanda was ill.  That’s a horrible way to start a passage, but today was the day.  I’d planned to be motorsailing most of the way, with wind in our face, waves on the beam, and current on the beam.  It wasn’t going to be easy sailing – but this was certainly the best weather we’d seen for this trip for more than a month.  At least the waves were less than 10 feet. 

Having not made this passage, I did some worst-case planning.  I didn’t want to motor the whole way, and I suspected that without the motor I’d be running between 4 and 5 knots.  Which left us with an open-ocean sail between 36-48 hours.  Mostly pounding.  That meant that we needed to leave in the evening if we wanted to arrive in the morning.  I’m not entering a foreign, unfamiliar port in the dark – so an evening departure it was.

Amanda turned from ill to very ill.  I considered putting off our departure to see if she would recover, but all signs pointed to a stomach bug.  Nothing serious, just very uncomfortable. So Luke and I pulled anchor in the fading light and wove our way out of the San Blas reefs for the final time.  

As the sun went down over the San Blas Islands – S/V NOMAD was beating through the seas at a bit over 7 knots.  It was bittersweet, beautiful, and exciting.  I hate goodbyes, but they’re a very real part of this lifestyle.  

San Blas in the Rearview

After some awesome sailing around San Blas, we’d been asked to help on a salvage mission.  The shipwreck was a heartbreak.  There really aren’t any other words for it. What was once a beautiful, kitted-out sailing yacht was now a fiberglass hulk suspended above the ocean, on the reef, like some bleached, beached whale. 

Amanda took this photo – a remarkable one.  The book was floating around the wreck when we got there.  It says it all.

Shattered

Shipwreck

When we arrived, we met the owner of the fiberglass hull on the reef.  Let’s call him Hank.  Hank was standing knee-deep in a mixture of diesel, hydraulic fluid, and saltwater on the inside of what was only a few days before his pride and joy (and life savings).  It was now a stripped and wrecked hulk.  The only evidence of what a beautiful boat it had been was sitting at the bottom of his hull under a putrid mix of liquids. 

Rachele inside the wreck

Hank introduced himself as “The Idiot That Wrecked His Boat.”  Never mind that he’d been sailing for over 40 years without ever putting a boat on the reef. Right now, he was the owner of a shipwreck, and since he was single handing he was uninsured.  And though I didn’t agree with the way he introduced himself (it can happen to anyone, in an instant) – the truth is:  his situation had dramatically changed and he couldn’t undo what had been done. 

We needed to get underway, though – so pity and introductions weren’t really on the menu.  We were here to pull a 150 HP Yanmar and a giant Onan genset out of the wreck.  Unfortunately the boom and most of the rigging had been stripped by the Kuna.  That was making the job of lifting a 900 + pound engine out of a boat, which was tilted at 45 degrees and covered in diesel fuel – very difficult.  There was nothing above us to attach block and tackle to.  And we certainly couldn’t lift the engine/genset out by hand. 

Engine Salvage

The solution was entirely Hank’s.  He wasn’t a spring chicken, but the way he jumped around the boat, climbed across lines, and generally kicked ass was really impressive.  Moving with a sense of purpose and good, quick decision making are both things I really enjoy working around. Hank is a very impressive human being.  

The beginning of the spiderweb

We needed something to lift with.  So Hank wove a spiderweb of lines around the remaining standing rigging, then created tension with other lines, then attached block and tackle to that.  Here’s what I’m talking about.

Climbing the mast

Next spidie-step

The web

With this in place, Hank and I squeezed in a quick “what went wrong” discussion while pulling the engine off of it’s mounts.  The girls on One World were flying around the deck attaching lines and troubleshooting the rigging we were using to create lift.  The entire day went by with no real breaks – except the occasional water/cracker/cigarette break.  I watched Hank, he ate and drank very little and took no breaks.  He was bleeding from several places, and you could see the weight of the situation in the wrinkles on his face.  We had so much ahead of us, it was hard to look back – but we all believed that was probably good for Hank. 

Toward the end of the day we managed to get the engine out of the boat.  From there we lowered it into a dinghy.  We all clapped and celebrated.  We’d done it.  And regardless of the situation, you really do have to take time to celebrate any victory you have. 

The thing we hadn’t quite figured out was how to get the dinghy, loaded past it’s limits, to S/V One World – through more than a mile of scattered/shallow reef.  Shit.  Ariel and I decided to take the engine/dingy back, towed behind my dinghy.  We made it 50 feet.  Then we started hauling everything over the shallow stuff.  We lifted the engine/dinghy, walked feet, dropped it, got the second dinghy, pulled it 3 feet –  and started over again.  For two hours.  Complete physical exhaustion at the end of an exhausting day.  The girls on One World had been at it for longer than us.  Hank had spent every waking moment since the wreck doing this kind of work.  I’ve worked pretty hard under pretty rough conditions, but this took the cake.  

Eventually we made it out of the reef maze.  Then we made it to One World.  Then we needed to lift the damn engine on deck.  Then we needed food and drink and rest.  So we cooked on NOMAD while One World provided steaks.  A small win at the end of a grueling day. 

Genset Salvage

The following morning we started on the genset.  We were all convinced it would be much easier and lighter than the engine.  We couldn’t have been more wrong. After a breakfast, Ariel snipped at Luke and my hair. 

Haircuts on the sugar scoops

Then we all met at the shipwreck and started working.  First Hank disconnected the genset inside the yacht.  Then we all rewove the spiderweb, so we could attempt to lift the genset out of the yacht, into the dingy.  This took all day.  We needed to rerig, reposition, and retention over and over. 

Re-weaving the web

Getting ready to lift

But we got it out. Then it was the same story – how the Hell do we get this back to One World, over the reef?

Quick celebration

Progress…

Getting it onboard

Long story short – we did it.  Eventually.

Then we went to a little birthday party on the beach.  Everyone was leaving by the time we showed up exhausted, hungry, and ready to blow off a bit of steam.  We drank and snacked.  We met some people.  Then we brought a small party back to S/V NOMAD where I cooked and then we ate and drank.  I actually was the first to leave my own party, retiring to my cabin and immediately falling asleep. 

Fireside

Onboard

The Last Day

The third and final day we spent at the wreck, my crew went back and pulled off a couple pieces of deck hardware and other things that I could use on NOMAD.  The other thing I was interested in was the plethora of super high-quality 100% stainless hose clamps.  Sounds stupid, but I’m so sick of crappy hose clamps – nice hose clamps seem like a real luxury. 

Once Hank showed up, we began pulling apart his folding prop.  Our fears were realized though, when we found we needed a special tool to finish the job.  But, since we didn’t care about the rest of the boat – it was easy enough to just pop out the prop shaft and take the whole damn shaft out.  Of course that meant that we needed to take off the rudder.  And so I crawled into the diesel-filled wreck and started pulling off bolts from very heavy pieces of metal over my head. 

If that last sentence made you pause, good.  That kind of stuff isn’t good practice.  I was being pretty careful in there, knowing that heavy pieces of unsecured metal above you is a precarious situation. But there was a point where someone else wiggled a piece of that metal and it all came crashing down.  A sizable chunk caught me in the face, but I escaped with all of my teeth intact and only a busted lip.

That was the official end of the salvage operation for me – everyone was tired and was making mistakes.  Mistakes are dangerous.  And we needed water.  And we were already supposed to be in Colombia.

So we threw in the towel and headed back to NOMAD.  There we began getting our life back together and started a half-day of recovery.  Lisa dropped by unexpectedly, and then was gone as quickly as she came.  Then, the following morning we pulled anchor and left Hank and the girls on One World.  We’d managed to do the big stuff – salvage the genset and motor. We’d all learned alot.  We’d all worked hard.  We’d all established some positive sailing karma.  We’d all been impressed with Hank.  We’d all been impressed with Ariel and Rachel.

Cleaning up, post-salvage op

Shopping

When we were leaving Hank dropped four very nice blocks in my dinghy.  For a guy who’d just lost everything – it’s hard to explain how impressed I was that he was giving what little he had away.  I wanted to refuse the gift.  But Hank hadn’t been sleeping.  We’d been bleeding and working together for the three days.  We’d shared some pretty rough moments.  We’d shared some grim laughter and some real heartbreak.  After all of that, I can’t imagine handing back a gift. 

A look back

But as we motored out of The Hot Tub, I couldn’t help a feeling of wanting to do more. 

Shipwreck

So we were kicking it in Saladrup.  Everyone was enjoying the time here, but there were plenty of other islands to see.  And we hadn’t seen any of our friends yet.  That last part is pretty important – I’m not sure I’ll be back to San Blas after our next little voyage. 

Moving On

So Luke and Amanda were snorkeling.  I was attempting to post something on this very site – but naturally I couldn’t get any steady connection.  And then I heard Mike on the VHF.  We were close enough to chat, so when Luke and Amanda got back onboard we picked up anchor and headed over to see our friends on Gilana. 

The “No-Connection” Face

On the way I decided to push our engines a bit, to make sure we were heading to Cartagena with no engine-surprises.  This time of year, with wind, waves, and current often against you – motorsailing is the only way to get there.  I was planning 36-48 hours, so that means we need the motors working. 

Engine Down

Naturally, we lost an engine.  I wasn’t too worried about it, as it was almost certainly a fuel issue.  With one engine down, I put out our headsail – and we motorsailed the rest of the way into Nabadup, where Gilana and a few other yachts were anchored. I anchored on a pretty remote sandbar to avoid any weird anchoring issues with only a single engine.  We dropped the hook, it held. 

I called into Gilana, let them know we were around.  Then I got into my boatwork clothes, got out the tools, and was almost into the engine room when Mike showed up.  It was good to see him.  Really good. 

Mike said hi, and introduced himself.  We caught up, I told him my plan for my fuel issue.  He concurred with said plan, and then he left to kitesurf.  I dropped into the engine room and began working.  After a couple of hours of playing with diesel, I found the clog was actually in my fuel tank.  That’s a shitty thing to find, after you’ve just flushed your tanks. 

A quick chat with Mike left me with a plan – rig up a pump/filter system and polish about half of the problem fuel tank, sucking from the bottom to get all of the bad stuff.  I rigged up the system and did my best to not spill diesel everywhere, but there’s no such thing as a clean diesel job.  Especially on a rocking boat. 

I finished the job, then we all went into decontamination mode.  We did a good job and after an hour of cleaning the boat was smelling much better.  It takes a while to completely remove the diesel smell (usually the exact period between diesel-jobs), but you’re not going for perfect – you’re going for tolerable.  The rest is solved via Febreeze/Simple Green. 

Then we decided to burn trash.  So we did that.  Even burning trash can be an adventure, so we packed our survival bag, mostly consisting of some beer, music, hammocks, and a snack. 

With our last boat-project in the rearview we chilled and cooked and generally enjoyed ourselves.  That evening we went for a dive, and we managed to find a reef with a couple of Dog Snapper – but the snapper outmaneuvered us, and then we lost the sun. 

That night I decided it was time to remove the urchin spines from my foot.  This isn’t something that’s very fun, but I reckon it beats the Hell outta walking around with them.  So Amanda got into surgery mode and I began drinking whiskey.  I’m not really sure that it dulls the pain, but it’s a good excuse to have a couple glasses of good whiskey.  She pulled 11 spines out of my right foot without much blood.  And I didn’t scream (loudly).

Urchin Surgery

The next morning we heard our friends on One World hail us on the morning net (SSB radio).  This was our first day actually monitoring the net, and apparently they’d been hailing us for a couple of days.  Turns out that they were helping a cruiser salvage his yacht. A major heartbreak:  a single-handing sailor lost his 2007 53’ yacht on a reef just outside The Hot Tub.  No insurance, entire life savings in the boat. The kind of thing that really makes your heart sink. 

Best Laid Plans

One thing about this lifestyle that people (who haven’t been living it) struggle with:  constantly changing plans.  No matter how many times you tell someone “the plan is to not have a plan” – they begin to expect things.  They begin to set schedules.  They begin to book flights.  That’s all fine and good, but with that comes schedule-pressure.  With that comes the expectation of me and S/V NOMAD being somewhere.  And that leads to the constant barrage of schedule/plan related questions. 

When you’ve set up your life to try to remove those questions and that pressure – it can be disappointing to find yourself back where you started:  trying to make detailed plans in a constantly changing environment, so that other people can be happy.  In situations like these “we’ll see” is the best answer. 

So when we got the call to help out a shipwrecked sailor and some friends, I made a call:  to Hell with The Plans.  The Plans included a trip to Nargana for water/food, followed by sailing further East through the more remote areas of San Blas.  That trip to the more remote area of San Blas would have removed 50 miles from our motorsailing trip to Cartagena and allowed us to see more of San Blas.  Luke was ready to get to Colombia. I needed to get to Costa Rica for a wedding.  The groom of said wedding was hoping for a last hurrah in Colombia with me.  Another friend was coming to check out the lifestyle once I made it to Cartagena… But offering aid to another sailor is paramount. So all those plans were put on hold.

That morning we packed up and beat into headwinds and fairly large seas to get to The Hot Tub.  We made it without issue – it was only 9 miles.  Once there we packed a bag of tools, some water, and a handheld VHF.  Then we wove the dinghy through a mile of reef/super-shallow water to get to the shipwreck.  It was a heartbreaking sight. 

Shipwreck

Moving On