Vive la Différence!

There is a difference between sailing with men and sailing with women. My attempt is not to state that one is better than the other, but that they're different and enjoyable in their own way.

Nelson, Bob, and Fred

Sunday, February 25, 2012.  Sailing with Men. There was a small craft advisory warning, ENE winds 15-18 knots with higher gusts, and the seas were 3-4 feet with north swells.  Sunny, threatening storms. The crew: Eva, Betty, Nelson (savvy sailor), Bob (former owner of an Island Packet 35), and Fred (twice winner of best sailor of the year award). The plan was to go to Palomino.

Normally, I wouldn't sail with a warning, but the men were keen. They were sea knowledgeable; the only kind of men with whom to sail, especially with a warning. We left the dock at 10:00 a.m. and returned at 1:00 p.m. It was very gusty, so we tried sailing with just the mainsail. The men displayed their best sailing rhetoric, argued about the best rigging for the weather, raised voices, cajoled, and insisted that in sailing, where quick, sharp decisions require fast reflexes, yelling is a must. And they yelled, and laughed, and boasted sailing strategies, and took in all the weather could muster. The weather obliged, sending high swells, gusts, and menacing clouds in the horizon.

Betty's body rebelled with all the tossing and turning; sea sickness engulfed her from beginning to end. A trooper nonetheless, she was a good sport, in spite of her mal de mer. The men were like athletes in extreme weather sports. Me, I learned a few strategies for rough weather sailing, which are always welcome. I enjoyed seeing how much weather Andariego could take with full sails and with the mainsail alone. For a brief moment, Andariego was heeling a good 30 degrees and we were washing boards. Though I did not enjoy the feeling (I certainly didn't want to see my keel while sailing that morning), I observed what he could take, before I requested to roll the jib, which the men did immediately. We never made Palomino.

Fred wrote in Andariego's log, "What a treat! ... Such a clean well cared for boat. Well equipped. Very impressed."  Nelson added, "Fantastico! ... It was a windy vigorous sail, and we got all we could handle without a reef. Beautiful boat too." Betty wrote, "... You were also so understanding and forgiving of these guys who yell! Thanks for the day and for your friendship." There was nothing to forgive; they were sailors having fun. I was also a sailor having fun. But then I saw a dark set of clouds in the distant horizon. I requested to return and call it a day. A great crew, they went through all the motions to head back. Nelson checked his radar connection and verified that indeed it was a strong weather front. He added in the log, "You're a good weather forecaster." As we docked, Fred missed grabbing the aft lines (the break) with the hook and I tapped the dock box with the pulpit. No damage done, but not a smooth docking. The rain started so we had our lunch in the main cabin. We hosed the boat and left Andariego immediately to catch the ferry back home.

Punta Águila, Palomino

Friday, March 2, 2012. Sailing with Women. There was an 'exercise caution' advisory but no major warnings, ENE winds 14-17 knots, and the seas were 3-5 feet.  Sunny with scattered clouds. The crew: Eva, Betty, Margarita, Sue, and María. The plan was to go to Palomino.

We sailed out at 11:15 a.m. and returned at 5:15 p.m. Everyone was assigned a task as we were docking out: bow lines, starboard spring lines, port side, aft lines. I had to go in reverse making sure not to hit any of the concrete fingers and columns on the way. The crew was ready to fend off from their post. It was done smoothly.

As we headed out, the food (enough for a weekend sail) was put away, waters served and the conversations started. As we passed our first green marker, we got ready to raise the main. It was jammed halfway up. In a Socratic mode of problem solving, we asked questions, checked, asked questions again, until we realized the main halyard was jammed by the lazy jacks. Sue sorted it out and Maria raised the main without a problem. Sue was behind the helm most of the way. We sailed with the main for a while, until the wind subsided. We unfurled the jib, and with two tacks, we sailed straight to Palomino. All sails down without a hitch, we caught a mooring on our first try, celebrated our sail and had a regal lunch. Margarita brought homemade hommus and grapes. Betty made her famous Gazpacho soup. There was tarragon dip and Maria's dip with pimentos. Wheat roll-ups, marzipan, pan sobao, Margarita's mojito with yerbabuena, and wines.

Betty and Eva

Then we went for a swim. We talked and listened to jazz. While I was in the water floating about and enjoying the day, I looked at my watch, thinking it was shortly after noon. It was nearly 4:00 p.m. We put away leftover goodies and sailed into the sunset with the wind on our backs. A smooth sunset sail, we docked quietly, without any glitches. Betty was never seasick and remarked in the log, "Best captain, best crew, and absolutely my best ever day of sailing. I'll never forget it ..."

We packed and cleaned up. Some had to go; most stayed. Then we sat down in the cockpit area as it darkened, sharing thoughts of the day and about sails to come. Someone looked up the mast and noticed the moon just above it, as someone else softly remarked that Andariego had an awesome anchor light.

and the rainbow welcomed us back

January Seascapes

Me (Eva) at the helm

One would have thought that after acquiring the sailboat, Andariego, I would have been writing more, not less. The fact is, I have been working on Andariego’s upkeep and sailing. In between sailing and upkeep, there’s been my university teaching work, research, writing, and added community work with Puerto Rico’s Sierra Club chapter. I know, it’s not an excuse. Following are some highlights of sailing Antilia (my mystical name for Puerto Rico). My virtual sailboat is no longer virtual; his name is Andariego. January was a month filled with visits from friends and family. The first half of the month Jeanine stayed at my home, visiting from Las Vegas, Nevada.

Jeanine is my soul sister from Avignon, with whom I’ve spent wonderful days with family in Provence. She went sailing with me. To those in Provence I say: Je pense souvent a vous avec tendresse. Je n’oublie pas votre merveilleux accueil et les bons voyages que nos avons fait ensembles. J’espère pouvoir vous accueillir un jour à Puerto Rico de la même façon. Jeanine gave Andariego a French version of his name, le Vagabond de Mer. I love it.

January 6-7. Jeanine and I stayed onboard Andariego. She slept in the forward cabin. I slept in the aft cabin with its three portholes opened. I did a full self-reiki session (60 minutes) before sleeping. As I sat in easy pose looking aft, I could see the harbor lights dancing in the water. I was comfortably rocked to sleep by gentle dock waves at Isleta Marina.

January 9, 2011 (1330-1730). Ramón, Silvia, Jeanine and I sailed Andariego. We sailed to Icacos and Palomino, and passed close to Ramos Island. NOAA’s weathercast was 9-14 knots, waves 3-5 feet, with isolated showers. Ramón and Silvia were impressed with Andariego’s sailing performance. Jeanine doesn’t sail. In fact, she doesn’t even swim. She wore a life vest at all times. She sat on the port side of the boat as we raised the sails soon after leaving port. Her expression of awe as the white wings went up is unforgettable; an audible in-breath and in the out-breath, “My god, they are so big. They are so beautiful. Take a picture. Take a picture.” And I saw Andariego’s sails, again, for the first time.

Upkeep. Andariego’s head (toilet) pump stopped working properly. I have had to buy a new kit to replace the pump. Installation is pending. The present pump works in dry bowl but not wet bowl. The third-world-technology remedy is to bring buckets of sea water to clean the head after use. No fun. The joys of sailboat ownership.

Jeanine and Sylvia

Just before Jeanine flew back to her home, Sylvia arrived from England. She is my husband Neill’s sister. She had never been to the tropics. She could not believe the noise the crickets and coquis made at night. I gave her a coqui pin as a souvenir. She had seen palm trees before, she said, in Italy (yeah, right). She had never been sailing, though she’s been on motorboats and ferries. Her son lives in a houseboat on the Thames River.

January 23, 2011 (1130-1600). Ramón, Silvia, Sylvia (Sam), Neill and I sailed Andariego. The seas were choppier due to north swells, according to NOAA, and the wind was gusting around 15 knots. Sam is an excellent swimmer. She sat in the starboard stern perch seat. She never once complained but I could tell she was feeling a little queasy. She did all the right things—sight on the horizon, drinking water—and managed not to get seasick. I wish it would have been a bit calmer for her. She still enjoyed the sail and the company. We sailed a similar route as on the Jan. 9, but we spilled more air from the sails to keep the sailboat from heeling more than 15 degrees. It was a bit tricky to do, but we managed it. Around lunchtime we did a heave-to near Palomino but because of gusty winds and following seas, we were still moving a little over one knot towards Isleta Marina.

Ramón, Neill, Eva, Silvia

Upkeep. While sailing, Neill noticed that the portside inner stay was wiggling like a snake while we were sailing on a beam reach port tack. I was shocked to see that. The stays hold the mast up. They are defined in the book, Sailing Fundamentals, as “Shrouds (sidestays)—wires that run from the masthead (or near the masthead) to the sides of the boat to support the mast and prevent it from swaying.” (p. 35). The headstay and the backstay, plus the two sidestays make up the four stays that hold the mast in place. We tacked to a starboard tack and sailed back to Isleta Marina.

We ordered a tensiometer ($80.) from West Marine to fine tune the stay. None were available in local stores (not a hot ticket item). In the meantime, Capt. Michael is our tensiometer. He tightened it with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, hard-shaking the stay after tuning, to adjust up or down. I re-taped it after he put back the two clips that hold the tension adjustment. Sailing Fundamentals states: “The shrouds, forestay, and backstay support the mast. The strong metal fittings that attach these wires to the mast are called tangs. The other end of each shroud and backstay is attached to an adjustable device called a turnbuckle. The turnbuckle allows the shrouds and stays to be adjusted to the proper tension.” So, if I understand correctly, I taped over the tang and turnbuckle clips that hold the stays in place.

There’s a linguistic metaphor here. The stays are violin strings on a mast that vibrate to the touch of the wind. They play ethereal music to Ocean’s rhythm. Birds provide piccolo tweets, gusts percussion on sails’ skins. Dolphins dance to Andariego’s pas de deux. But who’s that playing pizzicato on the stays?

Leonardo di Caprio?

On Tropical Tides

Monday, March 22, 2010 was a local holiday for some—The Abolition of Slavery in Puerto Rico. Not being a U.S. federal holiday, most people worked. In sailing terms that meant that the usual Saturday and Sunday crowds were gone. We sailed out at about 10:00 a.m. When we arrived at Palomino, we had over 10 moorings to choose from. What a treat! I could not help but feel sorry for the other wage slaves. On such a beautiful sailing day, I was reminded of Jacques Prevert’s line in one of his poems, “N’est-t-il pas con de donner un tel jour a un patron?” (Isn’t it a #@%& to donate such a day to a boss?).

I was captain of Bebe II (32’ Benetau). Two invited friends from Atlanta, Georgia were with me, Jo Anne and Hugh, as well as Francisco, who is highly experienced and William, a new club student with some experience. After mooring in Palomino, Jo Anne and Hugh went for a swim (see picture above). Francisco did some scraping on the sailboat’s bottom. William and I stayed on board tidying up, reviewing sailing notes and relaxing.

     As we sailed back at around 4:00 p.m., the wind was behind us. The tide was with us also, so with only the jib on, we arrived back quickly. I find tides to be fascinating movements. Rachel Carson’s chapter on "Tides" in her book, The Sea Around Us (1951), provides an eloquent description of tides and their connections with the moon, currents, flora and fauna in the sea, and yes, sailboat movements. In 1962, she published, Silent Spring, where way ahead of her time, she denounced the future impact of industrial waste. Industry and government, with the help of prominent male scientists accused her as a crackpot, a modern day witch-hunt. If we had only listened. Now Rachel Carson (1907-1964) is revered as a great writer, ecologist, and scientist (see picture below). She has more books, though I highly recommend the two I mention. They are very well written, which makes for enjoyable reading, and they are still informative.

     Tides are like the planet Earth’s breathing in and out. Tides in the tropics are smaller than at higher latitudes. They usually average one foot high or low. No dramatic Bay of Fundy here. The tropical tides on the east side of Puerto Rico are easy to follow. They ebb north and flood south. If one looks at the current, without consulting a tides table, it is possible to determine the tide. We flooded right into the marina with the tide. Freedom!

Night Sail

On Sunday, February 14, 2010, I joined Captain Michael from the Caribbean Sailing School & Club on board Bébé (41’ Beneteau). He was conducting the practical component of the ASA 104 class, where students go on a night sail. The students were two young couples—Kim and Brian from Rhode Island, and Eugenia and Gerd from New York. I had done this night sail on a full moon night previously. This night there was a new moon (no moon), and on a pitch-black canvas, we sailed into Palomino Island.

We left Sunbay Marina at about 4:30 p.m. The students were busy working on the navigation to the island, without GPS. With the aid of navigation instruments (a good chart of the area, parallel rulers, dividers, pencil, eraser, magnifying glass, calculator, timer), they calculated our route, tracks, estimated time for tacks, compass degrees, and all taking into consideration the sailboat speed, wind direction and currents, while avoiding coral reefs and sunken vessels. Their calculations were very accurate. They would take turns navigating and helming.

At about 8:30 p.m., we approached Palomino. At that point Gerd and Eugenia went forward with a boat hook and flashlights to search for a mooring and warn the helmsperson (me) of any dangers, such as approaching vessels without lights. It was so dark it was impossible to see where the water ended and the land started. As we made our approach, a dinghy without lights, not even a flashlight, passed by us. There were a few lights on the southern part of the island. There were also three anchor lights from moored sailing vessels, and a few lit motorboats. They were like dots of light on a black canvas. I felt so blind behind the helm, begging for someone to light up a mooring that I could see and aim to. Though apprehensive, I never felt fear. I had confidence in the team’s knowledge and work.

Finally, we saw a mooring to our starboard side, not far from one of the moored sailing vessels. I followed the directions of those at the bow pulpit holding the light on the mooring and with the boat hook ready to grab the mooring line. Capt. Michael shone a powerful hand-held spotlight on the mooring for the aid of those at the bow and behind the helm. It was a beautiful sight to see that white mooring ball floating in the water. After securing the mooring, Brian and Kim took charge of the BBQ, and we grilled fish, veggies, Polish sausages and hamburgers. We toasted to our accomplishment, teamwork, talked a lot of sail talk and readied ourselves for a well deserved rest and relaxation. We drifted to our cabins and berths under Orion’s watchful eye, peaceful seas and 78º F. Who could ask for anything more?

On Monday morning, February 15, 2010, Gerd and Eugenia treated us to a breakfast of scrambled eggs with veggies, mango salsa and biscuits. As they finished their cooking, Capt. Michael moved Bébé to a mooring closer to the beach. After breakfast, there was swimming, boat bottom scraping, cleaning up, and planning the day’s circumnavigation of Palomino. Small sea creatures and plants love the Caribbean as much as the larger creatures, and bottom cleaning sessions must happen much more often than up north.

Circumnavigating Palomino Island was a special treat for me. I had never seen the other side of the island. It was like visiting the other side of the moon. As we passed Palominito Island on the south, avoiding the extended shoal, we turned north, making sure to leave red nun #2 to our port side. We aimed at the house in Cayo Lobos. This white house is the only construction on the island and it is claimed to belong to Ricky Martin. We sailed past it and towards Las Cabezas de San Juan on the northeast corridor of the Puerto Rico mainland. The big island was covered in a white mist from the Montserrat volcano ashes.

The students practiced man overboard with a tack and heave maneuver. It is a simple and effective move that practically brings your sailboat to a stop next to the “victim,” in this case a roped boat fender. We returned to Sunbay Marina at about 4:30 p.m. with the ebb tide. Two of the students were reluctantly flying back to snowy New York that evening. The other two were staying for more lessons before returning to their home state. I drove back home to San Juan, midst Montserrat volcano grey-white ashy skies. Somewhere up above Orion was watching.

Dockmanship

LOG: Sat 12 Sep 09. 1000-1400. Onboard Lolita (30’ Beneteau, 1984). Crew: Silvia, Inés, Hernán and myself. Weather—Wind: E 10-14 knots (We experienced the 10 knots mostly.). Seas: 2-4 feet. Sky: Cumulus white clouds on the horizon to the east and southeast. Barometer: 29.92 in. Hg. (steady). Position: Between Sunbay Marina, Fajardo and the islands of Icacos and Palomino.

     There is an excellent little book, Dockmanship by David Owen Bell, printed by Cornell Maritime Press (1992), which is all about docking and undocking a sailboat—berthing, unberthing; arrival, departure; alpha, omega; the beginning and the end of a sailing adventure. Bell states that, “Many people consider good dockmanship to be the mark of a competent skipper.” For many a sail lately, while I have been the designated captain, I have managed to do this task with greater and lesser degrees of apprehension (I’ve a good record so far of not damaging body or property.). The more I do it, the more I realize, it is not about an individual’s competence to manage the task, but rather an individual’s ability to conduct the task, much as an orchestra conductor leads musicians, instruments, environmental acoustics and surrounding audience. Bell says there are three components to any docking situation: (1) elements under your control: the engine, rudder and dock lines; (2) external forces beyond your control: wind and current; and (3) the human factor, partially under your control: attitude, reflexes and perception—yours and those of the crew. Docking to me is orchestrating all these factors at once in a very quick, brief, flashing sacred moment in the craft of sailing. It is sacred, if seen as entering and leaving the cathedral of the sea. Conversations cease, silence rules over occasional warnings, and everyone is focused on the musical overture.

     Such were my feelings and spirits as we left Sunbay Marina for yet another sail onboard my good old friend, Lolita. There wasn’t much wind, but the sun was shining, and after so many rainy days, threats of storms (Erika) and tropical depressions, it was a well-received welcome sail. We sailed towards Icacos and Palomino, never reaching either. As the sailors’ adage goes, once sails are up and you’re sailing, you’ve reached your destination.

     We had the company of a new Caribbean Sailing School student, Hernán (see picture), who took to sailing as a natural. After only five lessons, he joined our team where he practiced checking oil, starting/stopping the engine, raising sails, helming with a tiller, doing a heave-to, working knots and ropework, and of course joining in the dockmanship, where he was in charge of the aft starboard line and on arrival the forward starboard line, as well as assisting crew as required in our musical overture’s grand finale.

The Squall

LOG: Sun 9 Aug 09. 1200-1830. Onboard Bébé II (32’ Beneteau). Crew: Ramón, Silvia and myself. Wind: E-NE 13-18 Knots. Seas: 5-6 feet. Barometer: 29.90 steady. Weather: Scattered clouds, distant thunderheads southeast, NOAA small craft caution. Position: Between Sunbay Marina, Fajardo and the Island of Icacos in Puerto Rico.

I am inspired to enter a log in my entries in the manner that Myron Arms writes his in the book, Riddle of the ice: A scientific adventure into the Arctic (1998). He starts every chapter with a log entry for the sailboat Brendan Isle, as it sails into the icy waters of the Labrador Sea, Davis Strait and Baffin Bay. As it ventures north, he states, “… you are a sailor, moving along with the forces of nature rather than against them. You are a minion of the wind—only partially in control of where you go …”

And so it was on this particular Sunday. We debated whether to go to Palomino or Icacos. There was a large thunderhead behind Palomino. Normally these weather formations travel east toward Naguabo. We moved northeast towards Icacos hoping to avoid it but it decided to travel northward and split north and east (to mainland Puerto Rico). Greek mythological sailors, such as Jason and the Argonauts, would have been convinced that the gods had a hand in it. It came straight to us. We came about and headed back to sea rather than to boat-crowded Icacos. In its imminent approach, we reefed the mainsail. Ramón and Silvia furled the jib just as it began to engulf us into its misty grey. I was behind the helm and felt myself becoming “a minion of the wind” and the blinding cold rain. The water looked like the pocked surface of the moon with multiple little peaks. I started the engine and headed close to the wind, working “with the forces of nature rather than against them,” well aware that our bearing kept us from harms way, if it pleased the gods.

Within five minutes that felt like five hours it passed by and the clouds opened as theater curtains to verdant Palomino in the distant center stage. We were drenched. Tissue papers deep in my pockets were soaked. Silvia said the water was colder than normal rainwater. Ramón added that it was thick and hit the skin like pellets. Me, I was so proud of being part of a team that never once panicked, at least not visibly. We pulled together to keep ourselves safe, our sailboat as steady as possible in the turmoil, and her sails intact. After a well-deserved rest in a heave-to, with Palomino to one side and the Fajardo lighthouse to the other, we sailed back uneventfully to Sunbay under sun-clear skies. Scattered dark clouds headed to Naguabo, some to the distant north Atlantic, perhaps to the Labrador Sea.

Sunday Sail

On Sunday, May 3, 2009, I went sailing on Bebe (41' Benetau) with Capt. Michael, Margarita (in picture), and Ramón. We left Sunbay Marina in Fajardo at 1:00 pm. The sea was calm with light winds and clear skies--a lovely afternoon cruise, with hints of bliss. The east northeast winds were perfect to go to Culebra but we settled for Palomino. We grabbed a mooring, swam around the boat, had lunch, listened to Brazilian music and talked about boats, people and future sailing plans (St. Thomas, circumnavigating Puerto Rico, ...). We sailed back with the genoa sail only. I was behind the helm sailing into the sun setting behind the mountains, with sunbeams in the water showing the way back. The rainforest mountains of El Yunque were covered with heavy rainclouds. We docked after sunset--thankful for a peaceful sail and ready to tack the work week, with the promise of another Sunday sail.

-- Post From My iPhone

Sailing, Science and Literature

On Friday, March 27, 2009, two sailing vessels, Bebe (41' Benetau) and Bebe II (32' Benetau), sailed from Fajardo to Palomino with 12 first-year University of Puerto Rico students and two professors; Dr. Angel Olivares and Dr. Eva de Lourdes Edwards (me). Olivares teaches Biological Sciences and I teach Basic English at the College of General Studies. We named our adventure with students, SCI-LITE (science and literature). Olivares was working with coastal conservation and I with the novel, The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway. Michael Barnick and Felix Garcia, from the Caribbean Sailing School & Club, both American Sailing Association Instructors, captained the sailboats. Prior to this event, none of the students had ever been sailing (the natural mode of transportation used by Santiago in the novel). They sailed to an "uninhabited" island where they were able to witness first hand the human impact on distant coastlines. On September 12, 1950, Santiago sails his skiff off the Cuban coastline, witnessing the onset of industrial fishing, motor boats, noise pollution, over fishing, and in the last scene, tourism. These and other related issues were discussed on the island and midst humming winds and following seas on the sailboats.  The event, in a most natural classroom, was sponsored by the Student Support Services Program (Programa de Servicios Académicos Especiales), College of General Studies at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras Campus.