A bolt from the blue
21 June 2016
You might call it a bolt from the blue, well that’s how it all began maybe three or four weeks ago. Ever since the crankshaft bolt snapped sending the main pulley flying from the end of the crankshaft we seemed to have been dogged by one disaster after another. At first it looked like a simple, well in theory it was simple, just remove the broken bolt from the end of the shaft and screw in a new one.
We called in an expert with the tools to do this, but part way through trying to remove the broken bit of bolt there was a sharp intake of breath, like experts do, and an “Oh dear.” Turned out the keyway in the crankshaft had been damaged as the pulley flew away.
Bolt from the blue No 2. Only way to fix this is to take out the engine, remove the crankshaft and take it to a machine shop to be fixed. It took three days to get the engine out and apart.
The machine shop said they couldn’t fix the damage to the pulley which had also suffered in the breakdown. This was a special double pulley designed to make the engine work in a boat. We searched high and low for a replacement hours, days, a week. It was looking hopeless, and we were getting demoralized. Finally we found one, in Japan!
We managed to borrow the $2000 that this repair was going to cost, as we had long since run out of our savings, and were simply surviving on my small UK pension. Picaroon was up for sale and had two or three prospective buyers waiting in the wings when the catastrophe with the engine bolt occurred. We put them all on hold pending the repair being carried out and the engine put back in the boat.
And then we had bolt from the blue No3. One day we checked my bank account to see if my pension for May had been paid into my account. There was a credit that looked about the right amount but with a curious code next to it but we assumed it was my pension. We became a little suspicious but decided to wait and see what happened when it came around to the June payment.
When the date came around for Junes’ payment nothing appeared in my account, it became time to panic. We asked our old next door neighbour to ask the new owner of our old house if there had been any mail for us from the UK pensions office. Sure enough there was a letter that had just arrived which said my pension had been suspended and it gave me a number to call in the UK.
Had we still some savings to live on then this would have been an inconvenience, but as we rely on my pension coming in each month to survive this was a disaster. Of course we didn’t get our neighbours message on a weekday when we could call the pension offices, we received it on a Saturday, which meant we had to endure the anguish and worry of a whole weekend before we could call them.
The letter had said that my pension had been suspended because they didn’t know where I lived.
We had sold the only house we owned in the UK to fund the buying of Picaroon which we bought at the end of 2013 in Puerto Rico. Ever since then Picaroon has been our home, we’re what they call liveaboard sailors, and for the last three years we’ve been sailing around the islands, Dominican Republic, Cuba, Jamaica, Haiti, and the Virgin islands ending up back in Puerto Rico, which is where we are now.
So first thing on Monday morning we took the dinghy over to the Marina snack bar where the wi-fi is usually pretty reliable called the UK number using Skype. A pleasant sounding lady took my call and asked a few security questions and took my national insurance number. At first I thought they would be just checking to see that I hadn’t died and that this was me, alive. When she asked for my UK address I told her that I don’t have one at the moment as I am living on a sailboat in Puerto Rico. I’m sorry she said, I’ll have to pass you over to my college in the international section.
After five minutes of “hold” music a friendly chap took my call. I explained my situation, with a little difficulty as I’m deaf and my hearing devices I use don’t work that well with telephone calls. But luckily Jackie was sat with me and between us we thought we had jumped all the hurdles. That was until he asked how long we had been out of the UK and we said, since 2013. Oh, now that makes things more complicated, he said, I’ll need to pass this on to our specialist international team. We gave him an email address and our Puerto Rican telephone number and he said we would have to wait to be contacted by them.
How long we’ll have to wait for that call, or email we don’t know.
From our research on their website it seems that we have maybe fallen foul of the rules governing payments made to pensioners living abroad. It would appear that if you live in certain countries then any increases in the state pension will not be paid. It’s a curious list of countries where the increase is paid and not paid. For instance if you’re in the USA you get the increase, but if you live in Canada you don’t. If you live in Jamaica you would get the increase but not if you lived in Cuba. Barbados is good, the Dominican Republic is not good.
As we’ve been travelling around quite a few of these islands there are places where we would be eligible for the increase and others where we would not. However, we have never stayed anywhere longer than six months and sometimes we have only stayed a month. If we have to give details of where and how long we stayed at various islands/countries it could get very complicated for the pensions department to work out if I’ve been overpaid or not, which equates to a very long and drawn out investigation.
The thing that is ridiculous here is that whatever increase I’ve had in my monthly amount has been very small indeed, I would hazard a guess that my pension has only increased by about five pounds since I left the UK in 2013.
The big mistake that I have made, if any, is that I never informed the pensions dept. that I was selling my house in the UK and moving onto a boat in the Caribbean. I suppose I stupidly thought that as long as I don’t become a resident of another country, but simply passing through, then I was still a UK citizen, with a UK bank account, it’s just that I was between properties. OK three years is a long time to be between properties, but whilst I was living on my boat I didn’t need a house in England, but I still considered myself to be English, and have the rights to receive my pension.
So right now we’re eating into our respective overdrafts, which are minute and getting smaller by the week. We can’t survive much longer without my pension being reinstated.
We’re not allowed to work here, in what is in effect the USA, and we can’t sell Picaroon without an engine. Oh what a to-do, what a pickle.
It was bad enough having the bolt from the blue breaking, but then to have my pension withdrawn at such a crucial time, well, it’s just not cricket, insult to injury is what it is.
It’s been a horrible four weeks, the worst month ever.
If you want to help us out whilst we’re in this hole you could buy my album of songs that I recorded before I became deaf.
You can pay what you can afford.
Thank you in advance.
Visit https://eaglei.bandcamp.com/album/turquoise-blues to get your copy
Worse things happen at sea
20 May 2016
Every day we have to run the engine for an hour or two to top up the batteries and there's a couple of things we have to check each time we hit the start button. We always check to see that we have cooling water coming out of the exhaust, we check the oil pressure gauge and we check to see that the rev counter, or tacho, is functioning. The tacho tells us that the alternator will be charging.
The tacho sometimes will fail to register and it's often because a small wire has jumped off its terminal on the alternator. It's a ten second job to pop this back on, it's no big deal. This happened on Tuesday morning so I went below to investigate. Then Jackie, who was in the cockpit, suddenly noticed that the water had stopped coming from the exhaust, so I immediately shut down the engine.
The first thought was that it would be a broken fan belt as this drives the water pump and the tacho, so I opened up the doors to the engine to have a look. The tacho wire was still attached to its tab and the fan belts hadn't snapped but something looked weird. The belts seem to have twisted and the main pulley wheel looked to be at a new and curious angle.
It wasn't until I loosened all the fittings and slackened the belts that we could see the problem. The drive pulley that should be bolted onto the crankshaft, wasn't. The massive bolt that holds it in place had broken and the pulley had parted from the engine. I removed the pulley and shone the torch at the end of the crankshaft and had one of those, 'oh shit!!!!' moments.
I held the large head of the bolt in my hand and peered at the other half that was still inside the hole at the end of the crankshaft. OK, we need a new bolt, and we need to get that broken bit out, but how? I needed a second opinion, so I called our friend Steve, who's a wiz at all things mechanical, and asked him to come and give me some advice.
English Steve is an ex-pat who did quite a bit of work for us when we first bought Picaroon here back in 2013. "This bolt hasn't just broken today it's been broken for some time" he said. "The only thing that has been holding this pulley on has been friction. Just thank your lucky stars that it broke here, whilst you were on anchor and not whilst you were out at sea". That sent a chill of relief through both of us, because although Picaroon is a sailboat we've always needed the engine to get us in and out of harbours as well as being available at sea when sailing isn't an option, opposing seas, lee shores or whatever other reason, it's essential.
"You could try to get the old bolt out with a centre punch and a small hammer but it may take while, I'll bring one over in the morning", Steve suggested.
Meanwhile we're now low on power, the batteries will need to be charged, and we don't have an engine. What we need is to borrow a generator until we can get this fixed so I head off to speak to Jeanso another friend of ours. He decides we need to have his friend Mike to have a look at the problem, he's seemingly got all the tools and the expertise to fix our broken pulley. "I'll call him"
Half an hour later Mike, who lives on his ketch a few hundred yards from us arrives on board Picaroon. He's retired but tops up his pension doing jobs like this, and has worked on engines all his life. "No problem, he says, I've got the very tools to get that bolt out. Then I also have a spare bolt that's the same as this broken one. I'll be over at 8 in the morning and we'll get it done. See if you can find the key that will be under the engine somewhere. If you can't find it I can make a new one, no problem"
Mike arrives next day with his can do attitude, tools and a generator. For an hour or so he works away, still confident that the bolt is going to come out. He's done this sort of job countless times but as time goes on it becomes clear that this may be a bolt too far, and now he's spotted another problem, which is more serious than the broken bolt. The keyway on the crankshaft has been damaged due to the loss of the retaining bolt, and the broken bits of the key will have gone into the engine. "This, says Mike, is not good"
For those who don't know about keys and keyways, it's just an oblong or half-moon shaped bit of metal that sits in a slot on the crankshaft, and a corresponding slot on the pulley. Its function is to stop the pulley rotating on the crankshaft. The slot, about a quarter of an inch deep has straight sides, but the one on our engine now has one straight side and one that's worn to an angle that won't hold the key tightly enough.
"It can be repaired" Mike tells us, it just needs a new slot milling into the shaft. Unfortunately to do this will mean taking the engine out, dismantling it, taking the crankshaft to a workshop, bringing it back to the boat, rebuilding the engine and popping it back in place. Suddenly a job that was going to cost a few hundred dollars has turned into a job that will cost over $2000.
Gloom descends on Team Williams and Picaroon.
We ran out of money for repairs three or four months ago and have been barely surviving on my pension since then. Picaroon has been for sale since we were in Jamaica and just recently, since we reduced the price, we've had two or three people who may be interested in buying her. One of them may even be coming to view her this week. That's Sods law for you.
The day before this disaster occurred we had formulated a plan regarding selling Picaroon. We would leave her here in the safe harbor of Salinas and return to our apartment in the Dominican Republic. The chances of finding a buyer in Puerto Rico was much more likely than if we took her to Luperon in the DR, although doing this was going to mean borrowing a lot of money from friends or relatives to tide us over until the boat was sold, it seemed like a good plan, and then the s**t hit the fan, or is that the fan belt pulley.
There's only one way out of this, we have to repair the engine on the good ship Picaroon, or we'll never find a buyer so we sent out some SOS emails. Thankfully my brother has offered to lend us the money to get the engine fixed, and Mike will start work on it in a couple of days. It will probably take two to three weeks until it's repaired and back in the boat.
Meanwhile plan A is on the backburner, the money to carry it out now swallowed by this disaster with the engine. Anyway worse things happen at sea, at least we're safely in port, and somehow, someway we'll muddle through.
It looks like the adventures of Picaroon still have a few chapters left until we experience the second of those two happiest days in a sailors life.
The day you buy the boat,.................................................................................... and the day you sell it.
The Bucking Bronco
13 March 2016
When we used to hold a fete on Ford Park fields one of the attractions was a bucking bronco that heaved and spun in all directions. Most of the punters that were attracted to try and ride this fairground ride managed to stay in the saddle for about fifteen seconds before being hurled unceremoniously to the ground.
I was reminded of this the night before last when Picaroon and her indomitable crew of two were about to hit the sack. Actually I’d turned in at about 9pm, Jackie had stayed up later watching a film, and woke me at about eleven with the unwelcome news that she thought we were dragging our anchor. A large ostentatious catamaran, which had parked itself over our anchor had just up sticks and headed out into the night. Jackie reckoned that they had probably hooked our anchor chain when they left and dislodged it in the process.
We had been securely anchored in Cane Garden Bay, Tortola, BVI, for the last three days, an idyllic and picturesque bay on the northwest coast that had been a very peaceful and pleasant place to wend away a few days. That was until this particular weekend, when there was a music festival was due to take place on the beach. Cane Garden Bay is surrounded by lush hillsides that rise steeply, dotted with houses, villas, and small hotels, and a picture perfect beach speckled with bars and restaurants. When we first arrived it was a sleepy little bay but it becomes crowded with holiday makers on certain days when the mega cruise ships decant their hordes of sun-seekers in Road Town and bus them ‘on mass’ to Cane Garden Bay for a dip in the turquoise sea and a cheese burger in paradise.
Although Picaroon is at least 200 yards from the shore the sound man had been thoughtful enough to bring in a sound system that would allow us to “enjoy” the music without leaving the boat. Now if you’ve been keeping up with this blog you may remember a long while back a blog entitled, wittily I thought, “A spray for rap music” when we were witness to a similar music festival in Boqueron, in Puerto Rico. This music festival in Cane Garden Bay was a similar animal which had attracted the large Catamaran, I spoke of earlier, along with a number of high powered speed boats as well as the crowds on the beach. It didn’t really get going until about 9pm, which these days is just about our bed time. Now the fact that I’m almost deaf, I can switch off my hearing aid and sleep OK, Jackie was watching a film using ear phones she was also able to block most of it out. To us oldies brought up on melodies and sweet harmony this festival was just a lot of very loud noise.
Cane Garden Bay is a popular overnight stop for many of the charter sailboats that flit from island to island, beach bar to beach bar and has lots of mooring buoys that you can pick up for $30 a night. Of course being seasoned old salts, and almost broke we chose instead to drop the hook and save ourselves the cash. Being on a mooring gives you much more peace of mind, when you turn in for the night but usually after three days in the same spot we assumed that we’d found some good holding. That was unless some berk with a big cat dislodges your anchor at almost midnight, and the show offs in the large speed boats are careering about making huge wakes which exacerbates the situation
“COLIN” Jackie has to project much louder these days to stir me from my slumber, “COLIN, I THINK WE HAVE A PROBLEM”.
I stumble bleary eyed on deck with my hearing aid, which is my iphone 4 and a pair of earbuds, to be met by a distraught skipper and a cacophony of noise coming from the music festival, now in full swing. Picaroon is swaying and pitching as the backwash from the speed boats catch us broadsides and we’re definitely moving. The only sensible thing to do at this point is to try and re-anchor, although we hate to do this maneuver in the dark there’s no other choice as we’re surrounded by other sailboats that are too close for comfort.
Most are on moorings, but it’s too dark for us to find an unoccupied one so we go about hauling in the anchor with the hope that we can reset it away from any boats that we could bump into should we drag again and as we’re not insured against bumping into stuff we need to take these prudent precautions.
Raising the anchor on Picaroon is of course not exactly a piece of cake, as there’s an issue, I think they say these days’, with the hauling up arrangement of the ‘windy uppy’ thing that brings in the chain. It’s not exactly quite right and the chain always snatches and jumps back a foot or two before I have to manually heave the reluctant blob of cast iron, which weighs 50lbs at least, the last 20 feet to the deck. Couple this with the fact that its pitch black so impossible to signal to Jackie which way she should steer the boat as the chain is being brought in. It’s never just straight ahead and always snakes about a bit so I’m on the bow pointing our fading torch in the direction I want her to go. The torch feebly points the way, as we unfortunately forgot to keep it recharged just in case we have this kind of an emergency at night. Actually, we had depleted it’s battery that same day, ratching about in the black hole where our engine lies trying to discover why the engine kept constantly cutting out after about three or four minutes. Luckily we found a workaround fix for this late on that same afternoon otherwise this tale could have been one of truly disastrous proportions, but that’s another story, on with this one.
The backwash from the speed boats is not all that’s going on here though, there’s a swell that’s sweeping into the bay which comes in spurts. One minute it’s fairly calm, and then there’s a decided minute or two of rather less that comfortable humps and bumps that push Piccars this way and that, making us grab for something to stop us falling about. In one of the lulls we manage to move and reset the anchor, which after ten to fifteen minutes we agree seems to be holding. The swell now seems to have become quite constant and as prudent sailors we decide to stand two hour watches through the night just to be on the safe side. Jackie goes to bed.
As my watch wears on I’m surprised at how big this swell is becoming, and although I can’t see much when I peer into the inky black I can sense the rise and fall of Picaroon as she slaps her stern into the hollow of each trough, and watch her bow raise to face the heavens. As she swings about we’re often broadside on to the swell that sways her so much I’m surprised that Jackie hasn’t tumbled out of her berth. There’s another boat very close to us at times that I’m keeping a close eye on, and then at about an hour into my watch it starts to move away. At first I think they must be dragging, but then I hear an anchor being raised and realise they’ve decided to move closer to the far shore where the swell maybe a little less furious. Then another boat moves, we’re all suffering the same problems, but at least we’re still OK and seem to stay that way until I wake Jackie at about 3am for her next watch.
This has become the worst case of swell at anchor than we have ever had, it’s more than horrible, it’s huge, as if there’s been an earthquake somewhere and this is the Tsunami. About a couple of hours later I’m awoken from a dream I’m having about flooding and dingy races along the coast road near my home town, when a veritable waterfall cascades over my face and I’m suddenly awake to find it’s raining cats and dogs and the hatch above my bed is still open. The floor is a swimming pool and I can see Jackie on deck in her foulies. I hurriedly close the hatches, from below, finding Jackie’s bed soaking wet as well, and putting on my waterproofs join her in the cockpit. Picaroon is still pitching and rolling about like a bucking bronco. We’ve started to drag again, and are now much too close to the shore. It’s just after 5am and we start the engine to at least hold our position or try to move off shore a few hundred yards, dragging our unsecured anchor with us.
For the next hour and a half we continue in the same vane, rocking and rolling, pitching up and down, thrown about as if we were no more than a cork, counting the minutes until dawn. We had decided that as soon as we had enough light to see, we would pick up a mooring buoy to at least stop the fear of dragging, and give ourselves a break, and perhaps a cup of comforting tea.
It was without doubt the worst night we’ve ever spent at anchor, but we found a free mooring ball at about half past six, and although we were still being tossed about, at least we were safe. Jackie went below for a couple of hours’ sleep, whilst I kept an eye on the mooring line, and made more tea. Getting ashore later was a tad tricky as the swell continued throughout the day making a landing at the jetty a very touch and go affair, where timing your exit from the dingy was crucial.
We had a pizza for lunch and a beer in the Paradise Bar and checked the internet for the next few days’ weather, which looked awful. Today though, the wind was almost non-existent, although the swell was still with us, giving much joy to the throngs on the beaches, but not for us. Just five miles away lay a much more sheltered bay, called Sopers Hole, so we decided to leave there and then and motor for an hour and a half to take a mooring there.
Just as we were about to pay for lunch I looked across to where our dingy was moored on the jetty to find it had slipped its line and was being washed towards the rocky shore. I left Jackie to pay for lunch and raced to try and retrieve the dingy before it hit something hard and nasty. I managed to hail a young guy on a paddle board who kindly rescued the situation, and within an hour we were leaving Cane Garden Bay for Sopers Hole.
Sopers Hole, which is one of the safest places to be in bad weather was packed, and is too deep to anchor in. It’s packed with hundreds of boats on mooring balls. We wove between all these boats and found the very last one available.
So it’s not all plain sailing this cruising lark, in fact at times like these you just want to say OK, let me up, I’m a celebrity get me out of here. But you can’t, and that’s boating.
Grounded in the BVI
27 February 2016
The BVI is the mecca destination for sailors looking for some winter sunshine and easy day sails between numerous small islands, and so as this is high season most anchorages may become a tad crowded. The ariel photo of Trellis bay that we had seen in our Virgin island chart book looked (a) quite large and (b) quite quiet, so it came as an unpleasant surprise to find it was neither of the above.
We had set sail from Coral bay, on St Johns with no weather information as our phone had no signal there, but being old salts we just sort of sniffed the morning air and decided that it was going to be a fine day to make the short 12 mile trip to Trellis bay on Tortola. We raised the anchor about 9am and crept out of Coral bay at about two knots due to some heavy swell sweeping into the bay in exactly the opposite direction to Picaroon. For the first hour we slogged our way towards the open sea and turned east into the Caribbean sea with Tortola visible in the distance.
We were expecting a nice south easterly breeze on our forward quarter which would have given us a sporty sail towards Tortola, but for the best part of the morning it refused to move from an easterly or worse north easterly. We put out a bit of Jib and raised the mizzen but left the main sail flaked on it’s boom whilst Mr Engine, sir purred away below.
We finally managed to cut the engine for the last couple of hours and had a sporty sail around the cape of Beef island and headed to Trellis bay.
At about half past two we finally made the entrance to Trellis bay which looked much smaller than we had imagined and was crammed tight with so many boats that finding a spot to drop the hook was going to be a challenge to say the least. Just weaving our way between boats wasn’t easy, and as most of the boats seemed to be tethered to mooring buoys finding a suitable place to anchor was going to be very tricky. Anchored boats and moored boats swing on the wind very differently and unless we got just the right spot we were going to have to cough up $30 for a mooring and we weren’t about to do that.
Eventually we found a spot where the boats thinned out a bit and headed for that. There was a strip of very turquoise water just up ahead which means that it’s quite shallow. That’s when we came to a full stop because it was too shallow for Picaroon, we had run aground.
We now became the entertainment for the next hour. Within a few minutes another cruiser arrived in his dingy and suggested we put out our kedge anchor. This is a small anchor that lives on the aft end of Picaroon, that we’ve never used, and is supposed to be used to stop the boat swinging about. I unhooked it from its anchor tidy and lowered it to our rescuer. The idea is that he’ll drop it behind Picaroon, then with a rope attached to the chain I’ll try and winch us backwards.
By the time we’ve got this organized another couple of cruisers have arrived to join in the rescue efforts. They have other ideas, and as I heave on the winch handle and nothing happens we’re going to need another plan. One of them suggests we give them one of our main halyards from the main mast.
I remember this method of un-grounding from when we ran aground on Raymondos’ boat in Luperon when we were still learning how to sail. The idea is that the guy in the Rib takes the line from the top of the mast, motors away from the boat which will pull the mast over, tilting Picaroon just enough to free her. So we leave the heaving on the winch and find a suitable halyard.
By now there’s another couple of RIBs have arrived to join in the fun. One of them says he lives here and this happens often, and he’s got another plan, which he says always works, but first we need to haul in the kedge anchor, but it’s well and truly stuck. With the help of one of the rescue RIBs we eventually get it back on board with it’s rusty chain littering the cockpit.
The four rescue RIBs line up against Picaroons bow, like piglets suckling a sow, and in unison crank their outboards whilst Jackie puts Piccars into hard reverse. At last we start to move and within a couple of minutes of coordinated pushing and shoving we’re able to move under our own engine. There’s lots of clapping and congratulations, and we’ve suddenly made an instant bunch of new friends.
Next we look for a new position, away from the shallow bits, still hemmed in on all sides by moored boats. Plop! The anchor drops away in about 8ft of water, we need at least 7ft, so this will have to do. Anchoring is always a fraught and tense experience, but in so close a proximity as this it’s crucial to get it right. It’s a bit of a boisterous breeze and as we wait for the boat to settle we decide that we’re just a bit too close to other boats. We’re going to have to raise the anchor and find another place.
As the chain often jumps off the windlass when the anchor comes off the bottom I’ve found that it’s easier to haul the last 15ft by hand. Our anchor weighs about 60lbs but with a bit of effort it’s not that difficult. But today it seems much heavier. I peer over the bow to catch a glimpse of our anchor which has brought to the surface a stout old mooring line with it. SHIT! No amount of wiggling will shake it loose, and I can’t quite catch it with the boat hook. Enter rescue RIB number six, a cruising lady with a boat hook arrives, says this happens all the time here and manages to slip the offending line off the anchor and back to the deep.
“Let’s just swallow the cost of $30 shall we”, good idea, and anyway it’s my birthday and I need a drink. We head for the nearest buoy, scoop up the line and set it into the fairlead which immediately breaks away from the gunnel rail swinging perilously on the mooring line and about to drop into the sea. I manage to rescue it before it’s lost, and get the mooring line around the Samson post, but as I try to position the mooring line, now coming under tension as Picaroon swings to settle I find my hand is between the mooring line and the gunnel.
Oh great, just what I need for my 68th birthday a crushed hand. Luckily the line eases just enough for me to extract my hand unharmed.
All in all, an eventful birthday, not the one I would have chosen, but that’s boating, as they say, and if you haven’t run aground, then you haven’t been sailing, as Dick once said to us.
Time for a couple of very stiff G&Ts me thinks. Now that’s better, where are we? The BVI, oh well it’s not too bad then.
Salts to sellers
27 February 2016
Dawn is breaking in Coral bay on the island of St John where Picaroon sits at anchor in the serene waters guarded on three sides by steep hillsides that rise about 500ft above the bay. There’s a dusky orange glow that hovers over the horizon which lies astern of Picaroon lighting the flat calm Caribbean beyond the entrance to Coral Bay. Scattered clouds of mauve and amber promise a fine morning as the last star disappears swallowed by the gathering light. It’s just after six am, and I’ve had all the sleep I’m going to need as I was in bed before 9pm last night, which seems to be our regular bed time nowadays. Our body clocks have tuned into being sailors, cruisers, old salts.
I’ve been very remiss in getting back to this journal, but it was supposed to be about sailing, and as we spent almost six months holed up in Salinas in Puerto Rico, not going anywhere, there was little to report that came under the heading of “the adventures of Picaroon”. Now we’re finally on the move and back to sailing I’m ready to put pen to paper, once again, or should I say, Querty keyboard to computer screen, but sounds a lot less romantic, so I’ll stick with pen to paper.
I entitled the last set of blogs “Sailors to seadogs” which ended with our return to Salinas in PR last September after our circumnavigation of Hispanola. This is a new chapter in our adventures and I’ve been trying to come up with an appropriate snappy title for the next phase and I’ve finally plumped for “Salts to Sellers”. That should read reluctant sellers but I think I’ll just leave it at salts to sellers as it trips off the tongue better. Let me explain.
First the salt. After relating some of our adventures to the crew of Tulum 3, Rudolf and Elisa, who have become very close friends and cruising buddies, Elisa remarked that we were a lot saltier than we think we are. This coming from a very seasoned sailor made us realize that we were no longer the novices to navigators, or Sailors to seadogs, this life on the ocean waves, has honed and shaped us into quite a formidable team.
We and Picaroon have become a well oiled machine, sensing the weather, the condition of the seas, raising or lowering sails, anticipating the squalls, spilling the wind, balancing the sails, finally mastering the windvane steering, and keeping a watchful eye on the gauges when we have to call on Mr engine Sir.
Jackie has become the master helmsman whilst I man the sheets and sails. We hardly need to talk about the next move as we both seem understand what happens next, which is just as well now that my hard at hearing has become much more profound. Sails go up without the snagging of reefing lines or lazy jack lines and the jib furls without knotting the sheets in an unholy tangle, which used to be a common feature of our beginnings of sailing Picaroon.
Sellers; Picaroon is reluctantly up for sale due to the small fact that we have run out of the sort of funds that it takes to sustain this happy go lucky lifestyle. Now all we have coming in is my UK pension which isn’t going to be adequate if we run into any major repairs on Picaroon. They say the happiest two days in a sailors life is the day you buy the boat and the day you sell the boat, but somehow I don’t think this will be the case with us, we’re just starting to get into our stride.
I bought a hand painted T shirt in Boqueron, Peurto Rico a couple of years ago and that got us thinking that maybe I could try my hand at that. I’ve been painting in water colours for over fifteen years so we bought some acrylic paints and a couple of XXL plain white T shirts to have a practice on. It’s a different technique to paper and water colours but after a few tries they started to look pretty good. In fact my friend Rudolf ordered a dozen with a picture of his boat on the back and the name Tulum 3 on the front.
I’ve also had a couple of commissions for small watercolours of fellow cruisers boats which I managed to get $60 apiece for. If we could get a couple of those a week as well as selling hand painted T shirts we may be able to eek out another few months.
We’ve also heard that if we could make it to St Martin we could maybe find some sort of work as St Martin comes under the jurisdiction of the EU, so we would be legal there. What is a bit rich is that we can’t work legitimately in the British Virgin Islands, or so we’re led to believe, but you never know there maybe some loophole we don’t know about.
It’s my birthday tomorrow, and we’ve decided to celebrate it with a sail to the BVI which is only about fifteen miles from where we are in Coral bay. Coral bay is very pretty, with lots of turquoise and lush plunging hillsides, dotted with posh properties that look impossible to get to. We thought we may spend some time here sprucing up Picaroon but it’s not as sheltered as we imagined so tomorrow we’ll move on to our destination in Trellis bay on Tortola.
After all those long hauls beating our way east from Cuba to Peurto Rico, sailing day and night, night and day it’s a breeze sailing these small islands that make up the Virgin island chain, but a very welcome change, it’s almost like being on holiday.
So that’s where we are, reluctant sellers, and old salts; is this the end of our nautical adventures or is Neptune waiting in the wings to surprise us with way to keep this dream alive.
Watch this space.
An iphone for many ears
18 November 2015
So it’s finally been confirmed, the reason for my hearing loss is due to this condition known as Menieres, I like to call it many ears, just to be ironic. We went to visit an ENT specialist in San Juan on Friday who listened to the description of my problem, he had a look in my ears, and had me say ahhhhhhh, which proved he was a real doctor, whilst he peered into my throat checking my tubes and concluded that Menieres was the most likely cause of my fluctuating hearing loss. Of course I had been hoping that he would come up with a different diagnosis, something that could be cured, but it wasn’t to be.
He spent almost an hour with me explaining what was going on and how I might alleviate the symptoms. Cut out salt and as much as possible, avoid, caffeine and alcohol which may help to at least stabilise the hearing loss to where it is at the moment.
As I already knew there’s no known medical cure for Menieres, and no known cause, and so paying attention to my diet seems to be the only way they know to combat any deterioration. So it’s goodbye to lots of yummy stuff, it’s always the yummy stuff, and farewell to tea and coffee. Maybe we’ll try the de-caf stuff. As for alcohol, well he did put that at the end of his list, below caffeine, and a long way below salt and he never mentioned rum.
We spent a while talking about hearing aids. His take on this was that although there are some very sophisticated bits of kit out there they have to be programmed by an audiologist who has the equipment to do this. And as we are travelling to some exotic locations the possibility of a local audiologist having exactly the right equipment to do this would be unlikely. Perhaps when we finish our adventures and settle somewhere, then that would be the time to consider some snazzy programmable hearing aid, where I could liaise with an audiologist, when I needed to. He suggested the old fashioned talk box that pops in your top pocket would be ideal for now.
A few months ago, whilst researching about Menieres I came across an article by a classical musician who also did quite a bit of recording, he also had Menieres. He had discovered that he could use his iphone as a pretty sophisticated hearing aid. He had a mic, made by Blue, called a Mickey that plugged into the iphone, and a couple of sound apps that are available to download for next to nothing. He reckoned that this bit of kit often performed better than his expensive hearing aid. I mentioned this to the ENT consultant who thought it sounded like an ideal temporary solution for me whilst were sailing.
So I went online to buy and iphone and a mickey; silly name.
Now I’m not really up to speed on mobile phones, and iphones are another country/planet altogether. The only phone we have is very basic and cheap, bought whilst we were in the Dominican Republic, and only works there, since we’ve been sailing we’ve been phoneless.
I put iphones for sale into the Google task bar, and within less than a second I had three hundred thousand results, or was it three million. Anyway, I scan down the list on the first page. It would appear I can buy an new iphone 4, or a 4S, or a 5C or a 5S or the latest iphone which is, surprise surprise called an iphone 6 with no C or an S in sight, at least not yet.
This was going to be a bit more tricky than I thought and prices range from about $100 for an iphone 4, refurbished, whatever that means, to about $600 for a number 6. We used to smoke No 6 when I was a teenager, they were very small, tasted awful and were the cheapest ciggy you could buy, but I digress.
I decide to check out this mic, “the mickey” by blue, just to make sure it’s still available, before I plunge into the murky waters of which iphone is best for me. I find a picture of the “Mickey” on the Blue mics website, so it’s still available. This is the latest version, it says, with a lightening connector so it’s compatible with the latest iphones, but the old 30 pin version is also still available if you’ve got an old iphone. Of course I’m now getting confused, but not half as confused as when I surf back to the iphone comparison website and start reading all about the 4, 4S, 5C, 5S and iphone 6.
Do I want a GSM or LTE network or do I want IOS 8, CMSA or something like that. Do I want to be locked, or unlocked, do I need face time or Siris, an 8 or 12 megapixel camera, brushed aluminium or plastic case and a million other meaningless technical bits of information that might as well be written in Chinese for all the sense they’re making. Does anyone understand all this stuff ‘cause I don’t, I just want an iphone that I can use as a hearing aid and nowhere in all this gumph does it even mention this, so as you can imagine I’m getting pretty confused. Of course we might also like to use this gadget as a mobile phone, and that complicates matters further. Do I want to be with AT&T or T Mobile, or with Verizon or Sprint, or none of the above.
And then at the end of this long and confusing article I come across a pearl of wisdom. It would appear that if you want to use a local network in some far flung island then the cheapest way to do this is to buy a SIM card from the local network and just swap it for the one you have in your phone. But, the latest iphones use the new nano SIM and these are often not available in more remote places, like where we’re likely to be. If you have an older version of the iphone, like a 4 or 4S then they use a regular size SIM which you’re much more likely to find.
So that sort of wrapped it up for me, and I decided that the 4S was the one I should buy along with an older version of the “Mickey” with the 30 pin connector instead of the one with the lightening plug. It only took me about 48 hours of research to hit the buy button on ebay. With any luck I’ll have them both by the end of the week.
How long it’s going to take to figure out how to use is of course another question altogether, because I’m going to have to figure out how to download one of these sound apps.
That’s if I can work out how to turn it on.