As the commercial came to an end, Rose and I looked at each other across the room, our eyes wide with incredulity.
Why do we work so hard?… for stuff? … in other countries they work, they stroll home, they stop by the café, they take August off. OFF. Why aren’t you like that? Why aren’t we like that? Because we’re crazy, driven, hard working believers, that’s why… [bla bla] … as for all “the stuff”? That’s the upside of only taking two weeks off in August.
This intense promotion of dark, greedy consumerism was lost on our hosts, who, being Americans with TVs, are bombarded by auto commercials all day every day. I, for one, sure ain’t going to go out and buy a new Cadillac off the back of this. It makes me sick to see the media pushing new stuff down peoples’ throats everywhere – stuff that they just don’t need. New phones, new gizmos and gadgets, new vitamin supplements, new cars, bigger homes … for what? To become “happier”?
We don’t own a TV. I’ve never owned a TV, and Rose hasn’t had one since we moved in together over seven years ago. Seeing this commercial reminded me why. Sure, there are lots of awesome programs on but you can get most of that on the internet now, which means you don’t have to sit in front of the goggle box, bombarded by messages telling you to do this, do that, buy this, buy that. We make our own choices.
I lost pretty much all of my meagre possessions when my camper van was broken into just after moving from Sheffield to Bristol in 2005, and since then I’ve consciously not been building up a load of stuff to hold me down like a ball and chain around my ankles. We now live on a boat that doesn’t have much room, and that’s just fine. We moved out here to the USA with just a few bags on the plane and now it’s a case of “one in, one out” when it comes to “stuff”.
When we moved out of our house, we figured we’d put a few things in storage. We were pleasantly surprised to discover that all we owned fitted into the six or so bags we were taking with us, plus half a crate in a storage warehouse for some books and paintings.
I came across this minimalist game the other day. See if you can make it through 30 days. I don’t think I’ve got enough stuff to!
When I bought this boat, it was pretty much exactly as it came out of the factory nearly 30 years ago. Everything had been looked after, a few things had been replaced, but that’s about it. Because it was built as a “coastal cruiser”, designed for day trips and the odd weekend here and there, it came with a pretty basic 12v DC electrical system.
For extended periods away from shore power, the batteries weren’t going to last long. Perhaps 24 hours at most. And then when it came to charging them up again, the poxy 35 Amp alternator with no fancy regulation would have taken perhaps 7 hours to charge them up again. No es bueno. We’re planning to get a long way from shore power, for long periods of time. Over the past few weeks (months?!) I’ve been reading all I can get on 12v boat systems, and have come up with a new systems design; the two main components being a new, powerful alternator with smart regulator and a set of solar panels.
The new 125 Amp alternator will pack way more of a punch than the old one, the smart regulator pumps the charge into the batteries way faster, and then handles things nicely when the batteries get near full. Budget doesn’t yet stretch to solar AND wind power, so out of the two I decided that we’re going to get more benefit from 200 Watts of solar panels than a wind generator. I’ll mount the panels on the cage I’ve fashioned on the stern rail from the old dodger frame, which just happens to be a perfect fit. They’ll also give a load of shade above the helm for those hot, tropical passages and days sat at anchor…
The solar panels are sat by my desk at work waiting for an opportunity for me to swing into the city with the van and pick them up. The other stuff should arrive next week, but I’ve managed to get a few things ready ahead of time. I bought a small car battery to use as the starting battery, which means I can wire the two existing large deep-cycle batteries in parallel and double the useful capacity for everything else – the fridge, lights, autopilot, instruments … so we’ve about 230 Amp-hours there now. From my workings we’ll be using about 100 Ah per day whilst on passage with all the gubbins on and lights at night, so even with the panels giving full power for about 6 sunny hours we’ll still need to run the engine every day to keep the batteries healthy. At anchor when we’re not using navigation lights and autopilot, the solar panels should keep at least the fridge running.
2 house batteries under the rear bunk, and the solar controller ready to install
I found a space for the starting battery just next to the existing battery bank, nestled in between the side of a drawer and the fuel tank. I built a solid box for it and have wired it up. Now we’re all set for the solar panels and the new alternator. The panels are going to be run via an MPPT controller, which does some smart jiggery-pokery with the Amps and Volts from the panels to make sure that they are operating at their most efficient.
We’re still going to be on the dock here for a while yet … so why the need to get all this stuff? I want to have plenty of time living aboard self-sufficiently before we cast off the dock lines and set sail over the horizon. If something’s not quite right, I can get it sorted now whilst there’s plenty of stores and services around. And I also want to see if we can go “off-grid” completely, even while we’re here. We only use the mains power to top-up the batteries, and for a bit of heating. I’m hoping that with spring on the way, we’ll leave the heater off and run everything off solar power.
A month or so ago I installed a voltage / current meter in the dashboard so I can see exactly what load we’re using. The biggest drain is the fridge, which takes about 7 Amps for perhaps 20 minutes each hour. That’s 8 hours * 7 Amps each day … 56 Ah. The solar panels will output 10 Amps at max power, perhaps for 6 hours a day … the 60 Ah just covering our bases. We’ll see!
Rose and I made a last minute decision on Friday to head up to the mountains for the weekend. There were a bunch of folk going snowboarding, and the weather looked good. The original plan was to leave late on Friday night after Mark and Heather had left after dinner … but when it got to 10.30 the prospect of packing the van and driving for hours wasn’t so appealing.
We set our alarms for 0430 on Saturday morning instead, and hauled ourselves out of our bunk into the van, well before the sun was even thinking about peeking its head over the hills in the east. We were well across the causeway to Vallejo by the time the first signs of dawn were showing.
Our early start paid off and we were up at Northstar by 9am to meet Mike, Rachel, Brent and Michelle. I spent the day snowboarding while Rose hung out around the village, soaking up the sunshine and reading the papers. At first, I wasn’t sure about getting back into the whole snowboarding thing. I’d not forgotten how to snowboard, but it seems I just didn’t get the buzz from it that I used to. I wasn’t as excited about the day on the mountain as I thought I should be. The stinger of a $119 lift pass probably went some way to needing justification! How much is fun worth? Tough question.
I managed to ride quite a bit while I was in my early- and mid-twenties, then didn’t get out to the mountains in winter for many years until a trip (to Tahoe) in January last year. Since then I’ve been to the Alps once, and then again to Tahoe over Christmas just gone. None of those trips were blessed with good conditions, which meant not much fast riding, and not riding with a gang of close buddies. Hmmn. I wonder if I’ll ride again this winter. The snow looks good for next week, but for some reason I’m just not that amped for it.
Anyway, I ended up having a great day; classic spring-time snowboarding – in February! It was hot enough to spend the afternoon riding in just a T-shirt (yes, and pants/trousers). As the sun settled down over the mountains the temperature fell rapidly, Rose and I bundled back in the van and headed around the lake to see Amanda (Shane was away for the weekend). She had a load of buddies around for a “pot-luck” meal – good times hanging out with some real American folk, being educated in the culture of The History of Rap with Justin Timberlake and Jimmy Fallon.
Sunday was a day off the hill, spent checking out the east shore, south shore and a short walk up to Fallen Leaf Lake where we had a wonderful, peaceful snooze in the sun. The only thing you could hear was the gentle lapping of the lake and the wind in the fir trees. It looked like this place would be pretty busy in the summer, with docks and boats and wealthy folk hanging out in their lake-side mansions … but the road was closed and all the houses were boarded up. The only person we saw was a lone kayaker way out on the lake, towing his fishing line.
Striking colours in the winter vegetation. My phone camera and photo skills don’t really do it justice:
After exploring Emerald Bay as the sun went down, we grabbed some grub in Truckee then headed back to San Francisco after the traffic, getting back to the boat at about 11pm. Mission accomplished! It took just 3 hours each way, much faster than last time when we had 5 crew aboard and all their baggage. We only managed to get 13 miles per gallon out of the beast, even driving in super-eco mode. Ouch.
On President’s day (a bank holiday here) I went on a table making frenzy. Perhaps the most extravagant table making extravaganza ever. I produced a whole cockpit table AND a fold-up chopping table for the galley. Phew. I think I’m at my creative peak. Does it get any better?
It’s funny how much difference a cockpit table makes. It’s doubled our outdoor flat surfaces (the only other one is the cockpit floor) – which means we now have somewhere to put mugs and plates down without their contents going walkabout. I picked up an old piece of plank from near Rose’s studio in the shipyard nearby and spent a happy afternoon shaping it up. Rounding off the edges took me right back to the days at Lush when I was building longboards by hand. Haven’t lost an ounce of technique in ten years, me.
The galley extension folds away neatly and again, doubles the flat surfaces. It’s made from a $10 IKEA chopping board. We’ve not used it as much as I would have thought, even though we’ve been complaining about having to move everything off the surfaces just to get something out of the fridge. I think it’s real value will come when using the galley at sea. It needs toughening up a bit so that you can use it to brace yourself when the boat’s on port tack (leaning away from the cooker), and some deep fiddles.
The sun is back! The last few days have been pretty wet and windy – though nowhere near as bad as they are getting it back home in the UK. Every day I’m checking in to various news sites to hear more stories of flooding and chaos. Poor folks.
The docks here are busy with people coming to check on their boats after the weekend storm. We had 4 days of solid rain, with winds at the masthead well over 50 knots one night. Down here at deck level it was a whole lot less frisky – but that’s still some mean wind. Unsurprisingly, we found a few more leaks – the incessant water being lashed against all windward facing portholes found it’s way inside in a number of places. Rose’s wardrobe got in the way of one of the drip lines and a load of her dresses are more than a bit damp, so everything is hanging up around, drying out. We’ll need to pull those portholes out and re-seal them. More jobs for the job list! The one I re-sealed a couple of weeks ago didn’t let a drop in. Woohoo! All things considered, it’s pretty dry in here. The new spray hood was finished just in the nick of time! Having that really makes a difference to our exposure to the elements – even when down below. When the wind coming from the bow, we can have the hatch open in the pouring rain. Joe lives on his boat on the other side of the fairway, stern to this particular storm, and got a fair bit more water inside than we did.
To celebrate the arrival of the sunshine this morning I went for a short paddle in the kayak. There’s still a fine haze of mist hanging around which dampens the sound of the distant highway and gives the place a diffused light which is pretty cool. I can just hear the sound of the fog horn on the Golden Gate bridge when the wind brings it this way.
Found a sunken boat that clearly didn’t weather the storm too well. As the gentle swell rose and fell, the water level inside the boat pushed air in and out – the poor ship’s last dying wheezes. I wonder what’s going to happen with it next. It’s fairly big. Judging from the bit I could see, perhaps a 25 footer. I hope it wasn’t someone’s home.
We also discovered that we have a nasty leak in the van. The whole mattress was waterlogged. That’s something we’re going to need to fix soon – not least because I’m storing a whole load of spare plywood in there to keep it dry! So, off I go to the auto shop to pick up some filler.
Putting money into old boats is perhaps one of the most foolish things a man can do with his hard-earned greens. Often it’s a case of justifying each extra gizmo or fix with the thinking that “hey, I’m saving money by fitting it myself”, or “this could save our life one day”, or “life will be so much more comfortable afterwards”. But usually every dollar sunk into a boat is gone, spent, never to be seen again. Not many boat projects increase the value of the boat by the same amount as they cost.
There are two types of project. Reactive, and preemptive. Reactive projects are the ones that should come first – fixing things that have either broken, or are not working as well as they should be, but are already in place in some shape or form. Apart from the benefit of truly understanding what’s going on around the boat, these are less exciting, and sometimes a fair bit harder as you have to deal with rusted bolts, over-enthusiastic epoxy resin use in the past, or a previous owner’s bodged job. Fortunately on this boat, I’ve (touch wood) not had to do much of this at all.
Preemptive projects are “fitting out” projects. Stuff you think you’re going to need in the future. Or as I’ve often seen (and often been tempted by), things that people say you’re going to need. Here’s where the line between “need” and “want” needs to be fully understood! I’ve always split my to-do list into needs and wants, and so far I’ve been pretty good at sticking to the “need” list. Sure, everyone’s perception of need is different, usually defined by how much money you’ve got to throw at the whole thing and your level of personal comfort.
We’re running a pretty tight budget at the moment, but not on a complete shoestring – my needs done so far have included new instruments, autohelm, new spray hood, new anchor chain, new VHF radio, re-bedding some deck hardware and various jobs around inside the boat like a new oven and a timber grid under the front berth to prevent condensation in the mattresses. All reactive, or fixes, apart from the significant cost of the spray hood and autohelm. Classed as needs for me, with a vision to voyaging further, but really not essential for sailing around here.
On the wants list completed are things like new stereo, LED lights to save power, extra storage for the galley – that’s about it.
So far, I think I’m breaking even. The boat was cheap enough for the extra cost I’ve put in to bring the value up to a point where I’d claw it all back if we sold it. The Pearson 36 was designed as a “coastal cruiser”, and that’s exactly what it is at the moment – in great condition, with a bunch of new kit.
The next set of jobs however are where this all changes. At some point we’d love to leave the San Francisco bay area, and head much further afield. That’s going to need a level of financial and time commitment I won’t get back. I’d be turning a coastal cruiser into an offshore voyaging vessel. I’ve been thinking long and hard about whether it’s worth it with this boat. It’s an awesome liveaboard boat for being sat in a marina, but that’s not what this is all about. From our limited trips so far, this here boat is great to sail in both calm and strong conditions – she gets up to speed quickly in little more than 5 knots of wind, and we don’t need to reef until we get near 20 knots. She’s really well balanced on the helm, and rides waves nicely. And while it’s not as tough as a classic “blue water boat”, it is strong and well put together, it’s fast, it’s in great shape, and it’s got potential.
As soon as we know for sure we’re going to be headed over the horizon, the new list of preemptive “needs” will be straight up on the wall. Off-the-grid power (solar, extra batteries, new alternator & charging systems), life raft, dinghy + outboard, more storage, new anchor and windlass, more chain, more sails … I love getting stuck into this kind of stuff, but I am going to hold fire just a little longer.
He says, getting up to measure the cockpit for a solar panel mounting frame…
“Sometimes, I love the simplicity of glacier life. Everything is reduced to the basics: melting snow for water, putting up a tent for shelter, wearing many layers to stay warm, resting from the walk in and recovering for tomorrow. With things this simple it’s easier to notice that you’re alive, (and when was the last time you remembered to notice?) Perhaps it’s just that the mountains invite a readier contrast between blood and sentience, and the impassive expanse of ice and rock. And perhaps that’s in part what I love about being up there: the special warmth in a cup of tea, the incomparable richness of a hot meal, or the gratitude to a sleeping bag which has gathered body heat only to reflect it back?”
This struck me as being very similar to the attraction of a long ocean passage. The only long distance offshore sailing I’ve done is racing, but in all the reading I’m doing there’s definitely a recurring theme. Cut out the crap in life. Go back to basics. Enjoy now. Here’s a passage from “Across Islands and Oceans”, by James Baldwin, his account of a round the world trip he made in his early twenties:
“With long hours of little else to do, I worked to cultivate a freedom from anticipation – that urgent thief who steals the minute-to-minute awareness of life… I reconfirmed here a lesson I’m condemned to learn over and over again: our days are stolen by our constant grasping at the phantoms of a future happiness as we think about living – rather than living itself – trapping us in our yesterdays and tomorrows.”
Planning is great fun. I definitely get a stack load of excitement from thinking about adventures that lie ahead. And looking back on memories is great too – it’s why I’m putting time into this blog after all. But getting the most from the present moment, every day, is something I’m trying to do more of as well. Slowing down. Looking around. Soaking things up more. Learning how to play this big, crazy game called life.
So far here in the US I’ve only been out on my mountain bike for three rides. In more than 3 months … with dusty trails just a few minutes away, and no rain. That’s not something I’m too proud of, though I am riding a good few miles to work most days on my trusty mid-90s road bike which keeps the fitness levels up. The fact that two of those three rides have been at night says something though … even if it is dry and dusty, it is still winter, which means that by the time I get home from work it’s dark.
Last night a few of us headed up to a spot which had already built a legendary reputation for itself in my mind, just in the few conversations I’ve had with local bikers – “The Flow Trail”. It was awesome. I can’t wait to ride it during the day. We did laps, drunk a load of beer, rode fast and loose, and nobody got hurt. This beer drinking on a bike ride is new to me. Andy always seems to rock up with a 12 pack in his rucksack, and we get through a can or two at the top of each climb, to celebrate.
The flow trail is made up of endless swoops, dips, drops and turns on dry hardpack dirt, twisting in between the trees. Just like a tight, well built BMX track, but twisted onto the side of a mountain. Each lap was faster and faster – but my mind was always very aware of the unknown dangers lurking just out of sight at the edge of our little pools of white light. It sometimes felt like we were riding along the rim of a dark, deep crater, where one slip off the trail would end up in a long, nasty fall.
Woop woop!
I got pulled over by the police on the way back. It was almost midnight and there were more cop cars out than I’ve ever seen before, and I guess the van isn’t your usual suburban family car, so it does attract more attention. I passed the patrol car in a gas station and saw it pull out behind me. Uh oh, what do they want from me? After driving down the road a short while, on go the lights, and I pull over. The guys come up to the window with blinding flashlights, I have visions of dramatic scenes from numerous American movies with drivers held to the bonnet [hood] with arms twisted behind their backs.
Turns out I just needed an illuminated rear licence plate – something that I’d actually been warning about ages ago by a local shipwright nearby. Must get that sorted some day soon. And a Californian driving licence.
Over here in the US of A they call it a “dodger”. Either way, I’m pretty chuffed. A couple of weeks ago the guys from Iverson’s Designs came along to install the frame and measure up for the canvas. Today they came back with the finished article for the final install. Our colour choice turned out just right! I’ll let the pictures do the talking.
I’m impressed by the workmanship – the thing is bar taut and precision engineered – check out the first two pics where the chaps are using the front frame to tension up the top. The front and the sides zip off completely, which turns it into a sunshade for chilling out under in the tropics (one day!), and the windows are this funky semi-solid, super-see through stuff, with covers.
It’s going to take us a few days to get used to it – we’ve still been bumping our head on the frame, coming in and out of the boat, even after having it in place for 2 weeks.
Last night we got back home from a trip across San Pablo bay to Napa Valley Marina. “Back home” … but didn’t we take our home with us? Has our slip in Sausalito become “home”? Is the boat “home”, wherever we take it? Do we even have a home? We’re not yet really travelling – we’re based in one place, I’m commuting to work, and yet we’re living on a vessel that can take us almost anywhere we want to go. It’s a strange place to be, and we both want to continue the path we’ve started on; seeing new places and “getting out there”.
So anyway, it was a great trip. As part of the new instrument install, I needed to replace the original 1985 depth sounder with a new unit that was a little larger, and since the sounder is plugged into a hole through the hull, the boat needed to come out of the water. The costs involved with a haul out weren’t justified by just the depth sounder replacement, but since the boat hadn’t had a bottom paint since maybe the end of 2010, that was also due. The local yard here in Sausalito doesn’t let you do the work yourself (citing environmental reasons), and were quoting a chunk of money I wasn’t really prepared to pay. We’d not yet visited Napa, and there’s a marina there which was supposed to be a great place to haul out and do your own work.
San Pablo bay, Angel Island and SF city in the background
It took a day to get up there, leaving at 0530 to push against a falling tide across San Pablo bay, getting to the entrance to Napa river just as the tide was turning around midday. The rising tide then took us swiftly up the river, under a series of bridges, to arrive at the marina with (just) enough water under our keel to get in. We did have two attempts to get into the marina, the first attempt ending in a strong bump into the muddy bar across the entrance – nothing a quick burst of max reverse couldn’t get us out of though.
The yard guys hauled us out that afternoon, with a trailer and tractor, jet-washed the green weed and algae off, and left us on some stands at the back of the yard, overlooking dry, arid fields just as the sun went down. It was so peaceful. A range of small birds were coming back to roost in the trees just behind our transom whilst we enjoyed a rum’n’coke in the cockpit, ten feet above the dusty gravel.
Next morning the work started in earnest. The existing paint was sanded down with a rented sander, Rose getting nice and blue in the process. Holding a heavy power sander above your head for hours on end is hard work! Think of all the people paying hundreds of dollars a month for fancy cross-fit sessions and gym memberships – I’d be more than happy to take that payment for them to come and work on the boat 🙂
In the same day we managed to get two coats of copper-based antifoul paint on; a red underneath a blue – the idea being that by having different colours you can tell when the outer coat has worn off. Two gallons of paint just managed to cover the whole bottom twice. It’s a bit thinner than I would have liked, but it looks like there’s a fair bit of paint still there from before which is in good shape. This paint is nasty stuff, but it has to be to keep the little critters from latching on and living on the bottom of the boat. The hull itself is also in excellent shape – just a few small blisters on the keel that I ground out and epoxied.
Getting the old depth sounder out and new one put in didn’t cause any trouble. Whilst Rose was charging ahead with sanding and painting I also managed to get a bunch of other jobs done; including replacing the flax packing in the stuffing box; the useful bit that stops the water coming in through the propeller shaft hole. Whilst I had a tube of sealant open for the depth sounder, I pulled out one of the portlights that had been leaking – above the chart table – and replaced all the goo that is supposed to keep the water out. Fingers crossed it’ll work, ‘cos I sure don’t want to be taking that out again …
We pushed hard to get it all done in a day so that we could get put back in the water on the next morning’s high tide, rather than Monday morning, which would mean we could travel back over the weekend rather than me take another day off work on the Monday. So, back in the water on Friday we did a few other jobs, including filling the port side stanchion hole with epoxy – the one I tore apart the other day to get the rotten core out.
Over the other side of the visitor’s dock was an English chap called Steve. A round-the-worlder from Norwich who was about to head south to Panama when his crew dropped out last week. So he was on the hunt for someone to join him on the trip. I helped him troubleshoot a problem with his masthead lights, me being a good few decades younger and more able to scamper up and down his mast steps (which are super useful, wish we had some).
We’ve been wanting to rename the boat ever since we bought her. In fact we’ve already registered our MMSI number under the new name. But we have been keeping schtum until the old name is off. In order not to upset Neptune you need to be very careful about these things, or so I’m told. So yard man Dave spend a couple of happy hours sanding off the old name and buffing up the gel coat all nice and shiny, like.
Now you see it…Now you don’t!
The three of us headed into Napa for dinner, as Steve had a car. Nothing special to see, really – just another American town, perhaps a little cleaner and upmarket than some people are used to – but nothing to write home about really. Makes me wonder what about a town would make it special. I’m not a town or city person, and I don’t really have a scale to mark these things against. As long as there’s somewhere nice enough to buy food, it doesn’t smell*, and feels safe, I’m OK with it.
We hung around on Saturday to meet an old friend of Mum’s who lives in Napa – he took us on a tour of the valley, into Sonoma for a coffee, and out for lunch by the river. Rose is really into her “proper” coffee now. We don’t have the paraphernalia on board to make it “just right”, so any opportunity to visit a coffee shop is jumped at with great enthusiasm. Whilst I’m just as happy with a fresh coffee brewed in our stove-top espresso maker, I’m a sucker for cakes so am more than happy to make a trip. It was really good to get a taste for meeting new people in random places, and a good reminder that we need to get “on the road” again.
Sunday morning high tide at 0900 meant “time to go” just after dawn, with the plan being to ride the ebb all the way back to Sausalito. The plan worked out just fine, and we were back at the dock by early afternoon, Rose having done a load more rows of knitting, chatted with family on Skype, and me having munched a bit more through my latest book. We even got some wind, so didn’t have to use the donkey all the way back.
* San Francisco often stinks of rotten cabbage, but more about that another time.
Road and Ocean 