Ocean Sail Issue 30

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Ocean Sail Issue 30 - Friday, Nov 24, 2000
Location: Las Palmas, The Grand Canaries At sea at last. This letter should end with that one sentence but after an 8 week silence there is more to write about then I have time for. The past month and half was about many different things: the first and foremost is a restart where we left off in Tahiti, the second was a place or what resembles a home, and the last is the challenges of launching a new boat is a foreign country.
After a year of travel it is good to have some place to unpack our bags and not be in some else’s way. Not that any of our gracious host in anyway did anything to make us feel unwelcome – it just that we knew we were barrowing space. Hotels, airplanes, trains, rental cars, and campervans have been our home for the past year – now Delphinus. And what I home it is. A two bedroom, one office, split level with a great view. It’s larger then many apartments that either of us has lived in. A home with a view, a changeable view.
Though since writing the first paragraph, I thing I have changed my mind about a restart. This was always about adventure – and true – the adventure started on Hurricane then moved to a different mode the second we hit the reef. It’s not a plan that I would recommend to anyone, but in hindsight – all the good things happen with a difficult circumstance. So we had land, sea and Hummer adventures in the past year. Now it time for our sailing adventures.
The challenges of commission and launching a boat in a foreign country are many. Supplies and language conspire to make every task take much longer then anyone could imagine. Though France is a thoroughly modern country, Canet is located on the frontier and the yachting industry is scaled for different type and size of boats. So everything must be ordered and shipped in. Secondly Catana is a French company in France and not surprisingly everyone speaks French. Though many do speak good to passable English. So communication leads to a great deal of problems and miss-understandings – that take great diligence on both sides to overcome. I feel that we were lucky, as we were assigned a personable and likeably skipper for the commissioning process. His name was Pascal, and he was diligent and had a good command of English. Both Kim and I appreciate his effort and miss his company.
During the 8 weeks that we were at Catana, 3 other American boats were launched: Enduring Echoes - 431; Pacific Bliss – 431, and Traveler – 471. We were the first of this set and the demands of launching these boats as well as the new 582 destined for the Paris Boat show created a shortage of finishing workers. So most mornings we would wake up to what we fondly called the “worker bees” arriving on the boat and starting to finish the work that should have been done while the boat was still on the factory floor. But often days would pass without the gentle patter of footsteps. Mostly we were content to have the space to ourselves and not have to give it up to intruders from the factory – for a while at least. The impending deadline of Nov 8 was approaching, and when Pascal returned from two weeks at the Annapolis Boat Show – we all realized that it was only two weeks till Nov 1. The date I had told Catana that I wanted to leave for Barcelona, Spain. So with renewed effort the Catana worker bees set to their task. But being in a boatyard is just about the same as being in a hospital, you’re just as likely to leave with a cold as you are to be cured from your original ailments. Certain items took two or three attempts to get right. The guest head door being one of those. Four separate workers, make 5 attempts to get it to close properly. It was not until the day before we left that the door would slide properly in it’s rails. The freezer door is just the same, but 3 workers and 5 attempts later, the door still ices up and is not square in its frame.
Throughout this period Catana is trying their best to keep the 4 American owners happy by hosting wine tasting and large dinners at a local Spanish restaurant. We too are arranging our own entertainment. Delphinus hosts two Emergency Cocktail hours when Pacific Bliss and Enduring Echoes learn of their delayed mast delivery. Other group events convene at an Itaialian restaurant in Perpignan, were we drink the house dry of Chianti and are reduced to drinking local 4 dollars a bottle wine. The American owners form a loose support group, were the unstated goal is to get as much of Catana’s resources for yourself while you listen to your neighbor’s complaints with sympathy about how no work in getting done on their boat. I dub this the “Catana Whiners” Association – the French don’t understand the translation of Whiner. They think it has something to do with the amount that we drink or the frequency that we have cocktail parties. But we know better.
Here the squeaky wheel gets the grease – but it’s not without some cost to good will and feeling. The people responsible for this work are your skipper, in out case Pascal and his boss: Tanguy. Both are outstanding people and really want to deliver a quality product that the owners are happy with. I attempt to tread the delicate line between squeaking and remaining in good stead with these two people that I trust and respect. And in the end they honor the balance by pulling all the stops and wrapping up the work best they can.
On Nov 5 and 6, Adam Stone and Gregg Weiss arrive to help us crew Delphinus on its maiden sea voyage. Several months before I had thought that Nov 8 would be a good day to leave. Unfortunately, there were many things still not done when they arrived. On Nov 6 we pulled the boat to figure out where a strong vibration was coming from and replace the sail drive zincs when the bottom paint started pealing – the vibration was thought to be symmetric flow off the dagger boards so one edge was beveled to correct the problem. Suddenly, a 4 hour haul-out tuned into a two day stay on the hard while the bottom paint was pressure washed and repainted
A week earlier Pacific Bliss is the first boat to leave. Ironic since it was the last boat in the water and it’s mast was a week late in arriving. Two days before we were to leave, Catana tell us that all the mast bases have to be replaced. So one by one they lift the masts on each of the remaining boats and replace the shoe at the base of the mast. Enduring Echoes leaves as soon as the crane releases the mast strap.
Delphinus had been the water since Sept 20, but we have put off her “Official” Christening until she is complete – now Nov 8 just one day from leaving we host Delphinus’s coming out party. K2 spends hours preparing cocktail snacks while the mast shoe is being replace and the boat it being launched. A case of wine is prepared. We all break out the soap, brushes and water hose to get the boat yard grime off the decks, just an hour before the sunset and the start of the party.
Pascal slips by with his wife and child – thought he has a pained look on his face and he is smoking a cigarette - something unusual for him. He and Tanguy wave me over and they tell me that the mast shoe must be replaced again – as Enduring Echoes has just returned – only hours from leaving with cracks on their new mast shoe. I expect, that they expect, I would come unglued and seem relived that I don’t. I am too excited about finally almost leaving and expect that their mast supplier will get it right the third time. We are told its only filler cracking between spot welds, but Tanguy decides to replace all the mast shoes with reinforcements with continuous welds, sans filler the next day.
But the party waits for no mast shoes, and after we have established a boat load – a boat load defined as having a cockpit full of owners, Catana office workers and delivery skippers. We secure a bottle of official Catana champagne, provided by Catana of course and head to the bow. After a bit of arranging of people and places, K2 whacks the starboard bow cleat with the anointed bottle and a spray of green glass and foaming champagne slip over the bow. She is dubbed “Delphinus” and the party continues. One by one the Catana office worker slip out, as they have been to 4 of these parties now, it’s old new to them. Eventually only the Catana Skippers remain. I consider this a sign of respect and I appreciate their support
So for the second time in 2 days the mast is pulled and a new (new) mast shoe is fitted. It’s Nov 9 and the crew’s time is slipping by as they have flights on the 19^th from the Canaries. At worse I think we can make to Gibraltar, if we lose too much time in Canet. The weather is as best as it can be this time of year. We depart for Canaries at 4pm on Nov 10^th. Just 2 days off schedule. Pascal, Tanguy and Christophe Gallot-Lavallee wave us off at the dock – I like to think that these are friends waving goodbye and not just them happy to get rid of us. There is a light north westerly flow and we sail most the night on main and headsail, till light air and low speed over the ground force us to start the engine. We ride the tractor for several hours till we are facing a southeasterly flow that builds throughout the morning.	The First of two Mast Shoes
It continues to build, first to 20 knots when where we take the first reef, then to the high twenties where we take two. We sail all day like this and into the night. Our course is either south or west, but not southwest, where the wind in coming from and where we want to go. The wind driven waves are steep and rough – if we are not falling into a hole behind a large wave, one is slamming into the side. Every now and then a cascade of water will come over the side and lands square on the binimi. After the first few of these you hold your breath and wait for the crash or boom of something breaking. But it never happened and confidence grows in Delphinus. Reports of leaking port lights and wet bedding are coming from the crew. After a quick check we discover that 4 out of 4 of the large side hatches are leaking. This combined with the 3 hatches replaced at the dock make for 7 leaking hatches or 50% of all the boats side hatches. Later we will learn that the two forward hatch in the salon will leak in the rains to come. I am not particularly happy about this.
On the third day, the winds moderate a little and come a little more from the south, so we are able to make some westward progress and slip around the south eastern tip of Spain by short tacking the coast all afternoon. It’s been sunny and warm and all our outlooks are improving, though Gregg and Adam start to realize that we may not make it to the Canaries in time for their flights. We get a bit of a break when the wind first switches to the south for half day, goes light and then comes from the northeast. We even sail under spinnaker for a couple of hours until black clouds, lighting and rain force us to ride the tractor while we attempt to dodge the white flashes that appear to come from everywhere. Where we see a flash I start to count, one, two, three, four, five, bang-crash. How far is the lighting anyway. We ride the tractor the remaining 40 nm to Gibraltar – I keep watch while the crew watches “Airport” on DVD and then “Monty Python”. Emergency cocktail hour is declared when we sight Gibraltar. Still it’s twenty miles away and we arrive in the dark. The “Rock” is lit with an expanse of light – better then any navigation buoy. As we finally enter the harbor, a small fast gun boat greats us without navigation lights. The only reason we know it’s there is the million candle power spot light that is shining on us. After a few minutes, the light goes off and the stealth vessel is gone. Overhead I can hear the whoop of helicopter blades, but again no navigation lights. The tension builds as we weave our way through the giant sleeping freight ship anchored in the bay. Later at the Port and Emigration desk I learn the British use the gun boat and the Spanish fly the helicopter.
We dock in Gibraltar around 11pm on Nov 14. After some serious talk about flight schedules, time and distance both Gregg and Adam attempts to change their flights reservation – and we will make the best attempt to make it to the Canaries by the 21. We leave around 2pm after filling up with fuel and running around attempting to secure a pressure cap for the cooling system on the starboard engine. The motor is on as we enter the Straits of Gibraltar against the wind and tide. We hug the Spanish coast to avoid current as well as outbound traffic. Near dark we are at the mouth and in the Atlantic Ocean. With the crew sleeping, I weave through a labyrinth of small fishing boats: some pulling nets, others pulling long-lines with poorly lit yellow strobes on sticks every hundred yards or so. I put the dagger boards down just in case I misjudge were a long-line ends. Two hours later we are clear and Adam comes up to watch. We are off the coast of Madagascar and we still have cell phone service so I make a few calls before we are out of contact for the next 4 days.	At Gibraltar
Gregg wakes me 6 hours later and the wind has built to 20 knots from the southeast and we make like a sailboat again. We beat west and after consulting the weather fax I decide that south will bring us more favorable winds, though if it doesn’t we will be on the coast of Africa. In only an hour the winds start to clock and are able to sail on rum line to the Canaries on a northwest breeze. This continues throughout the day – and near twilight the breeze in due north and we change to the big asymmetrical sail. Our boat speed is back-up in the 9 knot range – but does not last long – only an hour later I hear a tearing of fabric and my fears are confirmed when I see dark sky where the spinnaker was flying. We do a foredeck scramble and get it down without running over it – and without missing a beat we put up the smaller symmetrical spinnaker
For the next two days we sail under spinnaker or headsail depending on course and wind – always attempting to maintain a minimum speed toward our destination. We have to in order arrive before the crew’s rebooked flights leave – and they miss Thanksgiving day. One evening under spinnaker on my watch we are sailing just a little to far downwind, and the boat surfs down a wave and at the same time a swell rolls under the boat. In a heartbeat the spinnaker has wrapped itself around the head stay. In two more heartbeats two or more wraps are on the stay. Another foredeck party ensues as we pull and tug, willing, encouraging the spinnaker to unwrap itself. I try every technique that I know. Gregg suggests we motor forward with wind to reduce the apparent wind that the sail sees. We motor along at full throttle – just a little hazardous – because if the spinnaker or lines drop it the water they would surely get caught in the propeller. We work first on wrap, then another, then another, then the spinnaker sock chute comes down on our head in two pieces. Finally only one wrap left and we struggle to keep the spinnaker on the trampoline. We roll the headsail back out and take a spinnaker break for the night.
By midday we have both spinnaker socks out and reassembling a working spinnaker sock for the symmetrical spinnaker and by 2pm we have it up again. We are less then 100 nm from the Canaries – the wind continues to clock and we are forced to sail off the rumb line to keep our speed up. In light wind just 40 miles from the Canaries at 3am on the 20th K2 and I pull down the spinnaker, start the engines and start the tractor ride. It continues under clear skies all morning and into the afternoon. We all take hot showers, clean up the boat and prepare for landfall. The Grand Canary is visible – land-ho! Around 4pm we enter the harbor and after a bit take a berth alongside two other-older catamarans. We made it with a day to spare.