Palmerston Atoll

In 1862 an English whaler named William Marster convinced 3 women from the northern Cook island of Penrhyn to move to a deserted atoll in the southern Cook Islands named Palmerston. He had 3 separate families with a total of 26 kids. He died in 1899 and is buried on the island. He has over 5000 descendants. Only 68 live on the island. The rest have immigrated to NZ or Oz. Those 68 are the most welcoming and hospitable people I believe I’ve ever met. Get this – when you arrive, they race to be the first to reach your boat so they can “host” you. There is no airstrip so the only way to get there is by ship. Their supply ship comes once every 3 months and this time it was over 3 months late. So if you’re getting the picture that they crave human company, you might be getting close to the fact. They are bored out of their minds and they’re all related to each other in at least 2 ways. Lots of wonky eyes, stutters and signs of inbreeding. “Hosting” – means they come out in their launch to bring you in to their island whenever you want. They cook large extravagant meals, play the ukulele and sing songs for your entertainment, do your laundry, give you ice, water, filleted fish, whatever you want and wouldn’t even think of asking for money in return. They really just want to hang out. Now – if you are a little too jaded to believe that, fine – I can give you the rest of the story. Yes – they want your expertise. I don’t have any, but some of the other cruisers know how to fix stuff and can jury rig two capacitors into 1 or can compute the structural load on the next community building. They want your education. Of course they’re happy to take a little fuel and some provisions if you can spare it, but they will never ask. They speak English but the accent is really hard to decipher (it’s even harder here in Niue).

We had a wonderful time. I wanted to believe that places like this still existed. That people will give without taking. That I can stay some place where everyone is much poorer than I, and never once try to sell me anything. It won’t last. Some of the cruisers were suggesting they start selling t-shirts. Believe me; I know first hand – once you start selling t-shirts, your soul rots and you end up driving an orange Tracker.

Now let me tell you about the whale. Our first night in Palmerston we were utterly exhausted after fighting the savage ocean for 48 hours, but I was awakened by this rude enormous mammal blowing air about 5 feet from my head. We got on deck and watched her rubbing up to Barraveigh. She was sleeping. One little nervous startle and she could have crushed us. Finally she bumped her nose and swam off. Exhilaratingly scary. They next day she was just lying on the surface about 100 yards away from the boats. I went in the dinghy with the Mexicans off the boat next to me and we rowed over to her. We slowly got in the water and I took the most amazing video. I’ll post it on my website when I get to civilization. She turned around and faced me. We were nose to nose. That thing is bigger than Barraveigh. Turns out she was pregnant. She had her calf on our last night right next to the boat, and then the next morning they took a victory lap around the anchorage to show off a bit.

Oh the things I’ve seen!

Why aren’t the rest of you buying yachts and learning to sail? You can’t get this stuff on the Discovery Channel my friends.

Captain Bob

FP Wrap up & Tonga!

I delayed writing this dispatch until we were underway so I could type the words; “We are sailing to Tonga.” Those few words have caused me a lot of regret. We’re being tossed around so much that it’s very difficult to type at all. I spend an inordinate amount of time banging on the backspace key. And, trust me – it’s no fun to be down in this cabin when all the hatches are shut (the boarding waves make closing up the boat imperative). It makes it hot and stuffy and the green gills creep up rather quickly. That led to my latest mistake. I’ve only been seasick once. I was 15 years old and my father had taken my brother and me on a deep sea fishing trip out of Mazatlan Mexico. I lost it all, but that was 25 years ago, and I thought it would never happen again. Well, I felt it coming on so I took a tablet and now I can’t keep my head off the pillow.

We are sailing to Tonga! We’ve bid adieu to the peaceful beauty of French Polynesia. Now the question has become: “Will we go direct or stop off at an island or 2 along the way”? The voyage from Bora Bora to the northern chain of islands that is the Kingdom of Tonga is 1250 miles as the crow flies. In reality it’s more like 1400 for my wandering vessel. I can sail in a straight line, but it isn’t always the most comfortable and I decided long ago that I’ll take comfort and safety over speed. Along our path there are the options of a few atolls in the Southern Cook islands (named after Captain Cook), or Niue (which Cook originally named “Savage Island”). I’m pointing Barraveigh toward Niue but will decide whether or not we stop based on conditions. Tonga is only another 200 miles and I’m excited to get to the only kingdom in the South Pacific. Originally I was going to take the northern route and stop in Suvarrow which is in the Northern Cook’s but the conditions ahead didn’t look favorable so we altered course. It’s important to stay flexible and with all these island adventures to choose from, it’s easy to change one’s mind.

Back in French Polynesia (that was so 4 days ago!); Raiatea is visible from Huahine and was a pleasant day sail. The main reason for anchoring there was to fill our propane bottles as we were about to run out and then Suzi’s baking would come to an abrupt halt. I can’t have that. From Raiatea you can see the high volcanic mount of Bora Bora, and once the propane was replaced with butane, we were off to embrace it.

Bora Bora – What a place. It’s too hyped to be that good. Or is it? The water is perfectly clear and teaming with life. I did numerous dives and snorkels. For the first time I saw the little Nemo fish hiding in the anemone. We borrowed bikes and cycled around the east side of the island. Its hotel after resort on the most tranquil clear water beaches you’ve ever seen. The bungalows over the water are rather cliché but adorable none the less. Yes – it’s a honeymooner’s paradise, and that’s all you’ll meet too – Honeymooner’s and sailors, but it is stunning. We spent our time near Bloody Mary’s, which is a restaurant / bar that has built a beautiful dock, put in free mooring balls, and gives away free water and ice. They’ve done this to attract the yachties. “Yachties”, in this case, doesn’t mean the cruisers on budgets who catch rainwater and ferment their own booze. It refers to the mega yachts that are all over the place. Some even have helicopters on the deck.

Yes- Bora Bora is really that good. I didn’t want to leave but the bottom was scrubbed, the extra chain was cut and stored in the stern, the SSB radio had been repaired, and our tanks were topped off. I was out of excuses. So it’s once again into the great abyss.

We’ve got 587 miles to go until we decide whether we stop in Niue or push on to Tonga. You can bet I’ll keep an extra reef in the sails and my harness on at all times. The furling line for the headsail chewed thru again and that put me at the pointy end of the boat tying knots as she crashed headlong into the next swell. It was much easier this second time around. Harken has a big design flaw with that drum. We’ve got very confused seas. The waves look like Keystone Kops running around and colliding with one another. No order. Chaos is the norm. The wind is 25 with gusts to 30 and the moon has turned his back on us. These black nights always unhinge me. Wish us luck.

Captain Bob

Update – The previous entry was written 6 days ago. Shortly after, the wind piped up to 40 and the seas grew to become 15 foot breaking waves. All the fuel jugs I keep lashed on the port side of the boat were ripped loose from a giant wave that exploded on our broadside. All the fuel jugs I keep lashed on the starboard side were ripped loose an hour later when another wave knocked us over so far that Barraveigh’s right side was completely immersed. The wind was so strong that it ripped our mainsail and the bimini. It was 48 hours of hell. The final night, we were so exhausted and the conditions were so dangerous that I closed up the companionway and we both laid down below to rest. We put all our trust in the autopilot as we screamed along at 7 knots falling off of waves. We had no plans to stop in Palmerston but “any port in a storm”, so I radiod ahead as we entered the anchorage and a boat came out and 2 friends jumped aboard to help furl the headsail with the broken line. Finally – we were safe, and at anchor.

I’ve repaired everything and in a few hours we will go back to sea and head to Niue.
In the next entry I’ll tell you about Palmerston – the most amazing place I’ve been yet in the SPac

Motoring to Bora Bora

There’s zero wind. We left early this morning after grabbing some free water. Getting the anchor back on deck was a piece of work. It was extremely difficult for the windlass to hoist it off the bottom and since the visibility is so clear I could see the giant coral head as I was lifting it from the depths. The boat that was anchored next to us came over to take pictures and help to free it from our anchor. I now have more respect for what that windlass can lift.

Bora Bora will be our last stop before leaving French Polynesia. Too bad – we really love it here and I’m now perfectly fluent in French. Well, it was true about the love we have for this part of Polynesia, but I can’t speak more than 3 words of French after 3 months.

Huahine was one of my favorite islands. It’s a surfer’s paradise and all our friends were there. We spent the evenings going from dinner party to cocktail party and the days snorkeling, surfing, and diving. There was of course the odd job that had to be completed. I had my rematch with the dinghy – she won again. She still leaks both air and water and I hate her more than anyone can hate an inanimate object. Then I cleared the obstruction from my bilge hose by using my dive tank as a pressure blaster. I was quite pleased with that magic trick. So much for work.

We took an archeological tour of Huahine. Apparently it rivals Easter Island for archeological significance and ruins in Polynesia. We saw many of them with our transplanted American guide Paul. He was extremely knowledgeable in multiple disciplines and gave us a wonderfully comprehensive narration of the culture, history and structures we visited. Then we ate hamburgers and French fries.

The last few islands were almost where the trip ended. On Moorea we got caught in a nasty night of 25+ knot winds while in a tiny anchorage with razor sharp coral closely surrounding Barraveigh. The wind clocked around and fortunately the anchor chain wrapped around a coral head and stuck fast. We didn’t drag and it was the wrap around the coral that saved us, because the wind shift had dislodged the anchor. I could see it laying upright on the bottom and the reef only 1 boat length away just gnashing it’s teeth. That was close and nothing but pure luck. Its amazing Barraveigh isn’t flotsam right now.

Even closer was the judgment error I made while surfing the pass near Fare on the island of Huahine. I looked down the lip of the big roller as it dumped on the shallow water beneath it, pulled back and let it roll under me. “I’ll catch the next one.” I should have, but I didn’t, and the next thing I knew I was too far inside and the waves were now breaking. I was between the reef and the wall of crashing water. “This is bad. This is not going to end well. Stay calm.” 1 minute later I was standing on the reef waiting for the next roller to break in front of me. I focused on not being thrown over or getting rolled, and when I did I protected my head at all costs. I smashed my knee into some coral. That brought searing pain that made my mind focus more than ever. “Ok, get back on the board and paddle paddle paddle. I need to make some distance before the next one comes.” I was talking myself through it, but in the back of my mind I didn’t think I had a chance. Usually these reef accidents aren’t so serious and I’m mostly concerned with my board not being damaged, but this situation developed so quickly that suddenly I was in a horribly dangerous predicament and the waves were substantially larger than my previous errors. I never thought of the board. I figured if I was lucky, I’d get away with being torn up real bad and hospitalized. I just didn’t want to be broken and drowned. If I could just stay conscious and not get my head smashed I might have a chance. Every crashing wave thrashed me on the reef like a rag doll and every lull gave me a chance to paddle north a few more yards. “There. That was the end of the set. Now go go go!” I tore into the water as hard as I could to get as much distance from me and the killing zone as possible. Once I felt safe, I took a few more paddles just to make sure I was again in the deep water of the pass. I knew I was going to live. Chris and Fielding from Barefeet had watched my struggle and were waiting in their dinghy to make sure I was safe. They hoisted me in and drove me to Barraveigh. My feet were chewed up and I had a bruise on my knee that would make me limp for the next couple days but I got off easy. And the board? Not a scratch.

I met an English sailor named Tom back in Panama, and we ran into each other again in the Galapagos. His boat was named Magic Roundabout. He was 22 years old and having the time of his life. He drowned 2 weeks ago. They found his body beneath his boat. Apparently he was spear fishing. It can happen to anyone. That, and the couple near misses I’ve had have sobered me up lately. I’m moving the needle on the meter to “very safe” and keeping it there. Sometimes it’s good to be scared.

You folks make sure you stay on the planet so we can meet again.

Bobby

At Anchor Moorea

Ah, Tahiti. What a delicious word. The language sounds like Japanese dusted with Hawaiian sugar, and the very name itself, conjures thoughts of the Mutiny on the Bounty, Paul Gaugin, and an exotic tropical paradise. It's all these things. It's also a major city called Papeete that's thousands and thousands of miles from any other. It's fascinating.

French Polynesia consists of 3 island chains. Moving from East to West you will find the Marquesas, then the Tuamotu, and finally the Society Islands. They are radically different geologically, but to my eyes, culturally identical, though I'm certain that the natives would disagree. It's hard to penetrate the cultures on a deeper level when we don't have a common language, but the kindness & warmth that these people exude matches one another. The drastic geological differences are obvious to any navigator. The Marquesan islands are tall dead volcanic remnants. Everything is colored in green or black. The Tuamotus are atolls. That's a fringe of reef that denotes the outline of the now missing volcano. In its place is the lagoon that the reef encircles. They are flat and sandy. From a distance, it appears the palm trees are growing right out of the sea. The Society Island chain has the big name allure of places like Tahiti, Moorea, and Bora Bora. Geographically, they are a combination of the previous 2; tall and verdant with a surrounding reef. I'm typing this from a perfect anchorage on the island of Moorea, just north of Tahiti. But first let me backtrack.

The pearl culturing process: They begin by dangling these black plastic strips in the lagoon until tiny oyster polyps develop. After a few years the oysters are large enough to have a nucleus of shell implanted. The "surgeon" is a Japanese man who opens the oyster, inserts this perfectly round shell (that comes all the way from Mississippi) along with a tiny bit of the oyster's own shell. A couple years later, the farm manager delicately opens the oyster, pops out the pearl, and if the oyster has done a good job, he inserts another nucleus. Years later - repeat again. If the oyster hasn't produced a satisfactory pearl then he makes it into a stew.

A wave is a frequency you can see with the naked eye. No oscilloscope necessary. When the waves are long period swells the size isn't much of a problem. However, when you get short period steep waves that are wind generated over long distances, the conditions can become horrible. Add to that 30+ knot winds that are only 10 degrees off your nose, constant squalls and time at sea becomes rather unpleasant. The passage from our paradise that was Kauehi to the island of Tahiti was ugly. Real ugly. It was the first time I ever saw Suzi look like she might be sick. And we had it easy. We beat the really bad weather by a day. Our friends, who left a day later, had 50+ knots and everyone broke something. That's the real problem with bad weather - It isn't the fear of losing your life (Well, I haven't been in any weather that severe, and I try with all my brain power never to be), it's the cost of repairs and the time out of your life it takes looking for the material and then doing it all yourself. The truth is, I avoid rough weather because I'm cheap and lazy.

Though it was a tough passage Tahiti was well worth it. I took my first hot shower in 5 months and 9000 miles. Hot running water is a luxury of the first world (But are you really a 1st world country without toilet seats? Come on France), and Tahiti is absolutely the first world. It's France without any neighbors to make them feel insecure. The people here have been wonderful. Get this - Suzi and I were hitchhiking when 2 young French guys, who are doing their internship in marketing, stopped to give us a ride. (It helps to stand next to a hot blonde). The next day they picked us up to take us surfing, cook us lunch, serv us French wine and then lend us a scooter for 2 days. Suzi and I circumnavigated the entire island. It's extremely expensive. There are food wagons that set up in their own spots around the city once night falls and you can get fantastic fare for "reasonable prices". Poisson cru is my favorite. It's not unlike Mexican ceviche but they use a lot of coconut milk and add cucumber. Public transport costs $2 one way. That's hard to swallow when I was paying 25 cents all over Central America, and is why we hitchhike everywhere. These people are so warm and kind that they just can't stand to see you wanting anything so a free ride doesn't take long. Even the friendliness that the South Pacific Islanders are famous for hasn't become jaded in the city of Papeete. It's the middle of nowhere and you can get anything you want (except replacement springs for my Lewmar winches). The French have done a handsome job of building a real city thousands of miles from any other. Of course, they had a stunning island to begin with.

On the subject of navigation: We were anchored in the shadow of Point Venus which is where Captain Cook erected a fort to watch the transit of Venus in 1769. He spent the majority of his life at sea, and made 3 voyages to the South Pacific that resulted in 3 circumnavigations. As of July 1st I have been living aboard Barraveigh for 2 years. I've only covered a fraction of my circumnavigation, but I love my mobile island of fiberglass and look forward to each new anchorage. Right now we are the only boat anchored in the most perfect water. 65 feet of visibility and a short ride away there are manta rays that swim up to take food from your hands. Yesterday, while kayaking, Suzi found some ancient tiki heads laying on the bottom in white sand. We couldn't believe it. Some were as big as the dinghy. I guess the ancient inhabitants changed gods and dumped the old ones in this glorious bay. Lucky us!

Captain Bob Friedman

More Pearls

Pahua is the name of the giant clam and we ate it in curry and coconut sauce last night at Francky’s with his family. Then we traded for another 200+ pearls! I love this place. No tourists, because there are no hotels, or motels, or bed & breakfasts or even youth hostels. Not one single restaurant or bar. If you don’t sail here, you will never see this place. The moon over the lagoon with that gin colored water is utterly astonishing. This one fringed atoll has made the whole trip a jackpot.

Todd G never thought I’d leave San Diego. Belinda S thought I’d last 18 months. I won the second bet 25 days ago. I can’t imagine ever living in one place again.

Your fan,

Bobby (it’s just oyster snot) Friedman

Tuamotus

My first atoll – Kauehi in the Tuamotu archipelago. There is only one pass into the lagoon and the currents can run up to 8 knots. It’s only 100 yards across so there isn’t much room for mistakes. We obviously made it and then rhumb lined it for the village, being careful to miss the coral heads. The clarity of the water makes spotting them easy as long as the sun is over head or behind. Hence, timing any passage now involves: the position of the sun, the cycle of the tide, and the wind direction (because waves will break if the tide and wind direction are opposing). These used to be called “The Danger Islands”. It’s better now with the advent of GPS, but some of my charts haven’t been updated since 1839 and coral heads can grow a foot a decade. The pucker factor still exists.

Here’s the scoop on the pearls: it’s completely illegal for anyone to take them out of French waters without the proper paperwork that you can only get from an “authorized dealer”. It’s like the Debeers family trying to control the diamond trade. “Authorized dealer” means that everyone got rich on the sale since these things sell for up to $300,000 US. Boy did I short circuit the system! – I traded 7 tiny drill bits for 24 pearls (Yes Colin – you get a cut of the booty). I threw in a plastic storage box with dividers, and he gave Suzi 2 extra necklaces. I wish all transactions were so generously concluded. Actually, I was so overly pleased with the experience that I went back and gave him a bag full of limes (they won’t grow here with their thin soil and salted water table). The most interesting facet of our negotiation was that we couldn’t speak one word of a common language. I keep trying to speak Spanish with a generic accent in hope that it will have a few words in common with French, while he grunts vowels in his low island dialect. It was a perfect human experience. We’re going to go back today and fly kites with his retarded son.

After scouring the boat for articles of trade and a new strategy for pearl acquisition, I went in search of the owner of the pearl farm that is visible from my anchorage. It’s a series of houses on stilts built on the edge of the reef as it drops into the azure blue waters of the lagoon. His name is Francky and he was at work removing a pearl from a “nack” when we met. We exchanged pleasantries and arranged a time for me to return the next day with my precious belongings. I traded a bottle of rum, a jar of hot sauce, a can of hairspray, a Donald Duck clock, some scented vermiculite, and 2 of Suzi’s worn out bikinis for 302 of the most gorgeous pearls you have ever seen! We are stinking rich with pearls! We look at them before we go to bed. We look at them when we awake. We pause at midday just to run our fingers through their gun metal gray and black metallic hues. I chose each one individually and as silly as it seems, I think I can now understand how women are fixated on baubles. What is happening to me? Today I will return with a hammock, a flashlight, a broken headlamp, and more booze. I am a pearl whore.

Also – I’ve now eaten the giant coconut crab and turtle. Turtle is absolutely gourmet. Tastes like venison with the softness of tender brisket. I love turtle, but coconut crab. . . . eh, not so much. You gotta boil it for an hour (I hate burning that much propane) and it’s a ton of work for meat that doesn’t even approach Snow crab let alone Alaskan King.

Best to horde pearls and ask around for anyone having turtle tonight.

Bobby

(I sent all the pearls home with my mom in Feb of 2008 so if you’re a thief – forget about them. She’s got them in a safe deposit box back in the USA)

Tattoos & Pamplemousse

I jumped off the boat and paddled in. It was every surf enabled cruiser’s dream. The swell comes into this bay and breaks right on the rocks. However, there is a secondary wave that’s formed when the big stuff bounces off the jetty. This wave runs perpendicular to the beach so when you take the left you are actually going away from the beach, back into the bay. First time I’ve ever seen that, and probably a contributing factor for what happened next. I broke another board. I snapped it right in half. I gave it to some kid who didn’t have one. I was strangely philosophical about it. Boards are born to break, and besides, I’m only here to create stories. If some kid thinks he just won the lotto cuz of my bad luck, then I can ride that karma boost for the rest of the day. Besides, at dusk his family drove him out in a boat and they gave me a huge potato sack full of pamplemousse, and a stalk of bananas as an extra bonus.

Captain Cook was here in 1769, and his men must have been terrified by how these natives appeared with their tattooed faces and huge powerful bodies. I have a tattoo on my right ankle that says “USA” in red, white, and blue. Before I was a dirty sailor, I took a turn as a filthy biker, and one summer, at the tender age of 19, I drove a motorcycle around the States with my friend Mark. I guess the similarities between sailing and cycling are readily apparent; the sense of freedom, the wind in your hair, etc. The tattoo seemed like the right thing to do, and here I am in the place where it all began. However, the engravings here, are monochromatic with highly stylized tiki-like designs. On an island of only 2,500 people I’ve already seen a few with face tattoos. Think; Mike Tyson, but with more ink, and on bigger men.

These people are behemoths. The first characteristic you notice are their feet (since everyone is barefoot). They are utterly huge. Like Hobbits, but with bodies to match. Then you notice the calves (30 lbs), and so on, up to the shoulders. You could put an oxen yoke on these men and it would fit. Most of the women look the same. They smile all the time and are so eager to converse, I hope they never see a Western fashion magazine.

I’ve anchored in some of the same bays The Endeavour did (I wish I had a metal detector), and tried to imagine what it must have been like for Cook and his sailors to discover this place. The direct translation for the Marquesan word for white man is, “long white pig.” They ate us, even though our calves are so small. We were the other white meat. The sense of wonder is still astounding 200+ years later. There’s no industry here. No resorts. No tourists. It’s so very inaccessible, that it’s remained unspoiled. In fact, there are hundreds of thousands LESS people now, due to the diseases that the European explorers brought. The population still hasn’t recovered more than 2 centuries later. You can’t say that about the rest of French Polynesia. It makes hiking a ghostly experience when one discovers an entire city that’s been left crumbling. So in a distorted way, the Marquesas Islands are even more untouched by man now, than they were.

These people are inherently kind. They take care of their appearance and property (rarely do I see litter), and the flowers in their hair are very charming. Have I witnessed drunks on the street or loud aggressive teenagers? – I’ve never seen even one. Anyone would be happy to have them as neighbors. The only problem I have with them is their infatuation with vowels. Just look at the names of their islands: Fatu Hiva, Tahuata, Nuku Hiva & my favorite, Oa Pou. Then there are the unpronounceable: Taioa, Meituua, Vaiehu, and of course; Taaoa. It sounds like Navajo, with the endless glottal stops. I can’t understand or be understood. Who cares? I smile and smile. These Marquesas Islands are utterly wonderful.

And now we are leaving them. French Polynesia is made up of 3 completely different island chains: The Marquesas, the Tuamotus, and the Society Islands. We’ve just began a 5 day sail to the Tuamotus. I love these long passages. They’re so exciting. I think I’ll grow my sideburns out.

P.S. / The finger healed on its own. Crooked and weak, it gets in the way of typing and knot tying. The doctor told me that I needed to have x-rays and a specialist look it over. Odds are I’ll need surgery, which means it will need to stay immobile for 6 weeks. I think I’ll leave it until I get to Australia, where I plan to wait out the cyclone season. Let’s hope I can get by with this goofy paw until then.

I remain,
Salty Bobby

Paradise

Talk about being on another planet – I don’t speak any French and Marquesan is completely alien to me. Consequently – the communication gap is large. No matter, these people’s smiles are as broad as their shoulders, and they are skilled at pantomime. When going to shore, I find that all the kids ask for bonbons and all the adults ask for whiskey. I think they are conditioned to relate white people with handouts. The French take pretty good care of them.

With children, you’re foolish to pay them before they deliver. Once they have the bonbons they will never “take out the trash”, or “mow the yard”, or in this case; bring the bananas, bread or pamplemousse. When I was a kid, I did the same thing. I tracked 40 year old Jean for 2 days. I needed him to live up to his end of the bargain. He finally did, when the rum was all gone and the hangover had worn off. He even gave me extra as a consolation. You get 1 bunch of bananas per tree so the whole thing gets cut down. It was interesting to watch him wield that machete with expert skill in a remote jungle setting. I’m so glad these people don’t practice human sacrifice or cannibalism any longer.

The really good news is: They haven’t stolen my outboard yet!

They always want to trade. Rum costs $30 a bottle here and it has to be shipped in on the weekly boat. I paid $3 in Panama. I’m so happy I stocked up. That’s not the only thing they will trade for. If they take a fancy to something, they’ll swap. One sailor literally exchanged a paper clip for 3 bags of fruit, another, a whistle. I almost swapped a nearly useless garlic press for a pearl. Then she tried the garlic press.

These islands are so tall they seem to reach up and snag the clouds and create their own weather systems. It rains frequently. Consequently, we spend a lot of time opening and closing all the hatches a few times a day. These towering volcanic columns are so impressive. I implore you to find pictures of the Marquesan islands since it will be a long time before I find an internet connection and can send pics. I can’t seem to transmit on the HF radio from behind their looming slabs so even this form of communication is rare.

Suzi has perfected square pizza and in anticipation of it becoming a hit with all the other cruisers we’ve given it the code name “squeaky pete”. Her dishes are popular and I hate sharing food. I’m just too hungry all the time! Finally I have a use for that pizza cutter I brought.

Today we need to: fix the headsail, patch the dink, kayak the point, and after night fall, snorkel for lobster.

What are you up to?

- Capt Bobby –

P.S./ Forget the snorkeling. I just saw an 8 foot hammerhead shark swimming alongside while I was kayaking.

Day 24 - Fatu Hiva, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia

We made it. We anchored in paradise about an hour ago. Google this place cuz words will never do it justice. The water is pleasantly warm, and so incredibly clear that I can see the bottom in 100 feet of water. The cliffs soar 3000 feet over the anchorage with nothing but green green green.

Being here has been a dream of mine now for 16 years. I can’t believe it’s finally real.

We don’t know what to do with ourselves. The gauges and meters are all off. The sails are all furled. All the hatches are open and we are sitting peacefully still. What do we do now?

I’ll let you know later,

Bobby

Day 22

Will this ever end? Wrestling practice, my dad, Sun Tees, and now this cursed crossing. If I can survive the above challenges, I can survive anything. I once traveled from a Danish island to a Greek island non-stop. It was 5 days of trains, ships and buses. I didn’t sleep on anything stationary for 5 nights. I thought that was a big deal. Cheese and Rice! This is punishment sustained. It’s like living full time, in one of those inflatable houses that children jump in at carnivals (minus the padding and kiddy germs). The constant sensation of motion is exhausting. Your muscles have to flex while asleep just to keep you in the bunk. There is no respite from the yawing and pitching and rolling. We both just want stationary. You take it for granted living on land.

I have pestered Suzi nearly to death. I’m out of material. Now I have to reach out to you. Can you imagine being confined to 200 sq feet of living space with one other person and no one gets to leave for 24 days? That water better be perfectly clear and warm and filled with gorgeous fish cuz I’m gonna kill ‘em all.

We are 209 miles out and the wind has completely died. We are now motoring. So much for tradewinds. “You’ll have 15 knots the whole way.” “You won’t ever have to adjust a sail.” “Smooth sailing on flat seas.” “It’s the coconut milk run.” Ha! When you guys sail this stretch, be armed with the truth.

Because I’m 38% insane at this point, I thought I might share the musings of my corroded mind:
1.) One English expression every Hispanic knows: “Take it easy.”
2.) Driving cars is fun
3.) Ice is your revenge against the elements
4.) It’s not Barraveigh, it’s Oye Veigh!
5.) “Llama llamada. Por una quada”
6.) When I’m in Vietnam I’m going to pick a fight with someone, so that I can truthfully say from that day on, “I fought in Nam.”
7.) Why do people like Mike Mayberry? He’s not a good friend to any of us? Let’s stop Mike Mayberry.
8.) “Hair and lips” are the only things on a girl you can get away with calling fat
9.) Iron Bru is made with girders
10.) We call it “cursive”, and the ever efficient English, who invented the language, call it “joined-up-writing.”
11.) Southern Cross my ass. I can find 150 crosses without even trying. The real deal is a let down

I’m gonna catch that reuben sandwich!

Bobby

Day 17

I downed the shot of vodka, I swallowed the 2 red Columbian pain killers, I stuffed the sock in my mouth and only then, did I place my left hand on the table.

My uncle Bill, via long range email on the single side band radio, had described the process for realigning a dislocated finger, and it didn’t sound like a bucket of joy. This one was seriously out of joint after trying to loosen a jammed headsail in 20 knots of wind. It pointed violently toward my thumb with no accord to the harmony of the other 4 digits. Suzi’s instructions were to pull it out so it can reseat itself. We tried several times, and to no resolve. No pop, no straightening, just ripe pain searing along the length of my ring finger every time she gave it a yank.

Then the alarm on the GPS went off. I had programmed it 10 days before when we left the Galapagos Islands for the Marquesas Islands of French Polynesia. The alarm denoted the halfway mark. I was 1,500 miles from land. That’s the farthest you can get on this planet from terra firma. My engine was leaking oil & diesel, the generator only continued to run if you hand pumped the fuel ball, and the headsail had jammed in the track in such a way that I couldn’t reef it entirely. And of course, I have only one functional hand.

As I type this, we are currently on a heading of 325 degrees. 360 is due north so you can see we’re not that far off. Why am I pointing this thing north when the goal is west? Good question. I can’t keep the winds directly behind me due to this misshapen headsail that’s jammed, and my previous course before we gybed was going to take us to Pitcairn Island instead of Fatu Hiva. Had that happened, I would have had a mutiny on my hands that would have made The Bounty look like a Sunday morning “row”.

Our inability to sail directly downwind was further compounded 2 nights ago by the fact that the furling line had chewed through a point of chafe (that I had somehow missed) and parted at midnight in 28 knots of wind as it completely deployed itself. When it’s howling 28 knots you reef to expose less sail to the wind. The last thing you want is more sail. I suddenly had a lot more. The boat accelerated almost immediately. I needed to get this situation under control at once.

“Suzi! Wake up and suit up! I need you!” We put on our harnesses and I clipped into the jack lines that run the entire length of Barraveigh. I crawled forward with fresh batteries in my headlamp in order to inspect the situation. Once I put the repair plan together in my head I pulled myself back towards the cockpit and shouted to Suzi what I would need: 2 oversized carabineers and the new green furler line. Again I crawled forward with the vessel awash up to the mast every time she sped into another green wave. If I go overboard, there is no way Suzi will ever find me, let alone get me back in the boat. In an ocean this large with help so far away, if you can’t save each other – you’re done. Every move was literally life or death. I had to tie the frayed line to the new one and use the carabineers to redirect the angle of pull so it wouldn’t chew through again. Damn. I should have caught that days ago, then I wouldn’t need to be up here risking my bacon now. Sheets of water conspired against every step I needed to complete. The pain in my dislocated finger was a constant reminder that I couldn’t trust that hand to hold me should I bounce over the rail. I moved slowly and deliberately, careful not to drop anything or overextend my balance. I got the lines joined, and screamed for Suzi to start furling it in. She did, and the boat came back into control as her speed diminished. Good – now I needed to find a place to secure the carabineer. The toe rail hole was perfectly located; I just couldn’t get enough body weight on the line to push it into the jaw of the carabineer. I took a calculated chance and lifted myself up quickly and practically sat on it. It worked.

It looked good. It still does. I now check it regularly, and I adjust all lines a few inches every other day, just in case I can’t see if they’re wearing. That was harrowing and I never want to repeat it. I sense inwardly though, that in some way, I am stronger for having lived through it. This trip is like a 5 year “Outward Bound” program, except, this is the extreme version on steroids, with zero “do overs”. We expose ourselves to our fears in hopes of overcoming them. Sir Robin Knox-Johnston said, “…sailing is chess with pull-ups.” That’s the honest truth. We need to think at least 2 steps ahead and physically live up to the challenges as well.

The finger hurts constantly, and we won’t be out of danger until we’re anchored 10 days from now, but I know we can do this.

- Captain Bob -

Day 7

We’ve just completed our 6th day and have covered over 900 miles. We have 2100 still to go. She’s fast, even when she’s loaded down. I love the performance I’m getting out of her. Yesterday we changed headsails (what a nightmare that was in 15 knots of wind without the engine on). With this younger and larger headsail, I’ve yet to post a speed under 7.0. This is going to be a most expeditious passage. I’m predicting my Mother’s day gift to dear Jere Mae will be landfall on May 13th.

I didn’t play the Mahi Mahi (I’ve changed names from dorado since I’m headed to the SPac islands) well enough and my 40 lb test line parted before I could land him. He was a powerful fish. He launched himself 3 body lengths into the air. He’s the one that got away. He’ll remember me too, since he has my favorite lure in his jaw. Most days it just seems like too much work to fish, especially when we still have all this fresh food that needs to be eaten. Lately though, all the strenuous activity has reawakened my hunger for fresh meat. Life as a savage - I love it. My tan is darker than it was in Mexico and my hair is growing back and lightening with the sun & salt. I wouldn’t even shower if Suzi didn’t insist.

In the mornings I sweep the desiccated flying fish off the deck, patrol for signs of chafe, and squint into the rising sun through heavy cumulus clouds. At noon I lead a radio net with 5 other boats. We set it up before we left. The goal is safety and strategy. The safety part is obvious, the strategy is really for the following vessels so they can decide which lead boats they want to emulate. In the evenings we play cards, read, run the generator to replenish the batteries for the night and offer praise to Otto. Who’s your best friend? A long haul sailor will answer that question only one way, “My Auto Pilot”. This 3 week journey would be an entirely different experience without Otto. Thank you Otto.

Since the swell is running beneath us faster than our speed and because the wind and waves our on our stern quarter, Barraveigh yaws and dips and tosses us around a considerable amount. It would be stupid to try and eat off a plate. Bowls only. Suzi has her two step crab shuffle perfected, and we both show off our bruises. I couldn’t help but smile when she took a tumble after a big roller and she declared at the top of her lungs, “Ow! My arse bone!” So cute. She was able to laugh about it today.

It’s a routine, we’ve found a rhythm, it’s trying and rewarding. It’s sailing.

Captain B

Next Stop: French Polynesia

I think I may have spoken my final words of Spanish. I’ve got less than 30 days to learn how to make those French noises. It sounds to me like “Z’s” and “F’s” with a heavy nasal murmur. I think I’ll opt for faking it by speaking Spanish with a ridiculous accent.

We left the Galapagos island of Isabela April 24, 2007 at 11:30 am. No wind and calm seas with a 6 second swell from the south. The conditions haven’t changed in 12 hours, except for the heavy cloud cover that now blots out the stars. Suzi is sleeping. I’m pulling the 10 to midnight watch. We’ve caught a favorable current and are riding along at 7.1 knots with only 1500 RPMs. My strategy is to head more south than west in hopes of finding wind. I’m still too far east to drop straight south and catch the trades so there needs to be some westing in my trajectory. I’m hoping to shave a week off the 30 day passage. Wish us luck.

Did you know that there are penguins at the equator? They are absolutely adorable, too buoyant for their own good, and fast under water. They are good friends with the seals, and can often be seen playing around the anchored boat. I called to a seal one day and he swam over and tried to jump aboard. He was inches from my face. Other yachties have had to shoo them out of the cockpit. This morning as I was underwater scrubbing the prop I felt something behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find a small seal, submerged, yet vertical, with curious head cocked and gazing at me, wondering how I was going to eat that piece of metal.

I saw enough tortoises to last a life time. They live so long it’s possible that some of the ones I met may have met Darwin.
And yes, they are gigantic.

The marine iguanas are as black as the lava rocks they lounge upon. They’re perfectly camouflaged, with a face that looks stern and dignified even though their pajamas don’t fit quite right. Sometimes you’ll see them lazily swimming across the bay, late for a nap.

The Galapagos Islands consist of 19 islands with about another 100 islets. Only 4 of the islands are inhabited. 30,000 people live there. There are discos, bars, restaurants, home appliance stores, jewelry stores, art boutiques, and more tourist boats than Cabo San Lucas and Mazatlan combined. The infrastructure is excellent and the science centers are free and very well done, but despite its isolated location, the place is highly developed and expensive. If you are planning a trip there, do it sooner than later.

My mom was born on Bastille Day. I think of it now, only because it’s one of the few French words I know and Barraveigh will be my prison for the next 20 - 30 days. Let the stir crazies begin.

Tax Day?

A pint of bleach and a dozen rags, and I can clean anything. Trust me. I just lived through an effluent nightmare. There is a one way valve inside my nemesis, and it’s called a “joker”. It’s aptly named, as it’s the only humor in the whole procedure. I am, of course, referring to the pump I had to dismantle, that evacuates the holding tank. That’s black water. Not so nice. I’ll stop with the details immediately, but suffice to say, it was the worst chore I’ve performed yet on Barraveigh. It was one watermelon seed that was my undoing. Can you believe that? One watermelon seed. We now joke that we need to chew our food a bit better.

Sorry – but you need to know that it isn’t only a life of extroverted sea lions circling the yacht as we sip sundowners with ice. Sometimes the black tip reef sharks appear in the form of a clogged head. But – there really are black tip reef sharks that swim our perimeter hourly. Cool huh!

Prior to writing this dispatch I went back and read the very first one from over 16 months ago. I was at 30 degrees north by 116 west. I’m envious of the later. I’m currently at 90 and won’t reach the Marquesas until I hit 138. I’ve got a long trip just to get back to the westing I had when I left San Diego. We are only 10 days away from the beginning of that voyage. 3000 miles. That’s 3 times the distance we just pasted onto our charts. We are standing on the edge of an abyss called the Pacific Ocean. I will never forget these days.

I also don’t think I will ever forget the level of consciousness one attains when at sea. It’s a level of awareness that I (and I can only speak for myself) never approached when I lived on land. The music that the water makes as it fingers the hull, and what its changing octaves mean in terms of acceleration and heel. I can accurately guess the speed of the vessel within a tenth of a knot from the sound alone (as I lie sleeping, no less). I am deft at spotting the “cat’s paws” on the water, and how to pursue the elusive zephyr. I have a special relationship with the clouds now, when never before did they reveal their intentions to me. I’m a palm reader if you don’t believe, but if you’ve been out here, and lived this existence, than you know it’s not snake oil I’m selling.

My cousin Don recently emailed me and he wrote of planting bird seed millet and getting the corn crop in the ground. He’s the real deal; a farmer in Nebraska. That’s a man that has an intimate relationship with his surroundings and the forces upon them. I’ve spent the majority of my life in cities of over 3 million. And most of those cities never had 4 seasons. I was detached from the rhythms of the wilderness. I was an uninvited gate crasher when I stuck my toes in the big salty to test the waters, and I am just now beginning to feel like I have the playbook for this Sunday’s game. There is a brotherhood between those who depend on the weather. Tonight I’m lifting my drink to the dazzling array of brilliant stars that can only be seen from the outskirts of civilization.

Latitude 00*00

Let me tell you about a very brave woman named Suzi Roberts. She took a leave of absence from her career, rented her flat in Brighton England, said good bye to all her friends and family and flew to Panama for a completely different life. And she did all this in spite of the fact that her sister, just a year younger than her, was killed only 6 months ago in a horrible accident in Africa.

She worked long hard hours, full of frustration, without speaking a drop of Spanish, just to get Barraveigh ready to cross an ocean. And she did it all on someone else’s boat with a stubborn captain who likes to make rules. Up until departing Panama she had never done an overnight passage, let alone a 1000 mile journey that would have her all alone, at night, in the cockpit, with total responsibility for this 12 ton beast, as she raced full nose ahead heeled over making 8 knots. She was then allowed only 2 hours of sleep before having to do it all over again and again. She was scared, and she was alone, and she cried, but she never quit, and she never so much as missed a watch, and if she had to wake me to help with reefing the sails when the wind went over 20 knots she would let me sleep an extra 20 minutes to make up for it. On top of it all she cooked and cleaned and wore that bulky harness/PFD, with clacking carabiners without complaining every night.

She is now about to cross the equator. In sailor jargon, that means she is about to graduate from “Pollywog” to “Shellback”. It’s a big deal for any sailor and Suzi Roberts takes the titled on her first over night passage. You want to talk about courage, about tenacity of spirit, and having a never quit attitude – That’s my Suzi! None of it has been easy. She’s exhausted and in need of a real shower, but she dug deep and she overcame. Victory to you Suzi Roberts! You are only a day away from anchoring in the Galapagos.

Bobby

What an Anniversary!

It was 1 year ago today that Suzi and I met. We decided to celebrate by going to the middle of nowhere and to deal with 20 knot headwinds and 5 foot swells. We know how to live it up.

We are now 300 miles from the Galapagos Islands and 600 miles from Panama. Yesterday a US drug spotting plane flew above, circled twice, and wished us well. Apparently we don’t fit the profile of drug smugglers. He did tell us the whereabouts of our friends who are ahead of us. Good to know the Norwegians without the radio are ok.
The weather forecast calls for more of the same for the duration of our trip, but with increasing swell size. Fun. What’s even better is that the swells are about 8 seconds apart so it’s a constant hobby horsing effect. That really made Suzi’s omelet appealing this morning.

I can’t complain too loudly. Yesterday we watched Finding Nemo in the cockpit and laughed about Suzi’s new approach to the toilet. It’s still a dream and we are still making 4 knots. At least I didn’t report to a cubicle today (sorry Mike).

Captain Salty

Killer Whales

That's right. I didn't think it could be true either but they're here and they look terrifying. We had 2 pods circle Barraveigh today. I just finished reading a book called "Surviving the Savage Sea" about some Scottish family that survived in a life raft for 40 days after their ship was holed and sunk by killer whales. My mom's on a plane to Tokyo right now or else I wouldn't have told you. By the time she gets this email we'll be safely out of their zone. Apparently it's easy to run over them when they are sleeping, and then because of territorial macho bravado they have to, by the code of the killer whale, sink your boat. It's all animal kingdom stuff dude. I'm going to learn a lot more about that in the Galapagos. Like which turtles you can't eat.

No wind at all. We are sweltering in the tropical heat and the motor only makes it hotter. The stove is even worse, but Suzi's upside down pineapple cake is worth it. That girl bakes daily. Awesome.

We've been motoring for the last 24 hours. We've covered 280 miles and have another 620 to go. The sea is so calm it looks like oil. This is the ITCZ. The Inter Tropical Convergence Zone. You've probably heard it referred to as the Doldrums. The Spanish explorers of 500 years ago called it the Horse Latitudes. They would chuck their horse into the sea in order to lighten the boats when their provisions ran low. I'll bet that freaked out the Orcas.

Capitan Bobby

7 knots in 14 - on the way to the Galapagos!

We weighed anchor yesterday at 13:30 (that’s 1:30 pm). We’ve been in transit for 24 hours and have made 123 miles. That’s an average of 5 knots, if you don’t have a calculator handy. She did it all under sail. We only used the engine to leave the anchorage and charge the batteries. That’s pretty good for this old girl, weighted down like she is. I think it was the bottom cleaning that she appreciated so much.

Suzi’s first night at sea went smoothly. She only had to wake me once and she followed all the rules perfectly. It can be rather daunting for a neophyte but she is doing very well. We’re both a little sleep deprived but catching up throughout the day. We have to; we probably have another 9 nights of this.

Suzi’s on watch while I’m down below typing this. We had a “row” early. She was being “stroppy”, but she was sure that it was I who was being “stroppy”. How cute is that word; “stroppy”? I start liking her again every time she says it (even though it was her who was stroppy). Then when she cooks a meal – oh yea, all is forgiven. Who says the English can’t cook? That might have been true a couple generations ago but she might even be better than Colin. Sorry Colin.

We saw dolphins, watched a shark catch and eat a fish, and I even spoke to the captain of the biggest containership you ever saw.

“Sir, do you see me on your radar?”
“Yes. I have you on the radar.”
“Sir, are we on a collision course?”
Long pause. “No.”
“Thank you for checking.”
“Snowdrift standing by on 16.”
“Barraveigh clear.”

A Return to Saltwater

Time to Leave

I have been issued my zarpe (exit papers) and the kind lady at the Port Captain’s office waived the $500 fine that I should have incurred due to my lapse in cruising permit coverage. In fact, she went so far as to fabricate new entry papers so I couldn’t be fined. Then the immigration lady banged her final stamps into our passports, and we were ready. No oil pressure.

10 days later we have a new zarpe and updated stamps next to the canceled ones. I think I’m almost a diesel mechanic now. But that’s a dead end story that isn’t any fun to relive. Suffice to say that I am typing this enroute to Las Perlas. I just spotted land 10 minutes ago. We’ll be anchoring before sunset.

Barraveigh is sitting quite a bit lower in the water. The 350 pounds of new anchor chain I put in the bow makes her look like she’s dipping her head to the Emperor. She is, in fact, so loaded with the year’s worth of provisions that we have stowed aboard that she was seriously heeling to port – an issue I remedied with diesel and H2O placed on the starboard side. The future sailing will no doubt be sluggish, but I’ve been warned that the prices in the South Pacific islands can be 10 times what we’re paying here, if you can even find it to buy. I want my 15 cases of beer, 5 gallons of rum, 6 gallons of wine, and 1400 pounds of canned everything. I’ll pay the price in speed to save the cost of provisions. It is, after all, a pleasure cruise, and I’m still doing 5.6 knots in 18 knots of wind on a beam reach.

Goodbye Panama
Panama City is the place pirates would come to replenish crew. This place looks like the bar scene from Star Wars. White, black, brown, and then there are the Kuna Yala Indians with their psychedelic blouses and skirts. Not to mention the wildly colored leg beads. They are all exactly the same height, 4’ 8”, and add even another language to this mash of linguistic stew. The buses are large, aggressive and constant. They cost only 25 cents and are very convenient to use as they choke the air with smog. The other pollution is the noise. There is no sensitivity to volume. Your ears are constantly assailed, but at least it’s never boring. If you want to play “USA”, you can go to Albrook mall. It’s like the Mall of America. Everything us Yanks love. They even have a Pricesmart here.

On the other side of the coin, you can lock your doors and take a cab to the questionable slums of Casco Viejo. The French based themselves here when they took their shot at the Canal back in 1881. The architecture makes it look like New Orleans, with old Spanish churches punctuating the plazas. If you’re feeling bold, get out of the cab and drink a lot of ice cold 24 oz. Balboa beers for $1. A couple weeks back I went with Jimmy and Caroline from Bluemoon on a pub crawl. First bar we went to, a drunk threw his bottle across the room. It exploded on the wall next to us. He was ejected, and as our seats were wet, we left too. It was clear he wasn’t welcome back in the cantina and in my inebriated condition I reckoned the polite thing would be to invite this antisocial violent drunk to come along with us. He later stole $20 and ditched us at a brothel. But meeting new and interesting people is why we travel, right?

There really is nowhere else in the world like Panama. It’s the only place I can think of where two oceans meet, two continents meet, it has European history dating back to the 1500’s, and the US purchased it into existence less than 100 years ago. Then there’s the Canal. You need to see that for yourself. And the story behind it – utterly amazing! Get here and soak it up. I’m sure going to miss it.

Life On Barraveigh
Here’s a little candy for you techie gear heads: all electrical connections have been lubed with dialectric grease, we have the brightest cockpit after the sun sets thanks to my directional solar lights and their own dedicated panel. We’ve re-stitched the mainsail, chafe is constantly hunted down and eliminated. I've backplated the padeyes and strapped all the new containers in place so no matter the sea state, all our provisions in that forward head should stay put. I have noted all the net frequencies and the emergency channels and they are posted next to the long range radio. I've installed the replacement batteries for the house system and they are strong and powerful. New is good, and amp hours are luxury. The water collection system has been perfected and all the hoses and couplings are brand new. I changed the tranny fluid, all other oils, and filters, rebuilt the sewing machine box, bought a brand new outboard (5 hp and it won't touch saltwater until we get to the Marquesas islands), lashed 10 more jury jugs to the rails (we'll have enough fuel onboard for 1000 mile range), replaced a frayed halyard, perfected a complete paper library of all charts from here to Papua New Guinea. I bought a new kayak and paddle, padded the stern ladder so Suzi can't complain anymore due to her tender city feet, installed a new tach (this one complete with an hour meter and inbuilt light. Nice!), filled the scuba tanks, upgraded to a 1500 w inverter and bagged the 700 w for future use, belted down all batteries, fixed a leaking sink, made copies of our friends movies, mounted a swivel bracket in the aft cabin for better movie viewing, and stowed ample spares for the next 18 months. We’re very ready. The waiting is over. Let the trip continue.

Captain Bob Friedman

P.S. / Our friends are already waiting in the anchorage ready to wash us in sundowners. It’s so good to be a cruiser again.

Back in the Tropics

Wow – it was great to step off the boat and revisit the First World. I completely lost the elastic imprint from my headlamp. Endless fresh water and unlimited electricity, was that real? Did I really sleep in rectangular beds with down comforters? Civility is a pleasant distraction when you live the life of a near barbarian. The recent niceties were highly appreciated and I give thanks to all who gave me a bed, couch, ride, meal. Someone told me that I’m an “advanced beach bum”. Yep, that’s about right. I guess I like that better than “global layabout” or “international ne’er-do-well”.

“Previously on Barraveigh”

I left San Diego Dec 1 of 2005 with Ryan and Colin. They have long since left for new adventures. Leg 1 got me to Panama City. Colin and Ryan both deserve standing ovations for their contributions to the effort.

The gear is expensive, the lifestyle isn’t. Theft is now built into the budget, and when it happens again I’ll try to be philosophical about it.

Leg 2 began 5 days ago when I returned to Barraveigh after 2 months traveling to Europe and the States. My English girlfriend Suzi turned in her police badge a few days ago and will be joining me on the 24th. Together we will provision Barraveigh and sail to Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands, and then make the long crossing to French Polynesia. That could mean 30 days without even seeing land. We’ll end the year either in New Zealand or Australia. How’s that for a reality show!

Stay tuned.

Captain Bobby

I'll Take The United States For $800 Alex

Panama is the place pirate ships come to get new crew. This place is like the bar scene from the first Star Wars. They’ve been cross pollinating for over 500 years and since it’s the meeting place of 2 continents and 2 oceans, this town has every type of everything. I’m going to miss it.

I’ve lubed and stored my bicycle. I’ve written up all the instructions for Ricardo. I’ve color coordinated the procedures for starting and stopping both the generator and the Perkins. I’ve locked the last remaining kayak 4 different ways, I’ve deflated the dink and lashed it forward of the companionway. I’ve run a cable through all the fuel jugs. All the lines are coiled and secured, I’ve checked and rechecked my lists, I’m packed.

June 30th 2005: I knew it was the last evening I would be sleeping in my bedroom at 802 Dover Court. I was wondering what the next year would hold. This time I’m only wondering what the next 2 months will hold, but the anxiety of leaving my known surroundings is still a rat in my belly.

I’ve picked a good buoy. I know the depth at spring tides (which means extreme lows) is manageable for my 6.5 foot draft. If I would have left it at anchor in La Playita, the thieves would have picked my bones clean. I think I’ve bought myself some peace of mind here at the Balboa Yacht Club for the sum of $500 per month.

Random Observations:

Everything is a haggle, but when I haggle with the taxi drivers the negotiation takes a turn. This is where I have the upper hand. All they want is money. I want air conditioning. “Esta bien. Una y media, pero con aire condicion.”

I just ate the last tin from the States. It was Del Monte Fresh Cut Whole Kernel Corn. That means it’s been sitting beneath the sink for a year. I find it interesting that the water that comes out of that spigot smells like old broccoli. I guess there’s a vegetable theme happening here.

If you’re a street vendor and you put on a Michael Jackson video, crowds will gather. The guy has such a pull on the world it baffles me to no end, but they love him in Latin America and I don’t think he knows a single word of Spanish.

Since it’s near the 1 year anniversary of the flooding in New Orleans they showed some old footage and on it there was a lady who had been soaked out of her home and they were offering her a sailboat to stay in and she said, “I know my rights. You can’t make me live like that!”

I live in a sailor park and I own a snailboat, but tomorrow I will be eating lean pastrami and sleeping in clean sheets with air conditioning. Miami here I come!

The Hebrew Toupe

It’s Tuesday and that means left over pizza. On Monday nights everyone gathers at Flamenco for their 2 for 1 deal and to discuss where to buy chain, get canvass stitched, and who’s the best electrical guy to hire, as well as all the other repair topics we chatter about constantly. It seems to me we wage a weekly battle to keep our boats between 60 - 80% of their health. 100% just isn’t practical in these conditions. 80 is the new 100. 

This place is really filling up. Everyday 2 or 3 days more boats come down the Pacific coast and 2 or 3 more cross the Canal from the Caribbean side to prep here in Panama City for their Pacific crossing. I’ll be leaving in 2 weeks, but not to sail anywhere. I’m parking Barraveigh on a mooring ball at the Balboa Yacht Club and flying home. Can’t wait! After a couple days in Miami with Terry and Kelly I’ll be in Sandy Eggo on Nov 17th. It’ll be nice to wear a jacket and shoes again. I’ll be away from Panama for 2 months and in that time I’m taking a side trip to London to visit Suzi. I’ll be back in Panama Jan 15th and she’ll be joining me along with Geoff Nelson for the passage on Feb 5th to Ecuador. 

On April fools day I’m going to shave my head (easier for hygiene on long passages plus I’m sick of this straw), and with Suzi, leave for the Galapagos, and then the big hop over the Pacific to the Marquesas chain in French Polynesia. 

 And now for the randoms: Panamanians point with their lips. It’s true, they tilt their heads back, and pucker in the direction of what they want you to look at. When I ran aground on a sandbar in the company of at least 20 other sailboats not one of them came to my aid. Only Clyde on a 100 foot mega power yacht helped me. He later said, “Your mistake was in yelling for help. If you wanted sailing cruisers to come to your service you should have yelled ‘free beer’ or ‘half price’ or ‘2 for 1’”. He has a point. His other illuminating quote was this, “Maybe the lifestyle of the cruising sailor isn’t one dedicated to self sufficiency so much as it is a commitment to total inconvenience.” 

I like that one but have to temper it with the fact that he is viewing us from the fly bridge of a 100 foot catamaran (40 feet wide) with 2 elevators, 4 freezers, a formal dining room and Direct TV. He sailed from San Diego to Cabo with his Geo Tracker lashed to his bow. He and his Swedish wife are my all time favs and I’ll be transiting the Canal with them on the 8th. I’ve spent at lot of hours on that boat with Clyde fixing my broken everything in his full size machine shop. 

There is a little van that arrives every morning at 08:00 and the man sells empanadas and chichas for 25 cents a piece. He wears a yarmulke and I finally got up the nerve to ask him if he was Jewish. “No senor, I only wear because of this.” And then he took off his yarmulke to reveal a bald spot that was perfectly hidden. I now refer to it as his Hebrew Toupe. 

When eating a meat dish in Panama, it’s important to have a lot of napkins because the food goes into ones mouth and then right into the napkin which is then hidden so as not to embarrass the cook. I guess they are too poor to throw away fat and gristle. Freakin awful. 

I buy 6 green bananas cuz that’s the smallest bunch you can buy. The next day they are ripe and I eat 3 of them. The day after, the remaining 3 get thrown away cuz they are rotten and full of fruit flies. Total cost, 30 cents. 

I don’t like those black nights when the squalls pass through. I appreciate the moon. If I have some visibility it’s not nearly as spooky. 

I’ve been out of US waters for 11 months.

The wind is howling here and I've been bouncing around at anchor like a pinball. Last night a can of unopened soda that I had left in the cup holder in the cockpit bounced out, struck the floor, and then fell through my open hatch at 02:20 and landed on my chest. I thought someone had fired a tear gas canister into my bunk. It scared the shit out of me. Fizzy soda water squirted everywhere. Took me a couple minutes to figure out what happened. I had to laugh at that one but you should have seen the mess. So - I spent an hour cleaning it all up and then couldn't get back to sleep.

Cold Drinks & Clean Sheets

"I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down." - Tubthumping / Chumbawamba

I asked for a 3 month extension on my visa. They gave me 2. Everyone gets 3. Why do I get 2? O how I hate the bureaucracy. Now I have to go through this whole process again. I had my exit timed to miss it. Damnit!

"Children I wanna warn ya, Cuz I've been to California." - Do You Wanna Hold Me / Bow Wow Wow

When asked where I'm from, if I respond with "Estados Unidos", I get a radically different response then when I answer, "California". USA is seen as political. CA is only “fun fun fun”. The Red Hots were so correct when they coined the phrase, "Californication". I think the world views it as a separate entity from the USA. It's been the flavor of the month for 50 years. Let it ride, and please buy the hype.

"I eat more chicken than any man ever seen" - Back Door Man / John Lee Hooker

Sam Shepard wrote in his play, "True West", "I come in through the window, but I go out through the front door." Well, I am a back door man. I can't blend. I just can't. I can't assimilate, and my old credo of, "Look straight and infiltrate", doesn't serve me here. I am the ultimate outsider. I went from the Mayor of Mission Beach with my custom long bike and quiver of boards to the Freak of the Causeway with my folding bike and my quiver of boards (None of the locals or my fellow cruisers surf). You can only be a local in exactly one place. Everywhere else you are an outsider.

"Somehow I stayed thin, while the other guys got fat." - Rush / Big Audio Dynamite

My uncle Bill is a physician and he helped me repeatedly when I severed a tendon sheath in my finger while shucking oysters (it still doesn't work right. I think this is as good as it's going to get). I must now ask how in the world anyone can eat this much fried food and live past 55? This is worse than Glasgow. I might have a slight genetic head start but I've got to believe I'm going to lose if I don't get out of here. I'll be a fat corpse right? Fat and starch. Starch and fat. Pass the salt.

"Everybody hates a tourist. Especially one who thinks it's all such a laugh." - Common People / Pulp

I like the tourists. They speak good English and laugh at sarcasm, which is something I think only English speaking cultures understand. Can you disprove this?

"I wish that I was both young and stupid." - You Could Make a Killing / Aimee Mann

It's impossible to be friends with the natives. Here's why: Relative to us, they have nothing. Ultimately it always ends with them hitting you up for money. That wrecks everything. You can be friendly, but real friends, nah - not when we hold what looks to them as a massive pile of acorns in the middle of their winter. I wish this hadn't been proved to me over and over. Idealistic ignorance is bliss.

"There's a port on a western bay, and it serves a hundred ships a day. Lonely sailors pass the time away, talking about their homes." Brandy / Looking Glass

Cruisers. What a concept. Here's what I've learned: These are some of the best people I've ever met in my life. As good, and in some ways better, than bike shop owners. However, once you dig a little deeper, you find alcoholism, drug abuse, broken romances, violence, bankrupt companies, and hatred towards the countries they served. Every time I spot it in someone else I have to ask myself what others must find in me. I'm a cruiser. Am I the only normal one? Not likely. As Blintz would point out - I'm Peter Pan. I'm Captain-Run-Away. I have to ask myself, "why did my brother and I essentially choose the most isolated lives we could find?" And I'm a very gregarious man! It doesn't make sense, even to me. I constantly scratch my head on that one.

"Johnny, we worry. Won't you come on home." Johnny Come Home / Fine Young Cannibals

My friends on Blue Dolphin finally emailed me. They made it to the Galapagos. Just a slow boat with mechanical issues. It took them 31 days and they averaged 1.25 nautical miles per hour. That's extremely slow. Greg defected and he's not going to continue to the Marquesas. Now they are a slow boat with mechanical issues AND shorthanded. Fun.

It isn't all bad. After rereading this, things sound bleak, and they aren't. Bottom line: I got a new dinghy, I got the little outboard to run (Colin - completely removed the leaking valve. Bypassed it with a new fuel line), the rainy season is ending, I have friends and know how much the non-gouge price is. I can't be beat, cuz I won't quit. That's the bottom line. That, and don't forget, I have cold drinks and clean sheets.

"Thank you disillusionment. Thank you frailty. Thank you consequence. Thank you silence. Thank you clarity." Thank U / Alanis Morissette

Panama Part 2

I spent a few weeks at The Balboa Yacht Club. It was nice, in a “marina” sort of way that I usually make fun of. No need to have a dinghy, they provided 24 hour water taxi service. Sometimes I could even pull in a wireless connection for the internet while on the boat, mostly I had to take my laptop to the outdoor café, but it’s nice to be at an outdoor café too. They even had live music twice a week. Sweet Home Alabama and Hotel California just don’t sound right with a Spanish accent, and the Hispanics don’t dig my Morrissey collection. We all agree on Manu Chao however. I think he is the great unifying force in all Hispanic & Latin countries. Check out his music if you haven’t already.

I was on a mooring ball about ¼ mile south of the Bridge of the Americas. This is the bridge that would link North and South America if the US would allow Panama to complete the roads through the Darien to Columbia. Never gonna happen when Columbia’s largest export is cocaine. This is also the same bridge that will serve as my finish line when I complete my circumnavigation. I spent many hours staring at that bridge in all different times of day noticing how the lighting changed it’s form and trying to image what it will be like all those years from now. Transiting the canal will be a climatic finish to a slow race.

On the 23rd I motored Barraveigh unto a railway that was then cranked up the shore embankment and for 3 days she stood on her keel while Ricardo and I fiber glassed her rudder and painted the underside. I’m still scratching from all the glass fibers. She went back in the water yesterday and after bringing her to the dock for water I went to the anchorage at La Playita. It’s great to have her gently swaying at anchor again after being on the hard at a less then even angle. Plus I love peeing off the side and throwing banana peels out the hatches. Nobody appreciates that at the marina yard.

I spent today trying to get my 3 month extension. My first 3 months expired yesterday. I’m now an illegal alien. I’ll finish the process tomorrow. They refused to process me wearing flops, shorts and a tank top. I have to return with pants, shoes and a real shirt. I haven’t worn shoes since . . . when? California?

3 months in Panama. The weirdest part of that is that new arrivals now ask me all those questions that I used to quiz my fellow cruisers about. The last time that happened was when I was in the Dirty P. Remember those days?

Randoms:
Colin – I still haven’t burnt the handle on the espresso maker.
Eric – That roast was delicious. My pal Eric was just down here and the guy paid for everything. We had a blast. Farber for Panamanian Ambassador!
Davey Dave – Remember Alex, the “immune to emotion” single hander? He now professes to be in love with Cassy.
Blue Dolphin is a 36 foot Columbia that left for the Galapagos 3 weeks ago. No one has heard from them since. 3 on board and 2 of them were my drinking buddies. I’ll keep you posted.

I ended up turning down the delivery after closer inspection of the vessel and more time spent dealing with the owner. Not safe, and I didn’t want to work with him after all. I do think that I’ll fly home sometime in Nov though. See most of you then.

Been A Long Time

Sorry it took me so long to make an entry. I'm alive and well and actually have some news to report. I’ve been hired to deliver a 47 foot sailboat from here to Seattle. Wow – that’s 5000 miles, uphill, and in bad weather. It pays well, she’s a fast boat and as captain I’ll get the best berth. The plan is to dash from here back to El Salvador, then Acapulco, Cabo San Lucas, San Diego (I’ll anchor in Mariner’s Basin and all you locals will have to come party on the big boat. San Francisco, and leave her at her rich owners private mooring in his backyard in Seattle.

I’ll then fly back south and visit family and friends before flying back to Panama to move back onto Barraveigh. I haven’t told her about the other boat. She’s not going to like that.

I think I’ll be in SD around Halloween the first time, and then back again about 20 days later. I’m going to need some Beachcomber time with all my friends, a seared ahi tuna sandwich from The Liar’s Club, and no Spanish for the entire stay on that side of the border. Momma I’m coming home and we’re going to eat Reuben sandwiches for every meal.

Dave McGinn was just down here for a fun trip and Eric Farber will be here tomorrow.

Todo es tranquillo amigos

Boat Woes

Here's what happened:

I moved the boat over to the BYC (Balboa Yacht Club), got gas and water at their dock, and had small talk with the workers there. They then gave me a mooring assignment. I went down one line of boats to come around the backside of the one they had assigned, which was the only way to do it given the way the wind was blowing and as soon as I rounded the end of the line I got stuck in the mud. I couldn't power off on my own and the bozos that came to my "rescue" were the most hapless wastes of skin I've ever met. Effing idiots. The Keystone Cops. It would have been hilarious if it had been someone else.

It was a sickening feeling. All I could think was, "Today's the day I lose my boat. It's all about to end in a few hours and there is nothing I can do about it." My fear was that as she lay over on her side the rudder would break and the keel would leak from the pounding.

I closed up all the hatches, brought everything inside, and the only one who came to my assistance; Clyde, on a 100 foot mega yacht helped me all day. He took my primary anchor out forward so I wouldn't drift further onto the sandbar and we also set another anchor off the halyard from the top of the mast in hopes of dampening the rock and roll when a big freighter went by (I'm literally in the canal zone almost under the Bridge of the Americas). The hatches on the port side of the boat soon turned into aquariums. It was like a glass bottomed boat. 4 inches of water and then the sand and mud of the bottom is what I saw looking out of them. The heel of the boat was so severe, as she was soon drying on her side, that it made movement aboard almost impossible.

Nothing to be done now except eat and wait it out. Clyde took me aboard his palace boat and his Swedish wife made us hamburgers. After lunch they even came over and helped me clean the bottom. Well, one side of it anyway.

As the water began to rise she took a few bad rollers from the big ships that went by. I was concerned about the strain on the rigging but decided the anchor would pop before anything could really get tweaked. I gradually let the halyard out as the water came in and she slowly came to her feet. Weary like a drugged elephant trying to shake off the dart, she stumbled on her keel for another 20 minutes and then I was free.

Clyde once again came to my assistance in retrieving the anchors and picking up the mooring. It’s been 15 hours since I got loose and it doesn’t look like she is taking on water. I’m going to have her hauled and check the underside, but I think everything is fine. It was just a lot of work and struggle and stress but I guess I chose that life so I have to deal with the bad parts too.

All my fault but they are supposed to guide you to the mooring ball and pick it up for you, especially if you are a single hander. Today I’ll be speaking with the manager, and in the future I’ll ask more questions.

This One Hurts

First, let me tell you what happened yesterday. Yoshi is a cruiser from Japan. He was on land when we got hit with a squall that clocked 60 knots on the wind meter. That’s utterly ferocious and when it comes out of the east the waves build to 8 feet in no time. He was racing in his dinghy to get back to his yacht when he capsized. He’s fine. He was saved by Preben my 70 year old neighbor on “Anna Lisa”. Amazing that the old Danish salt went out to save him in those conditions. He ought to be given a medal. The Japanese boat ended up the rocks. It was sickening for me to watch. I am anchored furthest to the north and the fleet had me relay the info as I was the only one who could see what was happening. She dragged and then laid on her starboard beam and took pounding wave after pounding wave until a power boat motored out in that horrible weather to pull her off the causeway and into the protected waters of the marina. We were all exhausted by the time the drama was over. I closed the hatches and dropped in my bunk.

I awoke this morning to find that not only had they stolen my outboard (again) but this time my dinghy with it. When Preben heard my radio transmission to the fleet he found his was gone too. They cut thru the heaviest cable I could make and made off with it in the worst conditions knowing that I wouldn’t hear a thing.

Another cruiser loaned us his. Everyone else has been very supportive. We filled out police forms, but nothing will come of it.

I’ve made a decision. I anchored here to save money. This is going to be over a $2000 expense to replace what was stolen. As my friend Eric says, “Penny wise and a pound foolish.” It would have been cheaper to pay for 5 months on a mooring ball at the Balboa Yacht Club then to have my stuff ripped off. Hindsight is always 20/20, but now I know. I’m moving the boat over there. I’ve paid for one night at a dock and never a night on a mooring since I left 8.5 months ago, but the streak is about to end. It just isn’t worth saving the money.

On the bright side – I no longer have to worry about the leak, the temperamental Mercury, and how to protect it in a storm. It’s only money and I’m alive and can still smile.

How was your day?

Panama - "Just the Facts Juan"

It’s fitting to begin this tale with the history of the Panama Canal. It is, after all, the reason this country exists in the first place. The French started the canal in 1880, and in typical French fashion they surrendered to disease (note the paltry figure of 22,000 dead workers), the jungle, mud slides and the enormity of the project (they make good coffee presses though), and the US took over in 1904. 

Why 1904? Good question. Let’s look at the birth of a nation. Panama got their independence from Spain in 1821. That's a little deceiving because they weren't really a country until 1903. That’s the year they seceded from Colombia when Teddy Roosevelt propped them up with a human puppet because he wanted that canal to happen. That’s who his quote, “He might be a bastard, but he’s our bastard” refers to. 

 The canal took the US 10 years to complete, so in 1914 the first ship passed through. The locks raise the vessels 86 feet above sea level, and then lower them 86 feet back to sea level once on the other side.

* More bird species live in Panama then in all of North America *

They call their currency the "Balboa" but it's the US greenback dollar. Not a facsimile - the exact bill. They've been using it since 1904. They have, for some confusing reason, created their own coins though. They are exactly the same size, weight and value as ours but with a picture of Balboa on them. However, our coins are used too, so both are in circulation. It’s a little silly. 

Now, who is this Balboa guy and why is he on a coin? Vasco Nunez de Balboa – In 1501 he “discovered” the Pacific Ocean (I’m not even going to comment on that). I do think building statues to him and putting his image on coins is tantamount to the American Indians praising Columbus though. He sailed for Spain, and he slaughtered lots of locals. Pizarro, who came after Balboa and actually beheaded him, killed all the locals, I mean ALL the locals. Then he slapped himself on the forehead and sheepishly said, “That was stupid. Now I have to get slaves from Africa. Damnit!” Before we were the global bad guys, it was the Spanish and they stole tons of gold and silver from Peru and it all passed through here. 

Moving right along – we now have gold, silver, a thin isthmus and lots of mariners ready to take a chance. Yep, that means PIRATES (and no, that’s not the Japanese pronunciation of Pilates). 

Pirate History – 

In July of 1668 the English Pirate Henry Morgan (technically he was a Buccaneer but who’s counting) took all of Portobello which was the Spanish stronghold on the Caribbean side of the Isthmus. He held it ransom and threatened to burn it to the ground unless the Spanish in Panama paid up. They paid up. Then in 1671 he marched with his Pirate army across the jungle from the Caribbean side to the Pacific side (Is this geography lesson starting to make sense? You can always look at map) and defeated a Spanish army of 1600 soldiers. Then, through torture and every other means conceivable he extracted enough silver and gold to load 175 mules as well as capturing 600 prisoners. He marched it all back to the Caribbean side and sailed home to Jamaica & a hero’s welcome. As for Panama; he super sacked it. Biggy fries, and all the rest. Torched it to the ground. Gone. In fact - Panama Vieja is where the city used to be (Cool archeological site). 

When they rebuilt it, they did so miles to the west where I’m anchored today. Side bar – Actually, in 1573, after a couple huge failures, Sir Francis Drake (he wasn’t a “sir” yet) hit Nombre De Dios, which was near Portobello, and took a booty of over 15 tons of silver and gold. 

* Like the US, they have a president but unlike the US they have 2 vice presidents * - (Heart attack insurance) 

Casco Viejo is one of the most interesting neighborhoods here (where they rebuilt Panama City a couple years after Morgan paid his visit). It thrusts it’s bull neck out into the Pacific with the ancient Presidio walls. It’s dangerous and half deserted, but the reward for walking it’s streets are glimpses into the far and recent past. It’s some of the oldest that the new world has to offer (You should see this before it’s all turns into condos and coffee shops). 

* Nearly a 3rd of the country is protected habitat *

Let’s talk about Noriega – that pockmarked faced narco non rocker. The US came in here (Misnomer cuz we were already here. It was 1989. We controlled the Canal remember, but they love to call it an invasion, so who am I to spoil their history) under the catchy slogan “Operation Just Cause”, with guns blazing and smart bombs exploding. 

We cornered him in the Vatican embassy and then played Van Halen and Metallica for 40 days and 40 nights and it broke his will to traffic cocaine and commit murder. In fact, he surrendered after 10 days and is likely to be paroled next year. 

*Panama is the 2nd largest banking center in the world * 

 Party like it’s 1999! – In that year the US handed the Canal over to the Panamanians. Carter signed off on it back in ’77. With the US exit went lots of dollars and jobs and the economy is still reeling from it. “Yankee go home” is fun to say, but costly. 

* Hookers cost $10 * 

 List of famous Panamanians: Roberto Duran (manos de piedra) - the boxer who ate a steak after weighing in, and lost the championship to a tummy ache is Panamanian. So is Reuben Blades. He’s the minister of tourism, an actor and a Grammy award winning musician. 

I’m a guy at anchor who has his evenings free, and I live in Panama. 

Did you learn anything?

Capt Bobby

A Story For Terry Allen

I originally wrote this for my friend Terry but after I typed it I thought the rest of you might enjoy it.

Terry -

You're on a quest for the weird ones. This one might suffice. It has Germans and I know how we are both a little fixated on the Teutonics.

About 10 days ago I was in Benoa which is the great surf spot where I thought the sharks were going to eat me. On our second day there a big catamaran pulled in and anchored next to us. I met the lady as I walked down the beach. Her name is Star and she looks like an aging sorority sweetheart. Nice enough. Her husband Bruce I met moments later in the lineup. He's 46 and really ruggedly good looking. Total hunky dude. Great surfer from Santa Cruz. It’s impossible to speak in his presence as he interrupts constantly. He'll ask a question and then as you begin to speak he'll answer it. So, a little annoying but very likeable.

He tells me they are leaving for Ecuador the next day and that they have 2 German 20 somethings on board who are hippy street musicians. The Germans are hitchhiking to Ecuador and he needs the extra hands. Once on land I meet his blind long hair dachsund. His name is Mr. Rocky Balboa and Bruce talks to him all the time, and kisses him even more. It's the most ridiculous thing you've ever watched. "Oh Mr. Rocky Balboa, you want some of that hot surfer chick huh? Yes you do! Your not THAT blind." Then his wife gives him a dirty look and he says, "What? It's not me. It's Mr. Rocky Balboa. He wants that girl. Not me!"

And you think I'm immature.

We had the Germans over to Barraveigh for a bottle of wine and they groused about how insane Bruce is. "Ya, und he talks to zat hund all zee time. He can't be wiz a human. He operates on a dog level. He is not man. I tell you. He is not."

We left to come to Balboa and they left to go to Ecuador. Most boats check into a cruisers net on the SSB at 9am. They give the weather report and boats in distress can get advice and help. Sure enough, Bruce comes on. He sounds composed but you could hear the stress and the howling wind. He'd been fighting a bitch of a storm for 24 hours and everyone was exhausted, cold, hungry and sick. One of the cruisers is a meteorologist and he advised Bruce to head out to 82 and half degrees which was another 200 miles west, not really the direction he wanted to go.

The next day he comes back on the radio and sounds wiped out. He told me later that he called the Coast Guard back in LA on his sat phone and they had a ship within 100 miles ready to pull them off when he asked them to stand down. Star told me she was praying for her life with every breath. He tells the weather man he can't make any progress and is thinking about heading to Columbia. Everyone listening advises against it. One veteran cruiser advises him to turn around and come back to Panama. Colin and I realize we were probably the last to see them, so, who better to improvise a play than us. I take the role of the Germans and Colin performs Bruce.

Colin: "It looks terrible ahead. I can't decide. I don't know how much pounding we can take. The mainsail is . . . Oh Mr. Rocky Balboa, look at you. You're majestic. You little heartbreaker! I love you!"

Me: "Bruce, vat are you doing? You must stop licking zee dog's face and concentrate on zee matters at hand. Vee are in a crisis here."

Colin: "Ok. Ok. Here's what we're going to do. I've thought this through. We're going to go into Columbia for kibbles. Oh Mr. Rocky Balboa, you’re my little buddy. Yes you are! The Coast Guard has a child's harness that will fit you."

Me: "Bruce! I varn you - zis must stop! You are insane wiz zee dog love. Mr. Balboa is not human. He can't even see. Star vat can be done?"

You get the idea. This entertained us for 20 minutes and we broke into it at random throughout the day.

They fought that storm for 5 days and finally made it back here. The Germans flew out the same day.

Am I still the same insensitive bastard I've always been, or am I maybe just learning to see humor in the midst of danger?