Saturday, October 28, 2017

Pacific Puddle Jump: Yes or No?

Prospective cruisers mulling crossing the Pacific  -- Is the Pacific Puddle Jump -- also known as the PPJ -- worth joining?

Every year about 200 boats loosely join up together to cross the Pacific Ocean as part of the "Pacific Puddle Jump," from the Americas to "Oceania" organized by the sailing magazine folks from Latitude 38. Most cruisers converge in French Polynesia, to celebrate their journey.  The video touches on celebrations in Tahiti and Moorea (with a little liberty taken by including 2 cruiser events in Tonga, though also attended by PPJers).

In our experience... there's no good reason not to join if you're committed to go.  Besides; it's free.

Here's what we got out of it
  1. A sense of community -- PPJers get a list of who all is crossing that vast stretch of ocean (the closest stopping point to the Galapagos is a minimum of 3,000+ miles!) more or less at the same time as you are.
  2. Lots of great information tips
  3. Streamlined country check-in to French Polynesia including the waiving of the normal bond (additional entry fee) via a paid third party
  4. Cruising info session and celebration in Tahiti, French Polynesia regarding French Polynesia and Tonga.  By chance there was also an enhanced sense of place from the local Marquesan leaders, who just happened to have been in town then.
  5. Celebration in Moorea,  French Polynesia, our grand introduction to French Polynesian culture -- food, dance, traditional competitions and even comical lessons on how to wrap a pareu (pronounced pa-ray-oh). 
  6. Improved safety - when Nirvana Now was sinking, boats quickly queued up to successfully rescue them.  Randy and Dawn, formerly of Nirvana Now, have since resumed cruising, on another boat.
Additionally, here's a couple PPJ bonuses we did not take advantage of, even though they are worthwhile
  1. Get-togethers (info seminars, parties and swag) in Mexico and Panama 
  2. Regular communication before, during and after the crossing via SSB (aka ham radio) network (only because, regrettably, we did not have a working SSB)
Admittedly, we do wish we spent more time in the Tuamotus, which we cut short in order to make the planned events in Tahiti and Moorea.

We are still in touch with many fellow PPJers.  Some are still cruising.  Others, like us, are currently not cruising, though most of as are dreaming or planning of when and how we can, still lured by the ocean's sweet song.

Location Location
This post is a retrospective primarily from June 18, 2015, when we arrived in Tahiti (S17.32.380 W149.34.210) at the newly re-opened town marina, and Moorea, June 20, 2015 (S17.30.229 W149.49.217).

Currently, we are living aboard another boat in Portland, Oregon (N45.47.449 W122.47.189), a sweet, homey live-aboard Puget Trawler aptly named Serendipity in gratitude for the incredible generosity of the friends who entrusted her to us.

Up Next
Work and family matters called, slowing posts.  There are still stories to be told of our long sail, relatively current watery and other explorations here in the States and eventually, new adventures, when and where are still TBD.  

Friday, October 6, 2017

Rescue: Damsel in Distress

Agathe, who traveled with us via overnight passage from Lamen Bay, Epi, Vanuatu to Port Vila, Efate, Vanuatu felt a bit embarrassed about how much of her stuff she brought aboard with her.  Considering it was intended to carry her through to Indonesia,
it didn't seem out of line to me.
Vanuatu (retrospective).  Not long after I introduced myself via kayak to other cruisers in our Lamen Bay anchorage on Epi, curiously, one of them hopped on her kayak and swiftly paddled to catch up with me.  Her name was Agathe; a 20s-something French gal crewing aboard a neighboring boat from New Caledonia with a hunky-looking French captain.  Agathe's English was far better than her captain's (and my) French, so she did most of the talking when I dropped by their boat.

"Are you looking for crew?" she asked.  From our earlier conversation Agathe knew we were headed back to Port Vila Vanuatu.

"No," I replied, explaining Journey was a small boat, we were the crew.  She shared that she was looking at taking the island's supply boat to Port Vila Vanuatu but it wasn't leaving until the morning... if she could get on.  Then it dawned on me -- she really wanted to get off "her" boat, ASAP!    I asked if that was the case and she agreed, emphatically.  Sensing her urgency, and relatively confident in my husband's penchant for chivalry, I promised to check in with my captain right away about giving her a ride to Port Vila Vanuatu, noting I was pretty sure Wayne would be okay with it.  While we didn't doubt her competence, we'd happily bring her her aboard as a guest rather than crew, as long as she was ok with our tight quarters.

True to form, Wayne agreed we'd rescue Agathe, including Wayne's picking her up at "her" boat and ferrying her over with all her possessions. 

"Can you be ready within the hour?" we asked. That's when we planned to leave on our overnight passage to Port Vila, carefully timed to travel through reefy areas in good daylight, sailing through the safer open ocean through the darkness.  Agathe agreed she would be; though it meant quickly gathering everything she brought aboard for her intended multi-month passage to and through Indonesia.   Her "stuff" it turns out, was considerable, yet all together by the time we needed to set sail.
Nothing like a hasty transfer of one's worldly possessions to make them look even bulkier than they are.  It was refreshing
to have someone's stuff besides mine taking up space (as Wayne is far more minimalist than me).
I once desperately bailed early as a sailing crew member myself, and was reasonably sure that was one more reason Wayne would want to help out Agathe, too.  In my case, the captain I crewed went into a depression as deep as the stock market crash that afflicted him during my cruise with him.  My escape  from the wilds of British Columbia took the form of a very long bus ride, followed by a ferry, then a hitched ride  to Bellingham, where Wayne took off work early from Everett to drive the hundred or so miles to get me.  I still remember how relieved I was to leave, and for Wayne's help in making it happen.

As when I "escaped" my crew captain, Agathe's relief at her escape was palpable.  She slept most of the passage, despite our getting slammed repeatedly in 25 knot winds.  

When she was awake, she filled us in on why she'd wanted off that boat.  She and the captain had been friends, and she agreed to crew only under the condition she was crew, not "friends with fringe benefits." As their trip progressed, and the captain came to understand she hadn't changed her mind about the nature of their relationship, he became overly controlling; repeatedly trying to convince her everything she did aboard was wrong.    His behavior shut her down to the degree she retreated to her cabin, only coming out when absolutely necessary (or - in the case of Lamen Bay - to find a way off the boat).  

On a brighter note, Agathe entertained us with her adventures in New Caledonia, where she'd lived most recently, as well as her time traveling and working with competition show horses in Australia.  Her sunny disposition blossomed by the minute.
Agathe on Galley Wench Tales' kayak in Vanuatu, headed off to see which if her friends would her her a temporary spot for herself and her stuff.
Fortunately Agathe's cruising friend in Port Vila had a good sized skiff ferry here and her stuff.
Shortly after anchoring in Port Vila Vanuatu, Agathe took off on my kayak to check with her legions of friends there.  Within two hours of her arrival, one of Agathe's friends returned with her to transport her stuff while she decided what to do next.  She had multiple offers among her cruising friends there to take her in, bring her back to New Caledonia or join others on passage to Indonesia.... 

Eventually we met Agathe again when she returned to New Caledonia, where she remains today, about a year later.

There's no doubt in our minds that Agathe has what it takes to beat the odds on any challenges she encounters.  

We are grateful Agathe gave us a chance to pay forward a little of the incredible boat karma we've received from so many other cruisers, current and past, as well as many locals and expats.

I hope you too you get the chance to rescue or at least assist another cruiser in some way shape or form, supporting the caring and vibrant community of those of us who cross oceans great and small.  It is the foreshortening of distance between our hearts rather than the nautical miles we cross that make up the moments we will treasure the longest and most dearly.

Ironically, the whole reason I introduced myself via kayak to our fellow cruisers in Lamen Bay was because I felt incredibly dissed when the three other boats in our prior anchorage socialized away for days without inviting us.  I vowed to not do the same to other nearby cruisers in our future anchorages.  You just never know what happens when you choose to put yourself out there, with a smile and an offer of friendship and assistance.
What next for us?  Who knows?  While this tile stayed aboard s/v Journey when we bought and sold her,
we know our journeys are far from done.
Location Location
This post is a retrospective of our September 5-6 2016 stop in Lamen Bay, Epi, Vanuatu (S14.44.750 E168.18.729),  aboard  s/v Journey, our now former Pearson 365 sailboat.  This is one of many stories left still to tell of our cruising halfway around the world, which ended in February 2017, and was followed by months of navigating Australia by Land Cruiser.  

Now back in the US, we are currently living aboard another boat in Portland, Oregon, aboard a lovely Puget Trawler, Serendipity (N45.47.449 W122.47.189). 
Our current live-aboard life is not without its challenges.  This sign's been up for the "better" part of the last few weeks in our marina.
Here we still are experiencing culture shock greater than we did in the 30 countries we traveled through cruising (part of the reason posts slowed, along with working full time and the effort that it takes to re-establish when you come back without even a knife, fork or spoon).  Perhaps what makes the US and Portland so strange is we expected life abroad to be different than "home."  However we have changed greatly in the 7 years since we left Portland, and we are not alone in observing Portland has changed even more than we have.  

Up Next
For now, my intent is to continue to fill in some gaps of our grand cruising travels in this blog, interspersed with a bit of what's happening now and answers to questions we're most often asked.  We enjoyed getting out on Serendipity this summer in the Pacific Northwest (more posts in store on that).  We anticipate more cruising and travel in our future, but exactly when, how and where are TBD.  In another week I'll be flying out to Florida to help my Dad and his wife transition into a memory care facility; a reminder of the importance of finding ways to be there for family and the preciousness of life.

Thursday, September 7, 2017


Columbia River water, September 5th, 2017, morning after the Eagle Creek fire began.  Jantzen Bay, Portland, Oregon.
A tangerine moon shone eerily through the hazy night sky.  Riding my bicycle home from West Marine Monday eve I was puzzled by debris hitting my eyes.  Yes, I'd heard about the Eagle Creek fire which started earlier that day, was still raging, but it was over 30 miles away.

Water surface, morning after Eagle Creek fire, in an adjacent slip to ours in Jantzen Bay Marina.
Ash on one of the other docks on Hayden Island from the Eagle Creek Fire.
Then again, when Mt. St. Helens blew its volcanic top in 1980, I recall hearing one of my colleagues -- who was in Astoria, over 100 miles away from the explosion --  comment, incredulously, "The ash-filled Columbia River flowed as sluggishly as the Ganges."

Mt. St. Helens forest area; 1980s explosion compared to the same spot in 2013.  Image pilfered from this CBS news story.
While Mt. St. Helen's, the United States most devastating volcanic explosion, will never be the same, visible recovery began before a year was out.  Still in recovery, today the Mt. St. Helens area is teaming with life.  It is different life, yet it is also thriving with biodiversity.

The Columbia Gorge Natural Scenic area is an incredible treasure that drew me to relocate from California to the great Pacific Northwest.  Like so many other Gorge visitors, past and present, this amazing wonder of mighty rivers, bubbling streams, soaring peaks and verdant valleys, stately forests, vigorous ferns and winsome wildflowers holds a place near and dear to my heart. 

Ash highlight the spiderwebs.  The spiders, continuing in their spidery ways, appeared undaunted by the event.
While I grieve the fire and its devastation, it cannot erase my memories.

Reports this morning say the fire is at last beginning to be contained, though over 30,000 acres thus far are affected.

It is bad.   Surely, much of the wildlife was unable to outrun the fire.  Not only are many ancient trees forever gone, we do not yet know how much of the Gorge's scenic beauty is lost.   

There are also many far-reaching effects, including for the first time in its 30 year history, Cycle Oregon was canceled.  What a contrast so shortly after the tourist high brought on by the "Path of Totality" solar eclipse.

Ashes dust the blossoms of the Jim Canton Rose Garden at our marina.
Yet Lt. Damon Simmons, a spokesman for the Oregon State Fire Marshal, explained "The gorge still looks like the gorge.  It's not a wasteland. It's not a blackened, destroyed no-man's land. There are trees everywhere and they look good. That's not to say there isn't damage to some of those trees," he said. "But it's still a beautiful drive through there and it still looks good."

Ash on a boat in our marina.  Due to our covered slip, we were spared some of the Eagle Creek Fire ash.
Is there still a snow of ash falling?  There was yesterday....

One of my marina neighbors in his dust mask.  My throat burned
from the fire.  Others complained of headaches and stomach aches.
Admittedly, I write this from a mountain retreat in Estacada, to get a brief respite from the ash and some of the smoke.  

Later today, I will return home.  When the ash stops falling, I will do a proper clean-up.

Before long, I will return to the Gorge, to those areas that allow it.  The Gorge will need our loving support more than ever.  More than ever, I regret not making it further up to my beloved Gorge sooner, since returning to the area.  Several times we'd planned it, turning around just before Multnomah Falls.

A diligent neighbor washing ash off his trawler.   I will follow his suit when the ash stops falling.
Consider this a reminder that change is the only constant we can count on.  Do not put off seeing the natural wonders at your doorstep, and beyond.  Capture those images and experiences in your hearts and with your cameras and your words.  You never know what it will look like tomorrow.

At the same time, I am hoping some good will come of this disaster.  That controlled burns become more actively used to prevent fires like the Eagle Creek fire from reaching the proportions it has.  That together we can join the efforts assisting with recovery (note:  an update will be posted linking to donation-accepting organizations most effective and efficient in that regard).

More than anything, I hope that new life will blossom, that otherwise would not have.

Even this iPhone image reveals how terrible Portland's air quality's become as a result if the Eagle Creek fire.  Jantzen Bay Marina.

Location Location
We are currently docked in Portland, Oregon (N45.47.449 W122.47.189), living aboard a new-to-us Puget Trawler we call Serendipity.

Up Next
While there are still many GalleyWenchTales to tell of our journeys, we're still settling into our new home.  New adventures await, too. Meanwhile, sometimes the here-and-now is dramatic enough -- like the Eagle Creek Fire and Total Solar Eclipse -- those stories take precedence over our sailing sagas.

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Lunar Shadow: Into the Path of Totality

From among the best total solar eclipse images.  This solar eclipse series pilfered from photographer Jeffrey Johnson on Instagram.
"Path of Totality"?!? Would seeing the total August 21, 2017 solar eclipse "in the right spot"* live up to the drama of its name?

*Only those in a specific 70-mile swath would see 100% of the sun occluded by the moon -- the darkness of a full solar eclipse.

First, let's take a brief step back in time....

Try to imagine an era back before mankind understood what caused this strange, natural but relatively infrequent phenomenon. How truly frightening watching the sun get blotted out must've felt!  Were the Gods angry? How could humans save themselves from the darkness?  In light of modern astronomy, these fearful notions strike most of us as quaintly amusing.

Farmer's Almanac gives a great round-up of solar superstitions from the days of yore.
For us today, solar eclipses are a predictable event, viewed with great anticipation and excitement, treasured for their rarity.  Carly Simon some years back musically elevated eclipse-chasing into her cynical "You're So Vain" lyrics

..."you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun
Well, you're where you should be all the time..."

Here in Portland Oregon --  just a stone's throw from "The Path of Totality"(full solar eclipse) -- I didn't have to head very far to see the total eclipse.   But by the time the 30th or so West Marine customer asked if we had any eclipse glasses (we didn't -- and the question came up easily 100 times) I was totally over the eclipse well before its arrival.  Little else filled NPR's airwaves for a whole week prior (admittedly a refreshing break the controversial and tragically violent Charlottesville protests over the removal of General Lee's statue).  

"Oregon is planning on and influx of one million visitors to the state to watch the eclipse -- get to your viewpoint early!" warned the news media for those concerned about not wanting to get mired in traffic and finding their special place.  One million visitors -- the planning estimate from Oregon's Office of Emergency Management -- would equate to a 25% bump in the state's total population.  A place where everyday traffic is already terrible.

One of the many solar eclipse souvenirs available.
Add to that the off-putting dynamics of opportunism (besides the much-sought-after eclipse glasses -- which came "free" with a $50 bottle of Mont Gay Eclipse rum from the local liquor store).

Madras, Oregon, capitalizing on its ideal location for the total solar eclipse.
The high desert of Madras, in central Oregon, one of the state's more typically sunny spots and one of the places deemed to be an ideal eclipse-watching spot, reports were that a 4-day campsite would set you back $1000.  Mashable's eclipse post reported that for a site that normally books for $20, campers were paying $300/person, if they shared it with 6 people.  Hotel rooms and even AirBnB of course cost even more still, with $1,000/night rooms in the zone not unheard of.

And yet...

The eve before the eclipse, Gunnel, my mother-in-law, her eyes alight, fondly reminisced "There was something really special about when I saw the total eclipse as a child.  I'll never forget it."  Wayne and I were at her place for dinner, joining her daughter, who chose the eclipse as a good excuse to visit from Southern California.  

Gunnel wanted the full eclipse experience.  No 90-something percent for her.  Besides, she theorized, if most folks already arrived at their spot, we were within only one to two hours drive if "totality" from Portland.

Given I had the next day off from work, and Gunnel, the former travel agent, consummate planner and possessor of a spare pair of eclipse glasses (hers came from Fred Meyers for $1.99), I asked if I could join them.  They welcomed me, and we set the time for a 6 am departure; four hours and twenty minutes from the two-minute wonder's occurrence.

On the blissfully sunny morning of August 21st, 2017, we headed South to Silverton, Oregon.  Thankfully, the traffic was slightly lighter than normal commute traffic.  

All the "get there early" solar-eclipse traffic warnings ultimately led to a relatively light commute -- to the eclipse zone.
We arrived in two hours.  Silverton, aware of its celestial appeal, was rife with totality t-shirts, totali-tea and other commemorative brick-a-brack.  The towns coffespots hummed with happy humans, and the line outside the town's sole open breakfast joint, Gather, bespoke its name with a line trailing outside its entrance.

"Did you come from very far to see the eclipse?" asked a silver-haired gent also awaiting his cuppa.  "Just a little bit, from Portland," I replied.  "You?"  He smiled.  "From London.  We'd planned to come to America... sometime.  Seemed like a good time to do it."  

Solar eclipse watchers settle into the park in Silverton, Oregon.
We wandered about town, past the park where better prepared celebrants brought chairs, blankets and sleeping bags.  Eventually we chose a clear-view spot against some storefronts, with a small table and two vacant chairs, and a narrow brick window-front ledge that offered a partial seat for the rest of us. And waited. 

Gunnel, Phil and Inger gaze at the total solar eclipse in Silverton, Oregon, properly protected in their solar glasses.
As the light waned, even before the moment of totality, we felt the temperature drop.  Inger, Gunnel's daughter and I both noticed the chill, wondering aloud if it was our imagination.  Was it simply the lack of sun reflecting on the window behind us? Or something more … ethereal?  News reports later said the temperature dropped about 12 degrees F.

Then, though it was a little after 10 am on a bright, clear morning, the dimness-triggered store spotlights above us lit, followed by the streetlights.

“Two minutes” came a countdown shout from across the street.

A dusky dim, not-quite-dark, descended.

Traffic stopped. Breaths were held.  There was silence. 

In unison, eclipse glasses properly in place, we gazed skyward, at the spectacle unfolding before our eyes.  The last glowing orb of the sun disappeared, only slightly flaring behind the roundness of the moon.  It was not dark enough for stars to be visible, but there was a chilling sense of other worldliness, a reminder of our tenuous existence, our reliance upon the sun, that fiery life-sustaining force nearly 150 million miles away.

The full eclipse lasted less than two minutes.

In the semi-darkness, the silence was broken as cheers erupted all around even before the sun re-appeared as nature's dimmer switch began its reversal.

Crooked Finger, our intentional long-cut when we attempted to outsmart the crowds exiting the Silverton area after the solar eclipse.
While the PacMan like occlusion of the sun would continue for another hour, we foolishly decided to beat feet before everyone else blew town.  Unfortunately, that philosophy was shared by far too many others!  No matter what back roads path we chose every thoroughfare we hit landed us back in stop-and-go traffic.  An unintentional long-cut through Crooked Finger didn't help, though it did yield some lovely views.  Even if we wanted to use a smart phone traffic app to navigate, despite cell phone providers stepping up capacity coverage, all our phones were jammed.

Finally, at 4:20 pm we were home.

An 8 hour drive; 10 hours set aside for 2 minutes dusk-like darkness.  Was it worth it?


It was worth it not only for two-minute astronomical wonder, but for the shared experience, for those that were with us watching, in Silverton, and across the continent.  For those whose plans prevented them from seeing the eclipse there was the need to share this all-too-brief bit of history, what it felt like, what it was, what it wasn't.

On a metaphorical level, for me, it was a lesson in perspective.  

For the many of us struggling to find our way in the world, we often see ourselves as isolated and alone.  Yet we are not.  We are amidst a sea of humanity.  If or how we choose to engage is up to us. 

In the midst of darkness, it is not the sun that's gone away, but our focus on the darkness in front of us at the moment.  The darkness does not last forever.  Instead, how we view our lives is as much a matter of perspective, whether we choose to focus on ourselves, or upon "the light at the end if the tunnel" and the greater universe around us.

This moonwalk across the sun was the last I will see in Oregon in my lifetime, as the next is over a century out.  There are of course other eclipses coming up sooner elsewhere in the world.  I will not chase them, though who knows if they will happen to occur near where I am anyway.  Life is full of surprises.

For those of you hoping this post would be full of killer total solar eclipse images, check out this. Or this.  Or this.  I chose to leave the photography to others, and focus more on simply being there, and absorbing the moment rather than capturing it on film.  For those whose photo timing, equipment and skills filled the gap for the rest of us, thank you.

Location Location
We observed the eclipse in Silverton, Oregon (N45.0.24 W122.46.57), though our journey there and back was out of Portland, Oregon (N45.47.449 W122.47.189), where  the new-to-us Puget Trawler Serendipity docked there is home.

Up Next
While there are still many GalleyWenchTales to tell of our journeys, we're still settling into our new home.  Meanwhile, this post is a good reminder that adventures happen everywhere for those of us open to embracing them.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Considering Cruising? 3 Awesome Resources

Wayne and Dana aboard s/v Journey, our
Pearson 365 sailboat in the US Virgin Islands
on our first year of cruising.  Photo taken by our
fellow cruising friend Michael of s/v Goldilocks.
If wondering what wandering the world via sailboat -- aka "cruising" is what brought you to this site, let me introduce you to resource we used when deciding whether or not to cruise, and how to prepare.

Cruiser Livia's Interview with a Cruiser came out in 2010, just in time to help us before we took off on our cruise.  After a 5-year hiatus, the site now is going gangbusters with Livia's latest interviews.
Livia, of Team Giddyup, put together a brilliant website called "Interview with a Cruiser."  In each interview, she asks 10 questions and publishes the answers.  Thus Interview with a Cruiser is a great compendium of cruiser interviews -- here's our recent interview based on our 5 year, halfway-around-the-world journey aboard s/v Journey.

I was surprised at how accurately Beth Leonard
nailed the concerns I had about cruising. 
Wayne and I are relatively low-budget cruisers,  as more well-funded cruising endeavors and many in-between.  Beth Leonard's "The Voyager's Handbook:  The Essential Guide to Blue Water Cruising" definitive guide addresses the concerns that arise, what influences how much cruising costs as well as a plethora of valuable overview and planning information.  We recommend it as a must-read for anyone considering cruising.  

Latest edition "World Cruising Routes."  We used
the 6th edition, the newest at the time we left
to go cruising.

From a route-planning perspective, Jimmy Cornell's classic "World Cruising Routes," now in its 7th edition offers vital and well-researched wisdom on how best to get from point A to point B, following the path of least resistance - i.e., intelligently.  Billed as a piracy-tracking source for cruisers, Cornell also started Noonsite, our go-to resource on the latest info regarding check-in and check-out for every country that's cruise-able (and even why some are aren't).

By the way, there is no financial or other "payback" for me in recommending these resources.  It's simply  a "pay it forward" in gratitude for all the good advice, encouragement and help we got along the way to cruise.

Location Location
We're now in Portland, Oregon, in a Puget Trawler docked in a covered slip at Jantzen Bay Marina (N45.47.449 W122.47.189).  For now, our cruises will be what we can fit in together on our limited time off.  In the future, our goal is to explore smaller areas more deeply, rather than passing through quickly, limited by crossing great distances using the prevailing tradewinds and a very tight budget.  For now, though, wild oats sown, it's back to work for us.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

Ignore This at Your (Minor) Peril

View across the Columbia from Sauvies.... the infamously volcanic Mt. St. Helens still somewhat snow-peaked.
Ahhh, the glamours of boating.  Such a romantic life -- and it is -- often.  But also not always.

Take the other night, for example.

After a blissfully uneventful ride out to our favorite beach on the Columbia River, a relaxing day in soaking up the summer sunshine, we were hungry for supper.  We mellowed to the sweet guitar strains of Steve Morse while I began cooking us up some chili.  To enhance the breeze, I pulled out the window screen in the galley to let the air flow unfiltered and pointed the fan to blow the steam out.

  • Ingredients, pan, and other necessary accoutrements pulled.
  • Chopping, browning, draining done.
  • Final ingredients added, and set to simmer.

The salivating scent of chili spices prompted me to remind myself we could wait the 25 or so minutes for the concoction to cook.

And then...

Busy washing up everything but the simmering chili pan, my hands were occupied as I gazed placidly at the nearby shore.

Suddenly, a particularly violent set of wakes (which occur when the force a ship's movement through the water creates displacement which can create ripples in the forms of waves) from a tugboat's passage on the other side of the river rocked our world.

Wayne watched the sequence unfold in the kind of hypnotic slo-mo action that arrests rather than prompts action.  He retold his observation on the chain of events....

  1. The screen, left loose behind the stove cover, ever so gently tipped toward the hooked stove lid
  2. The hook on the stove cover, popped up, unhooking the stove cover
  3. The stove cover responded to the gravitational pull with a rapid downward decent
  4. That decent ejected the simmering chili off the stove, through the air, slamming onto the the galley floor
  5. The force of the landing knocked the lid off the saucepan
  6. The contents of the saucepan exploded onto the floor
  7. A royal, scalding mess ensued
Depriving us of our delicious dinner.

Destroying the cleanliness of my recently vacuumed floor.

At least we didn't get scalded.  
Squeegee and a dustpan shortened the work of cleaning up my colossal mess.
Once I got past my shock and profound disappointment over the decimation of our supper, I determined the most efficient clean-up tools were a squeegee, a plastic dustpan and Wayne pointed out as there was far more than one dustpan full of goo, the saucepan made a more ample receptacle.

Wayne then took a hammer to the tenuous stovetop cover's hook, securely embedding it into the wood.  "If you ever want to use this, you'll need a screwdriver to loosen it," he informed me.
Natch. Latch hammered in. Preventative maintenance for future chain reactions complete.
We supped on tortilla chips and hummus dip.  Easy.  We devoured them in a mix of hunger and disappointment, perhaps even finishing before the chili would've finished cooking.

Despite getting waked again, I made the chili the next night for ourselves and friends without incident, and it was good.  While prepping it, I carefully tracked all wake-able items, stashing them into fiddled areas, sinks and other safe areas whenever possible.

Our former sailboat stove was gimbaled (used a rotating device which kept the stovetop level even when the boat was not) and had a fiddle (bar across the open area, also to prevent objects from sliding into the open air when disturbed).  I also deployed all sorts of tricks to keep things from flying... silicon potholders, storage tubs, baskets, etc.  In our near 20,000 miles of cruising, airborne incidents of the gastronomic variety were very rare.

"You look so graceful, even when the boat's moving," commented our chili-eating friend Ellen.  "You can tell you've spent some time on a boat."  

But not enough time on this boat, yet!  Truth be told, several times I'd narrowly averted similar spillage disasters on this boat on our passage down.  A little preventative maintenance and that mess could've been avoided.

If you're new to boating, or newly entering less-than-always placid waters, take a good look at what could go wrong, and take steps to avoid it.

After all, isn't it so much nicer to learn from someone else's mistakes?

Serendipity making her maiden voyage into our very protected slip at Jantzen Bay, Portland Oregon.  No wakes there.
Location Location
This post was inspired, written and posted off of Sauvie's Island (N45.47.449 W122.47.189).  When we're "home" in our still new-to-us Puget Trawler, in our slip at Jantzen Bay on Hayden Island, we're in a very protected spot.  About the only boat motion we get is stepping on and off the boat.  However, there's still much to be done to set out boat up so things don't go bump in the day or night.  Meanwhile, when we're out and about, vigilance will be our modus.  Some mulling, measuring and shopping is in order.