Slutdestination: Bangor

Nu är båten på land och vi är nöjda och glada!

Planerna har som ni hör ändrats. Vi skulle från Nordirland segla upp till Skottland, över till Norge och vidare hem till Sverige. Stormarna kommer tätare, det börjar bli kallt och ruggigt och vi kände att det var dags att komma över Nordsjön innan det blir alltför stormigt därute. Dessutom börjar både pengarna och energin sina och vi kände att det var bättre att spara seglingen till nästa år när vi har mer tid/energi och förhoppningsvis lite mer i plånboken!

Vi har hittat en jättemysig liten stad i Nordirland som heter Bangor som ligger strax utanför Belfast. Båten står sedan lördags morse uppställd hos BJ Marine och kommer att spendera vintern här. Vi hade en fantastisk segling upp från Ardglass i fredags och redan i lördags morse hade de tid att ta upp oss. 

Snart kommer vi tillbaka till Sverige och vi är båda otroligt glada och nöjda med resan och tackar så mycket för all support vi fått från er hemma! 

Vi ses snart!

Bilder från Irland!

Utsikt över Glandores hamn, otroligt fint!

 Mmmmm.... Björnbär!

 Utsikt när vi var på promenad, Glandore

Arcturus!

 Fortet vi besökte i Kinsale 

Promenad tillbaka från fortet i Kinsale

Segling mellan Kinsale och Arklow

 Ardglass, stax norr om Dublin! Otroligt fin strandpromenad! 

Det blåste lite.... jag och Andy lyckades inte ro tillbaka till båten utan fick lift av en gummijolle med utombordare och jollen på släp!

Leaving Ardglass

Today should be the final days’ sailing of our voyage. Mia and I have decided to pack it in and leave the boat in Northern Ireland for the winter, returning when our bank accounts are fuller and we have more energy. The weather is continually getting worse, the nights are colder and the prospect of a North Sea passage in late September is daunting. We’ve gone far enough, and no matter how we rationalize it, were just done. The deciding factor yesterday was simply that we’ll enjoy the last of this cruise when we’re fresh. This sounds a bit negative as I re-read it, but it’s not meant to be. This is the perfect end to the trip. And the fact that it’s not really an end, gives us something to look forward to. Mia and I are satisfied, more so than we’ve been in sometime, and it feels good to be leaving the boat here.

Ardglass has treated us kindly. An old man called Fred and his dog Ben were the first to greet us upon entering the marina. I stupidly went on the wrong side of a red marker coming into the very narrow channel, and nearly ran up on the rocky breakwater before noticing Fred waving me off. I think it will always be confusing having the red’s on the ‘wrong’ side over here.

We arrived on the evening of the 7^th. I marched up to the dock office once the boat was secured and got properly introduced to Fred and Ben. Ben is a five-year-old springer spaniel, with an energy level one might expect from the breed. He’s hilarious. In the small vestibule inside the marina building, Ben would toss a tiny stone at my feet, no bigger than a pea, and expect me to throw it for him. I would, and he’d chase after it at full speed, leaping up onto his hind legs and pouncing on it, front feet first, and carefully holding it his mouth before trotting back and laying it once again at my feet. This would undoubtedly have continued for hours had I not simply walked out. Ben and I played the stone game each time I visited the marina office. It seemed like he and Fred lived there, for they were always around, day and night. A staircase wound around the perimeter of the circular building behind the small office, and I wondered if this was their apartment. I never ascended it.

The village of Ardglass is small and charming. A large fishing fleet operates from behind the big seawall just inside the harbor entrance. Near it, a small chandlery / hardware store supplies the fisherman with commercial-grade ‘stuff,’ from survival suits and boots to large galvanized shackles and barrels of chain. We met a local man named Martin who skippered one of the boats, alongside his three crew, which consisted of two Bulgarians and another Irishman. They catch prawns, he told us. This year has been exceptional, but they expect it to slow down over the winter months. The fleet is perhaps a dozen strong, and Martin informed us that yes, there is competition among them, but it’s more or less friendly. It would have to be – in the harbor, the boats raft onto one another behind the seawall, sometimes four or five deep, so it’s apparent that everyone is at least physically close to one another if not emotionally. Martin said some of the guys won’t chat on the radio, but that generally they’re all on the same team.

Mia and I have spent a big chunk of time in the Harborview Inn pub across the street from the fishing fleet. It’s the only place in town with internet, and we’ve had substantial research to do, looking for a winter berth and trying to find out how to import the boat into the EU without being in Sweden. As it turned out, the people at ‘Her Magesty’s Royal Customs’ department were exceedingly helpful, and managed to sort out all of our questions in a matter of a few minutes and a few phone calls. We’ll import the boat here in the UK, and request tax relief as I’m a new resident of Sweden, and therefore of the EU, so this is possible.

---

The sails are off. Arcturus will be hauled out tomorrow morning around 10.

The engine gave us fits again this morning, to the point that I was making phone calls and wandering around the marina looking for someone who could tow us out. Today would be the last chance we’d have to make Bangor in fair weather for perhaps a week, with a large low-pressure system poised to reach us tonight, while behind it lurks the remnants of Hurricane Katia. That’s forecast to bring gusts upwards of 60 knots here by Monday. Though we enjoyed the village of Ardglass, it would not have been a place to spend a week. And knowing our trip was coming to a close, it’d be better to keep moving. But that damn engine. It starts every time, but ever since I put it back in the boat this past spring, it refuses to idle smoothly and stalls without warning. Today was the worst yet, surging from 1500 rpm to 3200 and back again, uncontrollably. The alarm would not go off, despite all the gauges showing normal. This nearly scuttled our sail today. The clock read 9:30, and we need to be on the move by 10:00 to catch a fair tide. The Irish Sea flows swiftly near the Mull of Galloway. At 9:45 we were still in the dock and I was scrambling to find a tow. I met a man in the marina parking lot, dressed in shirtsleeves and a tie. He was sat in his car. I asked him if he know where Fred was. He didn’t, and wasn’t sure who Fred was (he’s the marina manager/owner guru). But he gave me the number for Ricky, a transplanted South African who the well-dressed man told me wasa sort of engineer around the marina and might be able to help. Ricky was friendly enough on the phone, but didn’t have an immediate solution, and offered to ring back if he could find any help. We needed an immediate solution.

Standing in the cockpit, I carefully gauged the wind, which seemed to be coming out of the SW and was gusty, but calm most of the time. The channel out of the marina is particularly narrow, and we nearly went on the rocks on the way in. I didn’t think it prudent to try and sail out, as just outside the marina there is a rather tight bend around the inner breakwater. Once round that bend, I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to point high enough to make the outer breakwater and not get set down on the rocky shoreline to the north. One large section of reef extended rather far into the harbor, marked by a large cardinal buoy. This was the mark that concerned me. Once clear of it, the coast dropped away to the north, and though it may have been close, I thought we could weather it. The water was deep right to the shore.

In the end, we needn’t have worried. At the time, I nearly had a heart attack. The engine got going, though it screamed in protest idling at the dock. Oddly, it seems to run absolutely fine in gear. This works when powering at sea. Manuevering around a harbor is rather tricky, as we never know if the engine is going to stall when shifting between forward and reverse. And since moving the engine’s electrical panel below into the galley (to keep it safe in the event the cockpit would flood), Mia has to stand on the companionway steps ready to crank the engine when this happened. Mia hoisted the jib, which I let luff as we motored out of the first channel. Once clear of the inner breakwater, she hoisted the mizzen and I sheeted home the jib. Clear of the harbor, the wind was lighter than I’d anticipated, and we motor-sailed, close-hauled, out into open water. The engine didn’t make so much as a hiccup.

---

Our last sail for quite a while today was a pleasant one. The wind was aft, and we set the small jib on the pole, with the full main pulling to starboard. It was a bit rough at first, and Arcturus rolled heavily sailing downwind. We were in a hurry to make the tide, given our delay in looking for a tow. The cabin had not been made totally seaworthy, and stuff was flying around. We bought some milk the night before from William’s small shop he works with his two sons. We’d actually bought milk from him two nights in a row – without a fridge, it doesn’t keep long, and we like to have it fresh for our coffee. Anyway, the milk was one of the items that hadn’t been stowed properly, and to my dismay, I discovered that it had disappeared, just as I was ready to pour the last of the coffee from the morning now that we were safely under way and I could relax. I searched and searched. Mia searched and searched. We’d located the milk from the day before. This we knew because it did not have a ‘40p’ written in marker on the cap. This we also knew because it smelled like two day old milk that hasn’t been in the fridge might smell. I recalled how one of the other items I hadn’t stowed was the second sink and it’s wooden cover, which also serves as the step into the companionway, and part of the galley top. When this is removed, the 8x12” hole gives access to the top of the engine. It also gives access to the y-valve that swaps the seawater intake between the engine and the foot-pump in the galley. We have to switch this each time we turn on the engine, and subsequently switch it back when we want to wash dishes or cook with saltwater. The ‘40p’ milk had slid across the galley and dropped into this hole (which by the time we were searching for the milk had already been covered – Mia had put the sink and the step back in place). I took the sink out again and found the milk standing upright on the portside engine mount, as neatly as if someone had placed it there as a joke. I had my coffee.

Both Mia and I remained awake. We sailed close to the coast, which had flattened out since we passed the mountains of Morne two days before, near Carlingford Lough. The water was smooth and the wind strong enough to give us 7-8 knots in the fair current (which we did manage to make). The day was warmer than it’s been, and the sun was out almost for nearly the entire six hours it took to get here. The sailing was easy.

Near the entrance to Belfast Lough, the coast falls away to the SW. We sailed through a narrow passage inside of a small island just off the mainland, the shoreline passing by about a quarter mile to either side. The wind was blowing off the land here, the sea flat. By now I’d set the big genoa, and we stowed the pole, inching higher and higher on the wind as the passage opened up into Belfast Lough itself, and we left the Irish Sea behind. Close-hauled, we made good time into the Lough, sailing due west now, the first westerly heading we’ve had since running for cover into Shelburne, Nova Scotia almost two months ago. Since then it’s been entirely northeast.

The marina in Bangor is nestled inside an enormous breakwater. The marina itself is enormous, and will make for good boat-watching tomorrow. Garreth from the yard greeted us on the small floating dock near the haul-out well. He helped us with the docklines and handed us the keycard we’d need to get into the yard, which is surrounded by barbed wire fence. We made Arcturus fast, went to the coffee shop and searched for flights to Sweden.

Ardglass, Ireland

Vi har nu varit i Irland i drygt två veckor, tiden går fort när man har det bra!

Innan vi kom hit hade jag hört mycket om Irland, att det är den gröna ön, alla barer serverar Gunniess (och Murphy i söder), trevliga människor, vackra landskap etc. Något som jag aldrig hört om Irland men som slagit mig och troligtvis kommer vara det bästa minnet från denna ö är Björnbär, konstigt nog. Var man än går växer det björnbär, alla gator är kantade med taggiga buskar och svarta bär! När vi kom i land i Crookhaven var detta guld värt efter 23 dagar ute på havet, nu när vi har tillgång matbutiker och färsk frukt är detta fortfarande guld, speciellt under promenader och löpturer... :)

 Mmmmm.... Björnbär i massor!

Clint, vår kära britt, klev av båten i Crookhaven och gav sig ut på egna äventyr ett par dagar. Jag och Andy seglade båten vidare till Glandore som är en fantastiskt liten stad (by) fem timmars segling från Crookhaven. Vi hann med att få oss en dusch (jag och Andy räknade att vi haft tio riktiga duschar sedan vi lämnade Annapolis, resterande i havet eller med saltvatten, uh!!), ta del av lokala pubens sommarerbjudande vilet var en flaska vin och en ostbricka för €12, passade våran plånbok. Vi åt även en utomordentlig middag på restaurang tack vare simtjejernas sista present i havskalendern och drack kaffe hemma hos Donald Street följande morgon. Ett mycket trevligt stopp i Glandore!

Mysiga Glandore!

Efter Glandore seglade vi vidare till Kinsale, även denna stad på Irlands södra sida. När vi kom hit möttes vi av en riktig stad med matbutik, många barer och butiker och vi var nästan lite överväldigade! Även Kinsale var mycket trevligt och vi promenerade till ett gammalt fort som låg ett par kilometer utanför staden. Det är otroligt vad man uppskattar promenader och joggingturer efter all segling! Våran kompis Ullis hoppade på båten i Kinslae och var med oss en vecka, superkul att visa upp delar av vår resa och ha lite sällskap!

Vi kände efter Glandore att det var dags att komma vidare och seglade ut 15.00 och anlände i Arklow följande kväll. Vi hade hoppats att komma hela vägen till Dublin men tidvattnet vände mot oss och det blev ett snabbt stopp i Arklow. Nu när vi är i Irish Sea har vi upptäkt vilken fördel man har om man räknar in tidvattnet i resan och vilken skillnad det kan göra. När vi kom run sydöstra delen av Irland på väg upp mot Arklow kollade Andy på hastigheten och vi seglade över 10 kt, vilket betyder att vi hade en 4 kt current med oss!!!!

Skerries blev nästa stopp, en liten stad norr om Dublin. Vi passade på att åka in till storstaden under söndagen och njöt av mysiga fik, kollade in Irländska mästerskapen i Hurling och shoppade på Pennys! :) Vistelsen i Skerries blev längre än väntat då ett starkt lågtryck kom in. Ullis lämnade oss i måndags och redan under natten började det blåsa ordentligt, uppemot 40kt! Under tisdagen kom inte jag och Andy från båten förrän under eftermiddagen och när vi skulle försöka ro ut till båten gick det inte, vågorna var för höga och vi gjorde ett tappert förskök och kom inte en meter närmare båten, snarare tvärtom. Som tur var fick vi lift av ett par snalla grabbar som tog vår lilla jolle på släp, lite komiskt!

Nu befinner vi oss i Ardglass vilket ligger i Nordirland. Människorna är fortfarande lika trevliga och hjälpsamma men tro det eller ej, ännu svårare än Irländarna att förstå, nästintill omöjligt ibland. Andy och jag var ute på en fantastisk löptur idag, först längs en liten grusväg och fortsatte ut längs med kullar som blickade över havet. Vi hade ett riktigt bra om framtid och planer och kunde inte hitta ett bättre och mer inspirerande plats att diskutera dessa. Vägen tillbaka var som vanligt full av Björnbär och jag hade svårt att hålla mig och slutet av rundan bestod av en minut löpning, två minuter plocka björnbär och mumsa på.. haha!!

Även om vi gillar Ardglass hoppas vi kunna segla vidare till Bangor imorn men vi har stormar på väg så vi får se om vi stannar ett par dagar.... Hursomhelst är vi nöjda och glada!! :)

Hoppas att ni har det lika bra hemma! Kram på er alla!

Windy in Skerries, Part II

Check this photo, from Mia's blog.

At two o’clock, cabin fever got the best of us and we ventured ashore. I had on my running clothing – and old pair of Mia’s brother Erik’s board shorts, tight, white long underwear and my five-finger shoes (their brown leather, and in Kinsale someone joked that I ought to wash my feet). Mia was similarly attired. She had a backpack with her, and I the black Pelican case that we transport our computers in when we’re on the boat. The plan was to sit in the pub for a while, do some work (I had an article to send in), and then go for a long exploratory run before returning to the boat later in the evening.

We set out along the beach that fronts the sea. The community had built a beautiful paved footpath behind the sand. Several benches were set in the grass every few hundred meters, and there were recycling bins by each one. The path ended when the beach turned into a cliff, and we continued along the road. Neither of us had ventured this far yet, though Mia had run along the beach path two days before.  Our goal was to run for a while along this road, then head west, towards the setting sun, and loop back around to the harbor, exploring through the town as we did so.

Ever since Crookhaven, each place we’ve visited shoreside has been overgrown with blackberries. Mia finds them irresistible. Mia and I run side-by-side, her a half-step in front of me because she hates when I run faster than her. We chatted along the road out of Skerries, and soon became aware that there were no turnoffs to our right, the direction we wanted to go. I mentioned something about this to Mia, but she was gone. I stopped and turned around to find her stooped by the sidewalk eating berries. This is a common occurrence. By the end of the run her tongue was black.

I found a dirt path the headed inland into some farmland, and we took it. After several hundred meters we came to a field of rye, about waist high, with two narrow paths cut in it, apparently made by tractor tires. We followed one of these paths, and it felt like running in a cloud. I couldn't see my feet, and the rye was fluffy and flowing in the wind. The field ended near a large building of blue and white corrugated tin, with several farm vehicles parked around the dirt on the property. In an adjacent field a large green John Deere tractor was doing some sort of farm work. On the other side of the building, a dirt driveway led past the farmhouse and to a proper paved road, which we followed for several miles in the wrong direction, before it intersected a road which we thought would take us back into town. We were out for over an hour, though a large chunk of that time was spent stopped on the side of the road eating berries.

Back in the harbor, the wind was blowing as hard as ever. The two seals who apparently lived there were back, and bobbing in the chop just off the large fishing pier. It was rather obvious that there was no way we’d be able to row against the wind and sea back to the boat, despite the fact that it was only a few hundred feet away from the pier.

Along the wall, two fishing boats and their crews were making ready for sea. A younger man in yellow oilies was laying out a long fire-house on the dock, while an older man, also in yellow oilies and a blue sweater, was welding a broken piece on one of their traps. When it was complete, they tied it to the back of their van and dragged it along the concrete to the boat. We stopped to ask them if anybody could give us a ride in a real boat, while towing the little dink. They couldn’t, which was just as well, because I hated to bother them while they were working. The younger one directed us towards the sailing club, where a van was parked near the boat-ramp, with an empty trailor half-submerged in the water. It was a long walk around the bay. We tried to row.

Almost immediately we were blown backwards. The seal bobbed his head up again as I admitted defeat, and we maneuvered back into the lee of the large red fishing boat we’d been tied up near. An older man out walking his golden retriever helped us take the painter ashore. I petted his dog. Mia and I made the long walk round the harbor and found a man sitting in the driver’s seat of the van. He made a quick call, and two of his friends out surveying the moorings in the gale came to our aid in their large inflatable, towing mini-Sojourner behind. We would not have made it without their help.

Skerries

We’re weather bound today for the first time on the journey. In fact, we’re experiencing lousier weather than at any time during the actual ocean crossing, which is slightly amazing.

Arcturus is on a mooring (free!) in Skerries, a small seaside town 15 miles north of Dublin. The harbor (or more appropriately, ‘harbour’) is wide and shallow, with a large fishing pier at its eastern fringe. There are several moorings to the west of the pier, and we are one of maybe half a dozen sailing boats in at the moment, though we haven’t seen any other people on any of them. They appear to live here (I spoke with Tom yesterday, an engineer at the sailing club, and he told me that in another two weeks all the boats will be hauled and stored for the winter, so it really is the tail end of the season here). Further in, inside the pier, several smaller boats (dinghies, fishing boats and small racing boats) reside on their own moorings. At low tide, the harbor dries, and this smattering of craft, perhaps two dozen or more, lay scattered around the bay, high and dry, like a yachting graveyard. Very close in, right off the main street in town, three of four bilge-keelers literally ‘stand’ on their hulls, balanced by their rudders, their decks six feet off the ground (which is surprisingly solid for how muddy it appears). Against the pier lives the fishing fleet, one or two large steel boats and several smaller ones, though it doesn’t appear that they go out very often. In the last three days we’ve been here, nobody has been around much. Yesterday though, one of the big ones returned to the pier, after having been gone at least as long as we’ve been here, so it appears they venture rather far out to sea (they are certainly built for it).  

There are at least two seals in the harbor who routinely make an appearance near the fishing pier. Three times while we were in the dinghy, one big one would poke his head up and just sit there, looking around with those big friendly eyes and just letting himself bob in the water while he did so. The first two occasions he was quite close to the dinghy, which, rather than inciting a fearful reaction, simply made us want to reach out and pet him. They really look like pooches – upon seeing the first one, Ullis shouted ‘A seal! Or, a dog!’. Mia and I have decided that they are lazy seals that live here and get fed by the fisherman who routinely line the pier in the afternoons looking for mackerel. I joked yesterday that the one big guy we’ve seen quite often was waiting for that fishing boat to return, wondering where his dinner was.

Ashore, one main street stretches for half a mile or so, with a line of buildings behind it, the street marking the edge of the harbor, which has a three-foot stone wall on its western side to guard against the stormy weather (the north and west quadrants of the harbor are completely exposed to the weather, and yesterday when it was blowing hard from the NW in the morning, their was a significant chop – my dinghy ride ashore to drop Ullis off was interesting…fine going in, as the wind and seas were with us, but rather wet and slow coming back out, especially without the extra weight of Ullis and her gear to keep us stable). Behind that one row of buildings is a long stretch of beach, which, depending on the tide is either about 15 yards wide, or 100. The town is built on a long, narrow peninsula, the sheltered harbor to the west, the Irish Sea to the east, and ‘Red Island’ at the peninsula’s northern tip. They call it Red ‘Island’, but it’s not really an island at all, just a wider, island-shaped blob of land on which are the ruins of and old tower. There is a lovely restaurant/hotel at the end of the road, The Pierhouse, with which Mia and I became acquainted with yesterday when we realized we wouldn’t be going anywhere.

As the town stretches away to the south, the peninsular gradually widens until it meets the main land, and the one road split into two at a small roundabout that has a rather large statue of a cormorant in it’s center (speaking of cormorants, when I dropped Ullis off yesterday, there was a big one sitting in a half-flooded dinghy that was tied up to the fishing pier. We came right up close to him, so close that my oars touched the dinghy on which he was standing, and yet he didn’t so much as flinch at our presence. He just sat there and looked at us with a goofy expression, his huge webbed feet standing wide on the dinghy seat and his large, friendly eyes staring at us. A guy came by in a larger boat to tow the derelict dinghy away, and the cormorant went along for the ride). To the left, the road continued along the beach overlooking the Irish Sea, while to the right, it continued around the wide bay, houses lining both sides. The storefronts were in the town center, a few blocks inland.

We remain in Skerries longer than expected thanks to the weather, which is only now becoming typically Irish – wet and windy – whereas the past two weeks have treated us rather kindly. We knew from the outset that we’d stay here at least two night – all three of us wanted to go into Dublin, and the Dart train got us there in only half an hour the other day. We strolled around the city and finally found an old pub in the Temple Bar area (in fact, the first pub I’d visited on my last foray into Ireland, with Michael, my friend from Prague during my English teaching school), and sat down to watch the final of the All Ireland Hurling Championship, between Tipperary and Kilkenny. Hurling is a Gaelic game, kind of reminiscent of field hockey, except that the ball is usually airborn, and players can catch it barehanded and run with it for a stretch. Scoring is accomplished in one of two ways – the easier points are had when a player tosses the ball to himself and takes a swing at it, knocking it through a goal post, not unlike an NFL field goal (however, he does so while everyone else is trying to kill him and get the ball). The more difficult points are had by similarly knocking the ball into a soccer-style goal, with a goalie in front. Kilkenny won, upsetting the reigning champions from the year before. The atmosphere at the stadium was quite lively, and every pub in Dublin was overflowing with people in for the game.

Ullis left yesterday. Mia and I had a long debate about whether to leave or not and high-tail it 30 or so miles north to Annalong, a small fishing village in Northern Ireland, and the only real shelter north of here. The weather was calling for gales from the S-SW by evening, with heavy rain and limited visibility starting in the afternoon. Given the very high tidal ranges, and the accompanying strong currents associated with them, we could only leave Skerries at 11am, at low tide, when we’d have a fair current behind us for the ride north. This would give us only a six-hour window or so of reasonable weather, and that if the system arrived on time. Looking at the GRIB files, it was quite obvious we were in for a blow, as a large area of low pressure was hovering just west of the country and making it’s way towards us. In the end, we decided to take a known quantity – or nice and sturdy (and free!) mooring here in Skerries, rather than an unknown fishing pier only 30 miles further on. The dinghy rides in to shore and back would be uncomfortable, but at least we could relax knowing the boat is safe. It’s frustrating when you’re trying to make miles to have to sit and wait.

The wind arrived, late last night when we were getting ready for bed (which by now consists of donning long underwear and wool socks and slithering into our sleeping bags, on opposite settees, and trying to stay warm. It’s not that cold here yet, but without heat on the boat, it gets chilly at night. I end up pulling my bag right up over my head, and by morning, my hair, which by now is almost as long as it’s ever been, is matted flat down to my forehead, further exaggerating the illusion that I’m in fact wearing a helmet). In the end, we could have made Annalong no problem, or even Ardglass, our intended next stop a further 15 miles up the coast, but we’re safe here anyway. Mia and I instead sat inside the Pierhouse for most of the morning on our computers, and then sauntered into town and to the community center in search of showers. We counted last night, that since leaving Annapolis on July 4, we’ve had a total of 10 real showers, including the ones yesterday in the women’s locker room of the community center. Half of them could hardly count as ‘real’ from a shoreside perspective – the pressure was so weak at William-the-Swedish-Chef’s house in Crookhaven that it was difficult to get the soap out of our hair, while the showers in St Pierre (2), Kinsale and now here, had no adjustment for temperature, and were luke-warm at best. Nonetheless, the water was fresh and came from a spigot rather than a bucket, so they counted in our minds. The two girls at the community center were quite friendly, and offered us the showers for free, but had to turn on the hot water first, and it would take twenty minutes or so to kick in. They let us relax in the staff kitchen, offering us tea while we waited for the water. Kenzie and Carol (I think), ended up joining us up there, and we chatted for a while about traveling and Irish culture.

And now, we remain on board. The wind is whistling in the rigging outside, and has slowly shifted from the south overnight, to more WSW this morning, meaning there is substantially more fetch for the wind to kick up a nasty chop, making our mooring that much less comfortable, and the prospect of a dinghy ride ashore that much less appealing. Rather than pick up my book, as I usually do in the morning with my coffee, I got out my computer (I’m currently involved in three books at the moment – The Lord of the Rings, which I’ve put down indefinitely; Donnie Brasco, a book about the Mafia that I bought the other day in Dublin, and which is currently holding my attention; and the Stieg Larsson Millenium Trilogy, which I’m listening to on my iPod, mainly when I have to hand-steer on watch or when I’m doing dishes, to pass the time. It’s amazing how clean the galley gets when I’m listening to that book – it’s so captivating that I take extra time to clean just so I can listen longer). I have two articles due today, one for Spinsheet and another for Yacht Essentials, and I know if I don't’ start writing straight away this morning that I will get distracted or find an excuse not to get started.

Given the delay, September is advancing far too swiftly for our liking, and we have a hell of a lot further to go than I allowed for. Scotland is still at least five or six sailing days away, and it feels like the fall weather pattern is quickly kicking in, making for fewer and shorter weather windows. We can do about 40-50 miles per day quite comfortably, and have charted several stopping points around those distances up the coast. The passage planning is slightly more complicated than we’re used to, having to play the tides, so often you only get half the day with a fair tide, and can really only use 7 or 8 hours to keep moving. However, with a fair tide, we can make 7-8 knots, which still lets us make good mileage, even with a shorter window. So now Mia and I are considering leaving the boat in Scotland for the winter, as the prospect of a late-September North Sea crossing (which will take us at least three days, and more likely five or six) is seeming less and less enjoyable as the days go by. If we can work something out with the Swedish customs that would allow us to import the boat next summer, we’ll do just that, and return to Scotland with fresh energy and (hopefully) more money, so we can really enjoy this last part of our adventure rather than it feeling like a burden.

Mia is baking bread, and I’m about to make breakfast.

---

So much for that idea. Scotland was scuttled nearly as quickly as it entered our thoughts. I made an attempt to contact Swedish customs yesterday, to see if they could give us some leeway considering the seasons, and allow us to leave the boat in the UK over the winter, bringing it the rest of the way next spring or summer. According to the immigration laws, I have one year to import all of my belongings from the date that I officially moved to Sweden (which I take to mean January 25, 2011, as that was when I last entered the country on my new residency permit, after having been away more than a year and a half, which qualifies under the guidelines set forth on the immigration website). So we’d need a few months of leeway if we left the boat for the winter. Customs was closed yesterday, so we never got through.

This morning, however, I spoke to a reasonable man in Goteborg, where we’d officially be importing the boat. He was helpful, but maintained that not only can they NOT give us an extension, but also, they can not even determine my one-year eligibility without both myself and the item to be imported (in this case the boat) being present in Sweden. He spoke at length with Mia in Swedish, to more clearly explain the situation, and she came away with the feeling that he was merely doing his job and playing by the book. Apparently there is no way around this, as he was the highest up in that office. So to Sweden we’ll continue, North Sea be damned.

---

Mia’s getting bored. She’s on to the last book in the Harry Potter series. A running joke for most of the Atlantic crossing was asking each other what the characters in our books were up to. I was reading The Lord of the Rings, while Clint and Mia were each reading different books in the Potter series. ‘How’s Potter doing?’ was invariably answered with ‘Good – he’s in school!’ no matter what was actually happening. My response to ‘How’s Frodo doing?’ was always ‘He’s out traveling!’ This never got old.

We’re stuck on the boat. The wind has continually increased since I started writing this morning, and the chop in the bay is big enough now to douse any ideas we may have had of going ashore. Getting to the pier wouldn’t be a problem, but the return journey in our tiny rowing dinghy would be quite impossible. We’re rocking and rolling on the mooring, and the Coast Guard comes on the VHF every hour or so to update the gale warning. A sea buoy off the west coast of Ireland is reporting waves over 15-feet, with wind gusts in the 50s. We have a steady 25 knots, gusting into the 40s in our anchorage. I continue to give thanks for our free mooring, which seems solid-as.

Glandore

We drank coffee this morning at Donald Street’s house in Glandore. He lives in a beautiful little place up a back street only half a block away from the harbor. We more or less invited ourselves over yesterday, when we accidentally ran into him on the street not five minutes after we’d come ashore. Since running out of propane we’ve gone without our morning coffee, and on hearing this, he said there was plenty of it available if we wanted to stop by.

We found him in the small annex, a sun-room of sorts off the side of the house. Strewn about the apartment were just about every sailing magazine in print, current and back issues alike, and photos of his iconic yawl Iolaire and various J-class yachts on the walls. The centerpiece of sorts was the original tiller from Iolaire, built in 1905, that had split in half somewhere in her history and replaced. Street’s son glued it back together and now, freshly varnished, it hangs on the wall in Glandore. The place was unassuming, slightly disheveled and utterly charming. The coffee was strong.

We only stayed for half an hour or so. Street, at 81, was heading off at half past ten to race a ‘Dragon,’ and his particular boat, Gypsy, was nearly as old as he. At 79, he says it doesn’t quite compete with the latest and greatest from Kinsale, but he assured me that the competition at the back of the fleet is fierce. In parting, he gave us a signed copy of a cruising guide to the south and west coasts of Ireland.

-

Since Clint left, Mia and I have been enjoying the only few days of a proper honeymoon we’ve had since leaving Annapolis. We haven’t been alone on the boat since sailing to Newport, and that trip was so busy with boat projects, planning and generally being nervous about the crossing that we didn’t have time for really exploring ashore. In Nova Scotia, it was more of the same. We did get to see some of Lunenburg and Baddeck, but the adventuring was always clouded by a vague sense of uneasiness I had about the coming trip. By St. Pierre, the boat was nearly ready, but my mental state was in no mind for exploration, and I barely made it beyond the yacht club docks, going only as far as the grocery store on the hill for cheese and wine.

With the crossing behind us, we’re making up for it now. Crookhaven was a perfect place to make landfall, and we became regulars at O’Sullivan’s. Here in Glandore, we’ve gone further afield, and been a bit more extravagant in spending money. Last night we ate dinner at the Marine Hotel, on the waterfront – I had an 8oz. steak, Mia a 15” homemade pizza – and we didn’t return to the boat until 10:30 in the evening.

After coffee this morning, we hiked up the steep hill behind Street’s house. The road was paved, one-lane, and lined either side with ancient stone walls covered in ivy. The forest was thick to our right, while on the left were several quaint houses and B&Bs, all with lovely stone entrances and gravel driveways. Further up the hill, which seemed endless to our untrained legs, blackberry bushes were blooming on both sides, and the berry hunting began. They weren’t quite ripe at first, but near the top of the hill where the trees opened up and the sun shined through, we found more berries than we could ever imagine eating, and we ate as much as we dared. There was a bit of a contest for the fruit with the bees, but I think in the end Mia and I won out. Our tongues were purple and our bellies full by the end of our mile-long hike along the road, which by then had flattened out to reveal fairy-tale scenery in the hillsides and farmland beyond. Cows grazed on either side of the road, and several isolated houses were visible tucked away in glades of trees here and there in the valleys. The sun was shining, and I rolled my jeans up for the warmth of the air.

We’d planned on enjoying the ‘carvery lunch’ at the Marine Hotel today, after noticing the sign last night outside. The money the swim girls gave us for a fancy dinner we decided to stretch, and managed to make two meals out of it. We returned to the hotel at around 1 o’clock to find the buffet set up with roast lamb, pork and beef, and grilled chicken and salmon, with taters, carrots and veggies, plus local brown soda bread. We indulged despite our bellies full of berries, and had a two-hour lunch while we watched sports on TV.

At first we thought we were watching rugby, but it soon became apparent that it was something else altogether. The ball was round, for starters. I asked an older couple at the adjacent table, and he said it was Gaelic football, akin to Aussie Rules, but with a round ball and a rectangular field. It’s like rugby in that the teams beat each other up quite well, and you can carry the ball. But you apparently have to dribble off your feet when running downfield, and can score by kicking it into a soccer-style goal, or drop-kicking it over the goal and between two posts, like an NFL field goal, only at full-speed. The play does not stop. The game we watched was the under-18 league. Just as we finished our meal, the big match of the day came on, the professional league match between Dublin and Donegal. The fans were riotous, and I was very much inclined to stay and watch.

Instead, we wandered back up the hill looking for cell phone reception to call Ullis and plan for her arrival tomorrow. We walked up another steep paved road behind the Hayes Pub (where I’m sat now), and managed to get reception at the top of the hill. Ullis never answered, but it was worth the walk for the view. Before us to the south was an incredibly view of the harbor entrance and the mooring field (with our boat visible on the outside). To the north stood more rolling hills and countryside. I asked a local woman sitting on her porch if the road looped back into town. She said it did, and that I could take one of two forks, each of which returned to the town via opposite sides, and made for about 30 minutes walks. Mia and I plan on returning tomorrow morning before our departure and running the loops. We have to choose our runs wisely, as it’s no use running right after a shower, as we never know when the next one will come. We decided it’s okay to run before a sailing passage, as we usually get dirty under way anyway. Tomorrow there should be showers available at the Royal Cork Yacht Club, our destination and meeting place with Ullis, and also the oldest yacht club in the world. It’s about forty miles from Glandore, so if we get away by noon we should make it before dark.

RE: Congratulations!

Andy, thanks for the reply to my questions. Terrific answers!

Cork is one of my favorite towns....like I might have said previously, I
have ever met an unhappy Irishman...although I am sure there are after
reading some of the great (and depressed) Irish writers. The other thing
about Ireland is the incredible shades of green you notice. While in Cork
ya' gotta get a plateful of boxties and an Guinness at a pub in the Temple
Bar area...or even better yet, visit the Guinness brewery...the Guinness
they serve in the Sky Bar is the most delicious thing you can pass through
your lips. I think you could live on it as it is a perfect food.

My best to you and Mia...and Clint...keep your lee rail awash and God's
Speed!

Uncle John

-----Original Message-----
From: andy.schell125@gmail.com [mailto:andy.schell125@gmail.com] On Behalf
Of Andy Schell
Sent: Sunday, August 28, 2011 5:25 AM
To: John Garis
Cc: Mia Karlsson; Gail Schell; andy; andy.schell125.upload
Subject: Re: Congratulations!

Greetings from Glandore! Thanks for the congrats - Mia and I are
sitting at a small hotel bar now, having our morning coffee - we ran
out of propane two days ago, so have been consisting on tuna and
cereal until we can get it filled in Cork, where we're headed
tomorrow. Thanks for the list of questions - I'm going to do my best
to answer them, and I'm also going to post this email on my blog,
because I think it will be of interest to others.so, here you go! Hope
all is well back home.

Uncle John's Email, from our landfall, 23 August 2011:

Congratulations on making landfall in Ireland..both Dan and I agree
that you both have "balls" to do what you are doing..I wouldn't know
where to start. I've passed your "Spottings" along to the rest of the
family (Dan and Tobie, Tim and Mindy, Kristen and Mark, Mart and Larry
and Kathleen) as I've received them. I wish I could sit down with you
and debrief..among the questions I have for you:

1. Was the crossing what you expected?

Yes and no - we expected much worse weather. Thanks to my dad who was
doing some 'amateur' weather routing from back home (and in touch with
us every third day or so via satellite phone) we managed to avoid
winds over 30 knots, which is almost unthinkable that far north. The
reason for taking the route we did is the westerly winds normally
expected at that latitude. The Gulf Stream, combined with the Azores
High and the Icelandic Low create a 'highway' of sorts for low
pressure systems coming off the Eastern Seaboard. Just south of this
track, you'll normally encounter westerly winds, and fairly steadily.
In 2008, my friend Matt Rutherford (who is currently north of Alaska,
having just completed the NW passage - solotheamericas.org),
experience SIX full gales (winds over 40 knots), and deployed his
drogue several times. We were more concerned about making the boat
sail fast when the wind picked up, and were instead BECALMED ten
times, having to furl the sails because they were banging around so
badly in the swell. On the other hand, I'd conservatively estimated
we'd be able to average 100 miles per day (which is about a 4 knot
average) and we managed 90 miles per day, not too far off. When the
boat got some wind though, we were able to do 140 miles, which we did
two or three times. This, obviously, would have made for a much
quicker passage.

2. Would you do it again?

If you asked me this during the first seven days I would have said no
way. But now? Absolutely. The first week was extremely frustrating -
we only made 360 miles in 7 days, with three days UNDER 40 miles,
which is horrible progress. And in the wrong direction - SE, due to
the light easterlies we experienced. I was nervous about the boat,
anxious about the trip and generally depressed. And had no patience
for the calms at all, letting the weather get the best of my mood.
Almost as soon as the wind picked up and came from the right direction
- west - everything changed. We got into a nice routine at sea, and
the boat performed wonderfully once we learned her niggles. Mia, Clint
and I got very good at sailing her by the end of the crossing, which
instilled confidence tremendously. And I realized everything I'd done
to refit her for the passage actually worked. We had no breakdowns,
and the worst problem was a tiny tear in the mainsail near the foot,
that we still haven't fixed because it's that minor. Mia and I already
started discussing future cruising plans. Our next big hop will be
back across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal
and across the Pacific. We have a strong desire to return to New
Zealand, and next time it will be by boat. As for the northern route
across the pond, I'd love to do it again to see how the weather is
really supposed to be!

3. You seemed to have all the details worked out before you left
and were confident in your planning. Did you learn anything new?

We were very pleased with the work we did to the boat, especially what
Mia had made for the bookshelves down below. She'd sewn up some
lightweight netting material and attached them with bungie cord across
the book shelves, and not a single thing went flying in the cabin,
even in the heaviest of weather (which, admittedly, wasn't very
heavy). I was most concerned about the rigging work I'd done, as
keeping the mast up is the single most important aspect of sailing
(perhaps behind keeping the water out, which is obvious). Each time
the boat heeled hard I'd wonder if I really did put every pin in
correctly. I did. In Lunenburg, we decided to buy turnbuckles for the
shrouds, as the old-school lashings we were using looked cool but were
extremely annoying to tension. I spoke with John Franta from Colligo
Marine (the guy who helped us with the synthetic rigging), and told
him as much. We found galvanized turnbuckles at the hardware store at
$13 a piece (as opposed to nearly $100 for the shiny stainless 'yacht'
turnbuckles). We fitted them in Baddeck, and it was the best change we
made. Once I tuned the rig, we hardly touched it all the way across.

Our watch rotation changed several times along the way. We started out
doing 4-on 8-off, with a split watch around dinner time. Two people
would share a four hour watch, taking turns cooking and washing up.
This also staggered the shifts, so you always had a new time each day
instead of always having the night shift, for example. This worked ok,
but Mia and Clint had a habit of waking my in the night to make sail
changes, and it was hard for me to get any rest. We switched then to
four hour watches for Mia and Clint - Clint had the 2000-0000, and Mia
the 0300-0700. Since I was usually up anyway, I took the 0000-0300
watch, for only three hours. Then I did a long five hour watch in the
daytime, since I was usually up then anyway also. With only three
hours at night, I was more rested if they needed me before or after.
This worked great, and we only changed again once we spotted land, to
three-on-six-off for the last day.

4. Were you in a shipping lane and seeing other vessels during
the crossing?

At the outset, crossing the Grand Banks, we were in fog most of the
time, and wouldn't have seen any if they were there. Our AIS system
worked well, and we heard a foghorn close by in the night one time,
but it soon moved off, to our relief.we never saw the ship it came
from. We did spot a Portugese battleship who steamed out of the fog
quite close (and did not appear on AIS). I hailed him on the radio and
had a friendly chat for a bit, though his English was very broken. We
got pushed far south of what our intended course was, due to the
Icelandic Low not really being in place. All the low pressures were
tracking farther south than usual, so we had to go south to be on
their 'correct' (southern) side for westerlies. For the first half we
didn't see any signs of shipping (but did see loads of life - birds
followed us the whole way across, and it was a rare day that we didn't
see dolphins). By the second half, once we gotten north again, we were
back in the shipping lanes and saw ships regularly. This was actually
a nice feeling, knowing that if the worst happened we'd likely get
passed by sooner rather than later.

5. How did the boat hold up to the rigors of ocean sailing?

The boat performed beyond expectation. She was very fast when there
was wind, and more importantly, felt very solid. I compared it to a
Mason 43 we delivered to the Bahamas a few years ago, one of the
sturdiest boats afloat. Arcturus felt like a mini Mason to us. She did
not go to windward very well when there was any sort of sea running -
we were only able to tack through about 110 degrees, which is abysmal,
but expected. Once the wind freed, however, she flew. We had some
surfing runs with the wind aft and the sails set 'wing-on-wing' with
the jib out on the spin pole, and regularly saw speeds over 12 knots
for short stretches. The best night watch of the trip came around Day
20 - I was outside, the half moon was shining very brightly and there
wasn't a cloud in the sky. The wind was blowing 25-30, dead astern,
and we had the full main up on one side and the small jib out on the
other, with the pole. The wind had been steady from the WSW for two
days, and had built up a very friendly sea, big, but which Arcturus
easily surfed on. We were probably over-canvassed, but I let her go,
as I was having too much fun. Every second or third wave we'd just
zoom off at 10, 11 and 12 knots, the whitewater streaming around the
hull and making a sound like a jet taking off. It was exhilarating
sailing. I went forward in the dark with my harness on, and climbed up
on the spin pole and just hung on for about 20 minutes enjoying it
all. I finally did take two reefs in the main before Mia came up, so I
could sleep better, and we were still doing more than ten knots,
though admittedly more under control.

6. What was the worst part of the trip?

The first week, easily. I managed to learn some patience by the end,
and when a calm came, we just furled the sails and went to bed to wait
for wind. At the beginning, I couldn't stand not being able to move,
and was very frustrated. Combined with the foggy weather and my
feeling of general uneasiness, that first week was miserable.

7. What was the best part of the trip?

Smelling land as we rounded Mizen Head coming into Crookhaven. I'd
forgotten about this. Clint had tears in his eyes. All three of us
were taking short gulps through our noses soaking it up, as we knew
we'd soon get used to it and it wouldn't last. Smells always seems to
evoke the strongest emotions, and the smell of grass, dirt and smoke
from a nearby chimney was absolutely enchanting.

8. What kind of meals were you eating?

We actually ate very well, and didn't run out of fresh food until
almost Day 21 or so. Our normal routine was to cook one hot meal per
day, taking turns cooking and washing up. Mia had made a seven-day
menu, based on the food we ate at Broadreach, when we were in the
Caribbean working with teenagers. Monday was 'Mediterranean Pasta',
Tuesday Chili, Wednesday Hawaiian Stir-fry, Thursday Tuna salad and
roasted veg, Friday Curry, Saturday rice and beans and Sunday pizza!
We baked an enormous amount of bread, thanks in part to the calm
weather. The pizza was a big hit, and we made the dough from scratch.
We had lots of garlic, onions, cabbage and turnips on board, which
lasted the whole way across. We also had farmer eggs from the market
in Reading, that lasted a full six weeks - in six dozen, only two or
three went bad. They had never seen the refrig, which was key. We had
many cans of beans and tomato sauce, cans of pineapple and a basket
full of apples and oranges. We had peanut butter. Oatmeal (though only
for a few days, as we'd stored it in the bilge and all three
containers got wet and moldy - this was the worst part of the trip for
Mia, as she lives on her oatmeal for brekky).

9. What does the cabin below deck smell like after 3-4 weeks at sea?

Surprisingly clean! We'd take bucket showers about once every three
days, and the weather was so nice that we never even got out our long
underwear. Yet it wasn't hot enough to sweat, so we felt pretty clean.
Every few days we'd take turns cleaning the head and sweeping the
floor, and we were very good about cleaning the galley after each meal
and putting things back in their proper place. Our hair was a bit
messy due to the saltwater, but it really didn't smell bad at all!

10. Did you take photographs during the trip and are you going to
post them on FB?

Mia took nearly 1000 photos! Check out her blog at
miatravel.blogspot.com. She posts some of them up there, and I'll have
some on my site. We don't put photos on FB, but we'll send you the
good ones. There are loads!

11. When do you sail for Norway? And are you taking the western
route or the eastern route through the Irish Sea?

We're heading up the east coast of Ireland, in the Irish Sea. We're
only 30 miles from Crookhaven at the moment, where we made our
landfall. Our friend Ullis, who was the photographer at the wedding,
is flying down tomorrow to Dublin, and taking the bus down to Cork,
where we're taking the boat tomorrow, about 50 miles further up the
coast. She'll sail with us up the Irish Sea and through the Caledonian
Canal in Scotland. Then it's a dash across the North Sea, about 3-400
miles to Kristiansand in Norway. From there we enter the Baltic and
plan on leaving the boat on the west coast of Sweden for the winter.

Hope that answers your questions! Keep in touch!

+Andy & Mia

Re: Congratulations!

Greetings from Glandore! Thanks for the congrats - Mia and I are
sitting at a small hotel bar now, having our morning coffee - we ran
out of propane two days ago, so have been consisting on tuna and
cereal until we can get it filled in Cork, where we're headed
tomorrow. Thanks for the list of questions - I'm going to do my best
to answer them, and I'm also going to post this email on my blog,
because I think it will be of interest to others…so, here you go! Hope
all is well back home.

Uncle John's Email, from our landfall, 23 August 2011:

Congratulations on making landfall in Ireland….both Dan and I agree
that you both have "balls" to do what you are doing….I wouldn't know
where to start. I've passed your "Spottings" along to the rest of the
family (Dan and Tobie, Tim and Mindy, Kristen and Mark, Mart and Larry
and Kathleen) as I've received them. I wish I could sit down with you
and debrief….among the questions I have for you:

1. Was the crossing what you expected?

Yes and no - we expected much worse weather. Thanks to my dad who was
doing some 'amateur' weather routing from back home (and in touch with
us every third day or so via satellite phone) we managed to avoid
winds over 30 knots, which is almost unthinkable that far north. The
reason for taking the route we did is the westerly winds normally
expected at that latitude. The Gulf Stream, combined with the Azores
High and the Icelandic Low create a 'highway' of sorts for low
pressure systems coming off the Eastern Seaboard. Just south of this
track, you'll normally encounter westerly winds, and fairly steadily.
In 2008, my friend Matt Rutherford (who is currently north of Alaska,
having just completed the NW passage - solotheamericas.org),
experience SIX full gales (winds over 40 knots), and deployed his
drogue several times. We were more concerned about making the boat
sail fast when the wind picked up, and were instead BECALMED ten
times, having to furl the sails because they were banging around so
badly in the swell. On the other hand, I'd conservatively estimated
we'd be able to average 100 miles per day (which is about a 4 knot
average) and we managed 90 miles per day, not too far off. When the
boat got some wind though, we were able to do 140 miles, which we did
two or three times. This, obviously, would have made for a much
quicker passage.

2. Would you do it again?

If you asked me this during the first seven days I would have said no
way. But now? Absolutely. The first week was extremely frustrating -
we only made 360 miles in 7 days, with three days UNDER 40 miles,
which is horrible progress. And in the wrong direction - SE, due to
the light easterlies we experienced. I was nervous about the boat,
anxious about the trip and generally depressed. And had no patience
for the calms at all, letting the weather get the best of my mood.
Almost as soon as the wind picked up and came from the right direction
- west - everything changed. We got into a nice routine at sea, and
the boat performed wonderfully once we learned her niggles. Mia, Clint
and I got very good at sailing her by the end of the crossing, which
instilled confidence tremendously. And I realized everything I'd done
to refit her for the passage actually worked. We had no breakdowns,
and the worst problem was a tiny tear in the mainsail near the foot,
that we still haven't fixed because it's that minor. Mia and I already
started discussing future cruising plans. Our next big hop will be
back across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal
and across the Pacific. We have a strong desire to return to New
Zealand, and next time it will be by boat. As for the northern route
across the pond, I'd love to do it again to see how the weather is
really supposed to be!

3. You seemed to have all the details worked out before you left
and were confident in your planning. Did you learn anything new?

We were very pleased with the work we did to the boat, especially what
Mia had made for the bookshelves down below. She'd sewn up some
lightweight netting material and attached them with bungie cord across
the book shelves, and not a single thing went flying in the cabin,
even in the heaviest of weather (which, admittedly, wasn't very
heavy). I was most concerned about the rigging work I'd done, as
keeping the mast up is the single most important aspect of sailing
(perhaps behind keeping the water out, which is obvious). Each time
the boat heeled hard I'd wonder if I really did put every pin in
correctly. I did. In Lunenburg, we decided to buy turnbuckles for the
shrouds, as the old-school lashings we were using looked cool but were
extremely annoying to tension. I spoke with John Franta from Colligo
Marine (the guy who helped us with the synthetic rigging), and told
him as much. We found galvanized turnbuckles at the hardware store at
$13 a piece (as opposed to nearly $100 for the shiny stainless 'yacht'
turnbuckles). We fitted them in Baddeck, and it was the best change we
made. Once I tuned the rig, we hardly touched it all the way across.

Our watch rotation changed several times along the way. We started out
doing 4-on 8-off, with a split watch around dinner time. Two people
would share a four hour watch, taking turns cooking and washing up.
This also staggered the shifts, so you always had a new time each day
instead of always having the night shift, for example. This worked ok,
but Mia and Clint had a habit of waking my in the night to make sail
changes, and it was hard for me to get any rest. We switched then to
four hour watches for Mia and Clint - Clint had the 2000-0000, and Mia
the 0300-0700. Since I was usually up anyway, I took the 0000-0300
watch, for only three hours. Then I did a long five hour watch in the
daytime, since I was usually up then anyway also. With only three
hours at night, I was more rested if they needed me before or after.
This worked great, and we only changed again once we spotted land, to
three-on-six-off for the last day.

4. Were you in a shipping lane and seeing other vessels during
the crossing?

At the outset, crossing the Grand Banks, we were in fog most of the
time, and wouldn't have seen any if they were there. Our AIS system
worked well, and we heard a foghorn close by in the night one time,
but it soon moved off, to our relief…we never saw the ship it came
from. We did spot a Portugese battleship who steamed out of the fog
quite close (and did not appear on AIS). I hailed him on the radio and
had a friendly chat for a bit, though his English was very broken. We
got pushed far south of what our intended course was, due to the
Icelandic Low not really being in place. All the low pressures were
tracking farther south than usual, so we had to go south to be on
their 'correct' (southern) side for westerlies. For the first half we
didn't see any signs of shipping (but did see loads of life - birds
followed us the whole way across, and it was a rare day that we didn't
see dolphins). By the second half, once we gotten north again, we were
back in the shipping lanes and saw ships regularly. This was actually
a nice feeling, knowing that if the worst happened we'd likely get
passed by sooner rather than later.

5. How did the boat hold up to the rigors of ocean sailing?

The boat performed beyond expectation. She was very fast when there
was wind, and more importantly, felt very solid. I compared it to a
Mason 43 we delivered to the Bahamas a few years ago, one of the
sturdiest boats afloat. Arcturus felt like a mini Mason to us. She did
not go to windward very well when there was any sort of sea running -
we were only able to tack through about 110 degrees, which is abysmal,
but expected. Once the wind freed, however, she flew. We had some
surfing runs with the wind aft and the sails set 'wing-on-wing' with
the jib out on the spin pole, and regularly saw speeds over 12 knots
for short stretches. The best night watch of the trip came around Day
20 - I was outside, the half moon was shining very brightly and there
wasn't a cloud in the sky. The wind was blowing 25-30, dead astern,
and we had the full main up on one side and the small jib out on the
other, with the pole. The wind had been steady from the WSW for two
days, and had built up a very friendly sea, big, but which Arcturus
easily surfed on. We were probably over-canvassed, but I let her go,
as I was having too much fun. Every second or third wave we'd just
zoom off at 10, 11 and 12 knots, the whitewater streaming around the
hull and making a sound like a jet taking off. It was exhilarating
sailing. I went forward in the dark with my harness on, and climbed up
on the spin pole and just hung on for about 20 minutes enjoying it
all. I finally did take two reefs in the main before Mia came up, so I
could sleep better, and we were still doing more than ten knots,
though admittedly more under control.

6. What was the worst part of the trip?

The first week, easily. I managed to learn some patience by the end,
and when a calm came, we just furled the sails and went to bed to wait
for wind. At the beginning, I couldn't stand not being able to move,
and was very frustrated. Combined with the foggy weather and my
feeling of general uneasiness, that first week was miserable.

7. What was the best part of the trip?

Smelling land as we rounded Mizen Head coming into Crookhaven. I'd
forgotten about this. Clint had tears in his eyes. All three of us
were taking short gulps through our noses soaking it up, as we knew
we'd soon get used to it and it wouldn't last. Smells always seems to
evoke the strongest emotions, and the smell of grass, dirt and smoke
from a nearby chimney was absolutely enchanting.

8. What kind of meals were you eating?

We actually ate very well, and didn't run out of fresh food until
almost Day 21 or so. Our normal routine was to cook one hot meal per
day, taking turns cooking and washing up. Mia had made a seven-day
menu, based on the food we ate at Broadreach, when we were in the
Caribbean working with teenagers. Monday was 'Mediterranean Pasta',
Tuesday Chili, Wednesday Hawaiian Stir-fry, Thursday Tuna salad and
roasted veg, Friday Curry, Saturday rice and beans and Sunday pizza!
We baked an enormous amount of bread, thanks in part to the calm
weather. The pizza was a big hit, and we made the dough from scratch.
We had lots of garlic, onions, cabbage and turnips on board, which
lasted the whole way across. We also had farmer eggs from the market
in Reading, that lasted a full six weeks - in six dozen, only two or
three went bad. They had never seen the refrig, which was key. We had
many cans of beans and tomato sauce, cans of pineapple and a basket
full of apples and oranges. We had peanut butter. Oatmeal (though only
for a few days, as we'd stored it in the bilge and all three
containers got wet and moldy - this was the worst part of the trip for
Mia, as she lives on her oatmeal for brekky).

9. What does the cabin below deck smell like after 3-4 weeks at sea?

Surprisingly clean! We'd take bucket showers about once every three
days, and the weather was so nice that we never even got out our long
underwear. Yet it wasn't hot enough to sweat, so we felt pretty clean.
Every few days we'd take turns cleaning the head and sweeping the
floor, and we were very good about cleaning the galley after each meal
and putting things back in their proper place. Our hair was a bit
messy due to the saltwater, but it really didn't smell bad at all!

10. Did you take photographs during the trip and are you going to
post them on FB?

Mia took nearly 1000 photos! Check out her blog at
miatravel.blogspot.com. She posts some of them up there, and I'll have
some on my site. We don't put photos on FB, but we'll send you the
good ones. There are loads!

11. When do you sail for Norway? And are you taking the western
route or the eastern route through the Irish Sea?

We're heading up the east coast of Ireland, in the Irish Sea. We're
only 30 miles from Crookhaven at the moment, where we made our
landfall. Our friend Ullis, who was the photographer at the wedding,
is flying down tomorrow to Dublin, and taking the bus down to Cork,
where we're taking the boat tomorrow, about 50 miles further up the
coast. She'll sail with us up the Irish Sea and through the Caledonian
Canal in Scotland. Then it's a dash across the North Sea, about 3-400
miles to Kristiansand in Norway. From there we enter the Baltic and
plan on leaving the boat on the west coast of Sweden for the winter.

Hope that answers your questions! Keep in touch!

+Andy & Mia