Patience, according to Ambrose Bierce, is a minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue. It may be considered and perceived a virtue, but all I really feel right now is the minor form of despair. After a week in Amsterdam, we were ready to move on, but then the weather changed again. It changed back to its apparently normal strong W-SW-SSW winds and rain, courtesy of north Atlantic ocean.
I haven't studied the north european weather much but having spent the last two years here with Sy Aliisa really makes me wonder, why I ever came here. (To meet Annina, of course!) As it stands now, I would not recommend north Europe / Baltic Sea to anyone on a cruising yacht. And for those already in the area on a cruising yacht, I would recommend strongly to catch the next easterly wind out of here and not look back.
The 16th and 17th century buildings live nicely together with 20th and 21st century architechture. The Dutch know how to do it. Den Haag. Or is the The Hague?
Weather and the mood
It is true that weather can make the same passage on the same yacht from the same A to the same B, with the same people onboard the best day in your life - or the worst experience you're ever had. Even in the harbour the weather is a major influence on mood. Aliisa is a dry boat (Buck would now remind me, that there was water dripping on the saloon table during his visit, but the problem is now fixed!) and we have all the comforts we need for a rainy day. (That is each other and if we're lucky, the wireless internet which we are quite addicted to.) Still, when the weather is shit, we feel easily ... well... under the weather? My plan was to start crossing the Bay of Biscay in early August. The first week of August already gone, we haven't even made it to the channel, Falmouth is almost 400 miles away. (Falmouth is a good starting point, but not necessary if the weather gives us a chance to stay in the English channel a bit longer.)
Some of the better moods. It's windy and overcast outside but we have closed all hatches and lit up some candles. Annnina has made a wonderful Indian style dinner. They do drink white wine in India, don't they?
The westbound passage from Amsterdam to Falmouth seems very difficult in the northern summer of 2008. After two weeks in Amsterdam - I could easily stay longer - we moved 14 miles through the main canal to the sea side town of IJmuiden. Nevemind the town, which was a few miles from the marina, we were there to attack the North Sea once again. As I get older, I seem to get softer, maybe wiser or maybe I just suffer increasingly from anxiety. Whatever the reason, it is a fact that I am not a sailor, I'm a yachtie! Tacking against 20kn wind with Aliisa was not my cup of tea. I heard stories of and saw frequently yachts coming in from the sea when I thought the best place to be is in harbour.
Anyway, the weather gave us a short break. It may have been long enough to reach Belgium, but I procrastinated. We sat out in the sun, waiting for the beach-side flags to either get tired or change direction of flutter. They didn't get tired until late afternoon and I was still battling with pre-departure anxiety. I took a nap and then got the latest forecast, again. We had until morning before the next strong SW with a line of thunderstorms would arrive. We weren't too happy with the fact that the IJmuiden harbour wanted 16 euros a day for a low-signal wlan internet. In fact, I thought it was outrageous. Being web-addicts, we had to go. We took off at 2330 and motored / sailed the shortest possible distance of 25 miles to the nearest harbour, Scheveningen, the port of Den Haag.
Scheveningen Harbour seemed full at first, but we found an empty jetty at the very end - apparently not a visitor's berth but no-one seemed to mind us here.
We arrived just before 6 am, after waiting two hours at the harbour entrance for daylight. There was nothing stopping us from going in earlier, just the experience of night entries and departures which can be surprisingly confusing in a 2-dimensional world of flashing lights and dark shadows. A dutch yacht came in just before us and when we arrived in the full marina, they had already tied up on the last available jetty. I drove next to him and suggested we come alongside. He quickly took his fenders off and went below. I got the message. We found a vacant berth at the back of the marina, right opposite the harbour office. The dark clouds of lightingin and rain were already rolling in. The two shots of Gin that we offered over the side to the North Sea as we left IJmuiden, had paid off. But the effect was only for 6 hours. We must buy more gin.
We had a chance to evacuate ourselves another 65 miles south, to Belgium, but the forecast and the weather window was short. Instead of motorin through the night in apparently calm rain, we decided to stay and wait for a bigger break. I was getting tired of sitting around all day, doing nothing but internet. I also didn't want to go to town, as I was getting sick of burning money at the rate we have been. I decided to re-align the engine.
After three hours of crawling around with spanners, opening bolts and kicking the engine about, I gave up. The damn propellor shaft was still hitting the stern tube and the engine seemed to always return to it's original position. Being the eternal optimist, I turned the engine on and put her in gear, hoping for that metallic sound which has bothered me since departing Cape Town, to have disappeared. It was still there. Out of a whim, I gave the engine a bit of throttle just before killing it. "Snap", the throttle cable broke! Right here in the harbour. Not when arriving. Not when in the middle of parking in a tight spot and wind on your nose. Where was Mr. Murphy?
I was happy that it broke here, with three days and a gale warning to keep us at port anyway. But I was extremely pissed off anyway. Getting to the cable was no fun. Removing the compass, the plotter-autopilot-compass wiring and then the top off the pedestal was just the beginning. I was diving into the most greased area of Aliisa. Locktite 767 - the silver coloured stuff - was covering everything from the steering chain down. (Thank you Craig, you can have the rest of it back, together with the days work I owe you...)
The steering pedestal is starting show the scars of repeated invasive operations over the years. The ends of the throttle and gear cables (Teleflex) are welded on a home-made (of course!) fitting for the old, separate, gear and throttle handles. So, I needed new cables, a welder and a few days...
I spent the rest of the afternoon pulling the pedestal open and just before dinner was ready, I had successfully removed the gear and throttle completely, found a marine store and bought two new cables. (Thank you for the friendly local boatie for taking me around in his car). Today - after a day's struggle - the shit is back on. The home-made jobs increased a little, as the engine-end of the cables had no nuts and I had to use Tesa tape and hose clamps to fix the outer shell in place. We're back in business!
Aliisa's portable workshop consists of a $5 chinese vice which I bought in 1998. The A-frame was lying on the jetty. Here I'm cutting some bolts shorter, so the whole artwork fits in the pedestal with some wiring and steering cables.
After a week in Scheveningen, I started to feel like we're just waiting for the climate change. Maybe our grand children will continue the passage in 80 years, along the then palm-fringed channel, towards the desert-covered Australia? I'm using Buoyweather, as well as any other source of weather information. (I have a real interest in weather too) I pull the charts from WeatherCharts.org, I take grib-files from both Sailmail and GlobalMarineNet.net and no surprise, I get every possible report from the local sources.
Unfortunately there are a few problems with weather in north Europe. First, the weather changes all the time and as it is dominated by low pressure systems, their unpredictability makes long range forecasting a nightmare. Secondly, the European super-effectivness is not only driving people into an early grave with over-working, it also forces the met-offices to find their own funding and not give away their precious weather data for free. Unlike in Cairns - which has the best weather service I have ever seen anywhere - you can only get 24 hours in here. The Dutch give 12h + 12h. The Brits give 24h. The forecasts are brief and the wind bracket can be pretty rough.
In IJmuiden I got the forecast for the same area from the Dutch and the Brits. All wind speed is given using Beaufort scale. (Hey, when the Poms step on a scale, they're still in STONE-age!!) The forecast was "3 or 4" from the Netherland met-office and "4 or 5, possibly 6" from the UK met-office. They did agree on the direction, SW of course. I was left with 7-27 knots of wind on the nose. I wondered, how much I would have to pay for an extended guess?
Nevermind. Back to the story. All weather information indicated a period of 4-5 days of high preassure and settled weather, with light and favourable winds to go with it. We waited eagerly and even spoke about the possibility of getting down to the Bay of Biscay in one hit, skipping UK alltogether. Each day the window got narrower, until all we had was 24 hours of light headwinds before the next SW gale. We had a meal at the beach-side cafe and I noticed the ocean calming down. When we got back to the boat, I folded our bikes (did I tell you about our bikes?) and got ready to sea. Annina grabbed a shower and we left at 2030. The sea was wallowing with an old swell but we had the tidal flow with us (1kn) and all was well.
To pass Hoek van Holland (the port of Rotterdam, busiest in the world) one needs to call the port control first. I had spoken with them and we had a permission to approach but not cross yet. Suddenly I noticed the running lights being off and Aliisa traveling with no lights. The fuse was gone and I quickly changed it. The result? Some other fuse blew and now we had no GPS, no VHF, no autopilot and no lights. The current was pushing us in and I had no way of communicating with the port control. Well, without trying to dramatise the events too much, I did find - after a few hectic moments - the other fuse. I changed it, put on the tricolor and left the running lights off.
Crossing the shipping lane with AIS on the plotter. Aliisa in the centre. All vessels have a projected course of 30min. The projections as well as alarms can be set for different distances, the system will tell the closest distance at current headings. Too much information, perhaps. The AIS will be even more valuable for us in the open ocean, as the proportion of non-transmitting vessels is reduced to only a few. In Europe, the ships stay in their lanes and the real "danger" of collision is from fishing vessels, small local ships, ferries and recreational vessels - including other yachts. Only a handful of them have AIS tranmitters. This might change in the coming years...
All well. Our new AIS was showing the ships on our little 5" plotter. Actually, with the new plotter, AIS and Simrad autopilots, life at sea had never been this easy! The next little drama was behind the corner, though. Next day, after a sleepless night, we were getting ready to cross the shipping lane at the eastern English Channel. The area has no less than the greates concentration of commercial shipping in the world. I was happy about the AIS. We had a tidal flow against us and the wind was light - 5 to 8 kn from the west. Suddenly I noticed a oily smell from the engine room. I looked the gauges and saw that the oil preassure was only 3bar, insted of its usual 4 and a bit. I went down to remove the engine cover and saw something I didn't really want to see: Engine room sprayed with oil, the bilge full of black stuff. As I took off the revs, the alarm went on. Engine off. Genoa out. (Main was already up)
While the wind and rain is beating up the boat (in harbour, that is) we close up everything, listen to music, read, write, watch DVD's and relax. If I whinge a lot about the dramas and difficulties of life, it's all in my head. Life's actually really good. And she's amazingly wonderful. An Angel.
"You just became a sailor", I said to Annina as I stripped off my clothes, ready to dive into the engine room. I wiped off the oil off the engine, trying to find the source of the problem. It was obvious, that this was a BIG problem. It was obvious that we'd be battling the headwind and possibly later a gale in the english channel and arrive in Dover, the busiest port in UK totally exhausted, asking for a tow in. (Heavy traffic and 4kn tidal flows at the entrance, sailing in is prohibited and nearly impossible). It was obvious that I was sweating, my heart was beating and my mouth was dry. We had just done 1000 miles against the wind and rain, motoring. It was obvious that I would never come back to Europe, if I ever got out of here!
Nothing in the affairs of men is worthy of great anxiety
-Plato-
I poured more oil in, wiped off the engine and sat next to it. I reached the key and started it. Oil sprayed out from somewhere. Engine off. Where does it come from? Again, and I saw it! It was a huge relief. The capillary tube from the oil pressure sender to the resistive Murphy gauge had been too close to the exhaust, for too long. It had melted and from the ruptured tube oil was spraying all over the engine room. (This is why the alarm didn't go off sooner - the oil level just gradually dropped as it was pissing out.) I had a little battle with the copper bead at the end but managed to cut of the damaged bit and get the rest of it still to reach the back of the gauge.
To my wife, I was a god-like McGyver. After all, I had just told Annina that we have a serious problem. And then, 10 minutes later I emerged back from the guts of the boat, naked and covered in oil, announcing calmly: "Problem fixed". I was very relieved and yes, I was pleased with myself too. But the day was not over yet...
Just 30 miles to go out of our 125-mile mini-passage from Holland to Dover and the wind woke up. "Jeeeeesus bloody hell", I thought, "not now!". But yes, it came, not in force, but enough to kill the fun. (Unless otherwise indicated, during the whole journey from Finland the term "wind" always refers to "headwind". There has been no other wind for the last 1000 miles...) As the wind picked up, the tide turned to our favour. We were sufficiently close to Dover strait, which means that the tide runs a good 3 knots. This packed up the waves quite considerably and Annina soon assumed a more comfortable position in the aft cabin. All was well, though the motion was hilariously awful. We were given a real push and despite the sometimes over 2m waves, Aliisa rarely bashed into them, rather jumped over.
Bangers and Mash with green peas, washed down with a pint of beer. Yeah, Dover was ok. (Honestly, it was crap, but it's nice to do the "local" thing...)
We lost daylight and were now facing a night entry into Brittain's busiest port. Large passenger ferries were entering and exiting the harbour every 10 minutes or so. No problems, until I started to smell burning rubber from the engine room. No idea - even today - what it was, but it made me nervous. Then, just as I thought the shit was coming to an end, the tide changed. It does that, you know, and I accept that. But the damn tidal flow: 4 knots against us. In the confused sea that packs up from the west into the narrow funnel that ends in Dover Strait, we could do 2kn and once I smelled the burning, I had ease off a little and do 1.5kn. In the meantime, ferries were passing front and back, too close for comfort. The port control allowed us only to use the "western entrance", which means that we spent two hours passing the shipping and the eastern entrance. As we got in at midnight, I was exhausted to say the least.
So what's the drama?
Yeah, so what's the drama. Well, there was no drama, but that only comes afterwards. As soon as you're in a calm marina and open up a cold beer (I had a couple before we came in...) all the "drama" is gone and you realise that it wasn't worth all the anxiety. The drama was - always is - in my head. What's outside, is adventure, challenge, perhaps difficulty and even a major pain in the ass. I nevertheless wanted to get the story off my chest, as that is how I felt at the time. That's why it was real.
Heading out to sea is harder than ever. We've been getting beaten up for two months straight. Engine hours at 210, log sits at 1050 miles. That is practically the whole trip under power. And it's not because it's been calm. As I write this, Aliisa is shuddering in the marina, the rigging is playing high notes and the weather is 28-34kn WSW. We, by the way, would like to head WSW. Nevermind. Maybe next week?
United Kingdom is a magnet for low pressure. It is the ambassador of miserable weather. The lows brew in the north Atlantic and march in from west to east. Normally there are breaks of settled weather between them, this year that's not the case. The Atlantic High sits in its normal postion over Azores (bottom of the pic), producing pleasant downwind conditions south of Biscay. But how are we going to get there?
It's all clean again, the first of the three fuel filters changed and all wiped down. The running lights took longer to fix, as the port side running light wiring had celebrated its 25th anniversary with a short circuit inside the staunchion.
The pattern seems to be now one week in port, one day at sea. Lovely, but not really good for progress. The frustration is underneath all the time. My stomach feels the tension from the relentless W or SW wind whistling in the rigging. The scrotum tighting, snot green sea is waiting for us. The idea of going out there, again, feels revolting. Not once have we had a pleasant surprise with the weather, never a wind that is LESS than forecast or conditions that would have IMPROVED after departure.
Two other Finnish yachts: Sy Karibia and Sy MeriMyyräX have gone past us, both left Finland over a month after us. The former is a cruising yacht cruised by a couple, the latter is a performance yacht crewed by four enthusiastic sailors. When Aliisa leaves port, my default plan is that I will remain up until we get to the next port. If we have headwinds or the rough seas, Annina will be in the aft cabin, out of action. When we arrive, it takes me a few days just to recover from sometimes a 36-hour job. I'm desparate to get to a real ocean. I'm desparate to be able to turn the engine off and still move forward.
In Dover, several locals have called this year the worst they can ever remember. The usual gaps between the lows, the breaks in bad weather, are missing and the lows follow eachother with hardly a day's pause in the SW wind. Real sailors can still do it, but a crew of one in an under-rigged trade-wind cruiser is finding himself in trouble.
Dover Castle looks over the entire town from atop the famous White Cliffs. The cliffs hide a network of tunnels which played a major role in defending the Channel and commanding Brittish navy during WWI and WWII.
Dover Castle Review
So back to the fucking Dover. It's a fucking Dover, because we have seen it now and we're ready to move on. Dover castle was a slight disappointment. The magnificent structure is perfectly preserved and all of its surroundings well kept. Access is limited mostly to the Keep, but that was not our main disappointment. The amazing structure was dead. The displays in side were made of highschool play props and failed to make the rooms look realistic. It was a museum in the traditional sense, rather than an interactive, medieval experience. With good quality props and wax figures, staff dressed up in the right style and displays built by real history fanatics, this could be the ultimate castle-experience.
The low point was the cafés and restaurants. The echoing halls resembled a canteen, something like the lunch eatery for staff. Here, in the age of themed restaurants, was a great opportunity lost. Annina and I spent an hour dreaming up the ultimate medieval pub, designed for the whole family and becoming a part of the whole "museum" experience. (And make money as well). Staff in costume, open fire, wooden floors, pints, cups, cutlery etc. made to imitate the era, menu to relfect the theme and music to make the right atmosphere. Maybe even a couple of staff "actors" to cruise the whole museum area - two soldiers - who might randomly walk in the pub and make a little scene, before being "thrown out" again. The Dover Castle had it all, as a site - it was just missing the imagination and effort ³to bring it alive!
In the times when gunpowder was slow-burning, the barrels of the cannons needed to be long. Otherwise the energy would be wasted. The cannon is conveniently pointing to the entry of the museum canteen-style "restaurant" and after evacuating all the staff and customers first, all I needed was enough gun-powder...
The last bit we did was the "Secret wartime tunnels". (It was a hoax, everyone seemed to know about them. I promise never to tell anyone, not to spoil the secret, ay). This was more like it. Accessible only by guided tour, there was a little effort put into the experience. Bomb raid sounds and flickering lights were used as we followed our imaginary wounded pilot into the underground first-aid station. The task of bringing this site "alive" had been considerably easier than the rest of the castle, all the "props" were actual and authentic from the tunnel's WWII days. A few realistic wax figures would have done wonders here too, but we were pleased about the 45min tour.
On our way home, we stopped at the White Cliffs Motorboat and Yacht Club for a beer and a meal. The experience was lovely and the pub was a perfect example of how to create a space and an atmosphere with a theme, yet in style. Maybe the pub owner should go and create a new restaurant for the Dover Castle!
YES, WE BOTH LIKE SHOPPING. We just hate the shopping the other-one loves. (Dover)
We stayed for six days, waiting for the next possible weather window. The first thing - whenever we arrive in a new country - was to race through all the mobile phone shops and find a pre-paid sim card. Not for our phone, though, but for our modem. In Holland mobile internet access was not available for pre-paid customers and even in UK it was hard to find. Vodafone surprisingly sold it only if you buy the modem from them. But what's the point? Now they can only sell the service once for each new customer but lose out on business for those who already have a modem. T-mobile came to aid, like they did in Germany, and provided a cheap broadband service without a contract. We were set for any amount of rainy days.
