Site icon s/v Hazel James

Hard Life

PompanoDan

In terms of women in my life, Rhett and Hazel have their similarities, and differences. Both enjoy—dare I say demand?—spa time. Furthermore, I’m learning that as a person often oblivious to these needs (a.k.a., a guy), that there’s a relationship between physical size and the spa time needed. For Rhett, it’s the bliss of a spa-day. (My protestations of, “Isn’t an hour massage enough?” are summarily dismissed.) Hazel of course is much larger and what I thought was going to be a couple days out of the water has become two weeks plus.

The differences between Rhett and Hazel lie in the sequencing of events. While Rhett enjoys the pleasures of spa visit immediately after a transatlantic flight, Hazel needs hers before the journey.

I had heard from other sailors that the Almerimar Marina and the town of Almerimar are excellent for having work done on a yacht and I’m delighted to say that I have found that to be the case. The marina also has a shipyard where boats can be hauled out so coordination between in-the-water and on-the-hard is easy. While the yard offers their own services, there are also many marine professionals in the town that do excellent work at reasonable prices (i.e., there’s healthy competition). Also, the yard allows captains and crew to work on their boats themselves. Finally, when in the yard crew can live onboard. All important points as many boatyards (especially in the US) require that only their people can do work on the boats and, at least in the US, living on hauled-out boats is virtually unheard of anymore. With the former, you can imagine what that monopoly does to cost and quality.

In addition, around the town there are good chandleries (marine stores) and if they don’t have what you need, they’re happy to order it and have it there in a day or two. There are also quality grocery stores, dentists, doctors, and everything else to keep Hazel’s captain afloat.

So with all that said, Hazel is thoroughly enjoying her spa time. As I’m writing this at 8:20 a.m. local time on Saturday and Juan and David (dav-EED) have just arrived to start sanding the old paint off below Hazel’s waterline (think of it as a massage for her bottom). Meanwhile I’m carefully inspecting her from masthead to keel, and from stem to stern, and addressing, or having professionally addressed, anything I find. I also had a survey done on her by an accredited marine surveyor who will deliver a detailed report on her seaworthiness (akin to a home inspection). Not only is the survey and surveyor a second set of eyes on top of mine, yacht insurance in Europe and North America is very different and the surveyor’s report should help us secure North American insurance when we arrive in the Caribbean.

When it comes to addressing things, I’ve found three general categories: First, there’s fixing what’s broken. Second, there’s hardening weaknesses. Thirdly, there are upgrades to make life onboard more comfortable. The common thread between the three lies in the contemplated voyage. Minor problems that can be lived with when nearshore can become menacing threats when there’s no outside help for thousands of miles.

At the same time, I’m working with our agent to figure out the formalities and paperwork required to call on the Madeira, Canary, and Cape Verde Islands on our transatlantic voyage (the two former being autonomous regions of Portugal and Spain respectively and the latter an independent country). I’m also reestablishing ties with my US-based professional weather router for services during my crossing.

To imagine life on the hard think of a home office in a treehouse. The good news is that there’s no commute and a nice view, the bad news is that you can’t leave it at the end of the day and you rapidly lose count of the trips up and down the ladder. When Rhett is sailing with us, we make frequent jokes that Hazel is so small and so tightly packed with spares and supplies that in order to get access to anything, you need to more five other things. We also joke that Hazel can go from neat-and-tidy to trashed in 60 seconds. At the end of every day, I try to clean up enough below decks that I have a little living and relaxing space. Also, since Hazel in the water draws 1.5 meters (5 feet) and then has another meter or so of freeboard (distance from waterline to gunnel), let’s just say I’m getting my exercise.

All this to say that life for Hazel and me is busy but rewarding. The prospect of what is to come is exciting and we’re surrounded by others who care about our voyage. Selfishly, it’s helpful to write a post like this because it forces me to step back from the day-to-day and look at all we’re experiencing and doing in a place so exotic and far from home—a reminder to savor the journey even more than the destination. As systems get disassembled in preparation for remediation and hardening, and paint gets sanded off, it’s so easy to get caught up in a single day’s work and feel like it’s all steps in the wrong direction. Sort of like the iconic image of a lady at the spa with a mud mask on her face and cucumber slices on her eyes, or me slung back in a Spanish dentist’s office getting my teeth cleaned—not the prettiest sight but it’s all part of the voyage. When I get down thinking about the enormity of the work, I do my best to breathe and trust in the process—Hazel and I did it before and we can do it again…with a lot of help from our friends.

Fair winds and following seas!

Hazel preparing to be lifted.
Moments later, the first indications of problems with her bottom paint.
On the way to Hazel’s parking spot.
The marinaros blocking her hull.
Hazel chatting with her German neighbor Greta. Just like when Rhett tells me she made some new friends while at the spa.
Getting a better look at the bottom paint. Ugh, a big, pricey, and totally unanticipated job. We had had a lot of paint work done on her this last winter in Greece and thought we wouldn’t have to touch the bottom for a year.
Theo the surveyor. He is excellent and good to have him do the survey early in the haul-out as he offered valuable guidance on my work and introduced me to trusted specalists around the town. On a good day I think I know a thing or two, then I’m always amazed at how much I can learn from others.
In describing the local weather, my pilot book referred to “flying saucer clouds.” I thought I was going to need more imagination to see them!
Close up. Flying saucers fortell strong East winds in 2-3 days. I’ll need those winds in a week or so as we depart, bound for Gibraltar.
Who doesn’t love a bubble bath at a spa?
Nighttime in the yard and testing Hazel’s steaming light (halfway up the mast) and anchor light (top of the mast). Note that her folding mast climbing steps are extended since I’ve been up and down several times in my work.
An example of “hardening.” I use a dyneema soft shackle to attach the spinnaker halyard block (pulley) at the top of the mast. While the old shackle looked to be in serviceable condition for nearshore sailing, it had been at the top of the mast since 2022, crossing an ocean and taking both the Mediterranean Sun’s UV rays and the chafe of the spinnaker. If the shackle were holding something non-critical and at deck level I would have let it go knowing I could always replace it on the fly if it broke. However, the top of the mast is a different story. I made up this new soft shackle in Hazel’s saloon and test fitted it to the block.
The starting point for making the soft shackle was a straight piece of dyneema (a very strong modern line) and a homemade splicing needle (for you knot-nuts out there, it’s the inner core of some old wire rigging bent in half).
The rigging needle taken through the core of the dyneema with the bitter end of the line secured in the loop of the needle.
With the bitter end worked back through the core, the shackle takes shape.
Other finished soft shackles open, semi-open, and closed. Stronger than steel and a great solution in places where you don’t want metal on metal or metal flying around. For a while I used a metal shackle and the metal on metal noise, transferred down the mast, was horrible. The dyneema is beautifully silent.
On deck preparing to climb the mast and intstall.
Installed! I’m at the back of the mast and the block and soft shackle are at the front of the mast. The shackle links the block to a stainless steel ring securely attached to the mast. The gray line through the block is the spinnaker halyard. Other items of note: The wind vane above my head is for visual reference, the one above the block is electronic and is wired to my cockpit anemometer gauge that gives direction and speed. Anchor light in the center of the mast. The blue and red vertical lines are the main and yankee halyards. The vertical white support is Hazel’s “air terminal” (lighting rod). The red horizontal strap is a security strap for me to hold me on the mast leaving both hands free. Lots going on at the masthead!
I made the mistake of looking down.
Taking a moment to enjoy the view. Small local boats in the foreground. When in the water, Hazel was on the pier behind the local boats where all the catamarans are berthed. Interesting, on the plains in the background if you look closely you’ll see a lot of white patches. The patches are huge plastic sheets. My pilot book said that in this southernmost point in Europe, most of Europe’s winter vegetables are grown under this sheeting. The marina entrance is in the upper-left, just to the left of lighthouse structure. 130 miles behind it is Gibraltar and the Atlantic!
Let’s face it, the only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys…and every boy’s dream is to live in a treehouse.
Juan and David starting Hazel’s bottom massage this morning. While their sanders are a bit noisy on the outside, as I write this post in the saloon it’s like being inside an acoustic guitar while a rank beginner tries to play an AC/DC song.
I could call this photo “We be Jamón” or “When in Rome.” While in Spain I’ve let my vegetarianism lapse.
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