Author Archive | Gailfish

 

Except for requisite visits to Mystic Seaport,  Eastern Connecticut has always been a long stretch of I95. I hardly ever thought beyond the highway railings. So, when we took a bike ride around Saybrook Point, it opened my eyes to the wonderful towns that can be found along the way. The houses, waterfront and town were picturesque and our lunch at the Monkey Farm Cafe made us feel like locals. However, after suffering a crushing defeat in mini-golf, Jason decided it was time to leave town.

Earlier, when Jason had asked me where I wanted to sail to in the Sound, I didn’t hesitate before giving my response-Block Island. I had only heard of sailboat races around the Island and it was remote enough to seem exotic. My goal was reinforced by the serene pictures in cruising guides of boats moored in the Great Salt Pond. Our friends graciously offered us their mooring ball for a few days, and our course was set. We arrived in 20 knot winds-where did that sheltered harbor go?- and I scoured the mooring field for their ball. Hmmm, this is going to be tight. We used our much practiced technique of stern step pick-up but a combination of me being slow to bring the line in after attaching, Jason being slow to rotate the boat, and the brisk wind, resulted in the line getting caught under Two Fish. There we were, line caught in a rudder and Jason trying to steer with no rudders and one engine. Somehow he got clear of other boats and I sacrificed my fleece arm to the pond and freed the line. Attempt number two went much more smoothly and soon we were attached at both bow cleats and cleaning up the boat. After a visit from Beth and Dave, we headed to shore for a beachside concert and family picnic.

Having heard that it is a great island to bike, we stopped by the bike store, where we were greeted by the surly teenage attendants-the only time that I have visited a bike store where the people could care less about biking. We also decided that being only 44 feet away from each other all day wasn’t stressful enough, so we rented a tandem. Since there is just one chain being driven by the cranks, we needed to constantly communicate to keep from being hit in the ankles with flying pedals, while adjusting our positions, or trying to glide (me) on the downhill. We really enjoyed our time there, but Two Fish keeps moving and we headed to Narragansett Bay and the Herreshoff Museum in Bristol-free admission with your mooring fee!

Once again, we “discovered” a wonderful small town with revolutionary-era houses and a fantastic lunch spot. At the Beehive Cafe, they serve a great breakfast burrito, only to be surpassed by my post-dinner ginger ice cream at Gray’s Ice Cream. Since the Beehive was closing for renovations, we decided to move on and headed towards Pocassett Bay, sailing away from the Long Island and Rhode Island Sounds and into Buzzards Bay. Next stop: Cape Cod Canal.

Some bonus photos taken by our friend Elaine.

Pulling one’s car into a parking space is usually pretty simple.   Just steer the car between the yellow lines.  Two Fish decided to “park” (anchor) in a spot which had no guiding lines; in boat-speak, that means it is uncharted.

Instead of depth readings, the chart only contains some Portuguese text that we translated to something about not having gotten around to measuring the depth.

The cruising guide write-up was appealing: great views, palm trees, nice water and calm seas. Since our fancy charting system was useless, we relied on a hand drawn map in the cruising guide.  This scrawl of a chart could pose for a pirate’s treasure map.  Our trust of the pirate map was a bit shaken by the misnaming of the lagoon’s primary island, but we decided to head there anyway.

 

After a day of light winds and bright skies we approached the harbor.   The wind gods wanted to make sure the approach was difficult, so they gave us 22 knots of breeze and rain as we arrived.  Of course, to add to our challenge, sunset was fast approaching and we needed light to see hazards.    We also discovered that the lagoon shares an entrance with an active port that must have sprung up after the pirate map was drawn.

After avoiding a few 700-foot ships, we headed for the farther of the two entrances to the lagoon.   Our treasure map had its first epic failure. The path had been replaced by a pair of huge dry docks.   This fell short of our dreams of palm trees on the shore.   Our spirits were buoyed when we saw a power boat head to the other entrance.   The cruising guide offers this advice for the second approach:  “Stay within 10 meters of the nasty boat-eating coral reef and you will find a pittance of water to pass your boat over.” We tried to follow these orders, but the violent waves crashing over the reef inspired Jason to give it more room.   There is no yellow sign declaring “Reef Here” so we looked for breaking waves and black spots of rock through the dim light and rain.

To further taunt us, the cruising guide claimed that, in the late 90’s, this route was staked by flags.   However, the fallible guide went on to state that no flags had been seen since 2002.   There are two types of risk for the keel of Two Fish. First, sandy bottoms that are too low will trap the boat temporarily and only release on the next rising tide.   This is usually benign and only requires patience.

As kids we all learned the classic children’s game of  “Rock, Paper, Fiberglass.”  REMEMBER ROCK BEATS FIBERGLASS.  The second risk is rocks.

We used our depth sounder and our fish finder to better understand the bottom.   We decided that If the depth dropped to 2 meters, we would turn back towards the reef for more water.   (Two Fish swims in 1.2 meters.)   Forward-looking sonar would have been nice.

Finally we saw a marker (simple white cube).  We referred to this marker as a lunch box because it looked like a wayward cooler.  Finally, we narrowed in on a place to drop the hook.  Jason chose a spot downwind and we dropped our anchor and made adjustments. The next day, at low tide, I realized how good Jason’s choice of an anchoring spot was.  Three feet away and we would certainly have grounded.

The rhythm of the tide governed the village. At 6am, the fishermen in waders walked by with their poles. Later, someone put up a beach umbrella in the now-exposed mud. We provided some entertainment for the teenage boys who challenged each other in a race to the boat and back. Later in the day, the people receded together with the sand bank and I brought up the satellite image of the mud with the dot of our lat/long. Just a step away, there was the mud. How did he do that?

While I enjoyed the view from the boat, the others headed to shore to explore the town. They missed the teenage boys racing one another from a sandbar to the edge of Two Fish and back but they had a good time anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(written January 26, 2014)

I am still a bit anxious when the breeze “freshens” as our sailing instructor Michael liked to say. So for those of you who consider 20 knots on the nose just the start of a breeze, you live in a different universe from me.

There is no typical “day in the life”. Today, it is 6:30am and I am sitting in my pj’s on our deck lounger working on the computer (for those of you who don’t know me, that means I am enjoying myself). The rest of the day will be a mix of tourism – exploring a local market – and boat work. I will finally get to re-mark the anchor chain. We are at a marina in Salvador, Brazil and despite having been here 24 hours, I have yet to go off-compound. Why would you when you have 6 restaurants, Nespresso coffee and real showers at your disposal? I guess it is the NY’er in me; why would you leave your 5 block radius when the bagel store, 25 dry cleaners and 3 supermarkets are in your neighborhood?

Contrast that with a little more than 2 days ago. I came on deck for my 2a.m. watch to find Jason trying to steer through a series of squalls while maintaining optimum boat speed and progress to our destination. As we approached a squall, the breeze built:

“22 at 90 degrees starboard”, I yelled.

Jason eased the Genoa.

“26”.

Jason put a reef in the Genoa.

“29”, I said a bit louder. Panic began to set in for me. What if the breeze increases? Two Fish sailed along but I was not happy. Jason was in heaven as he trimmed and eased. Technically it was my watch but Jason stayed on deck. If he had left me alone, I would have put the sail away and motored along, losing a full knot of speed along the way.

Finally, “15”, “12”, 110 degrees. We sailed through the rain.

“Are the portlights closed? #!@#!”. I went inside to close them and dry the shelves.

The wind lightened as we went through the squall and then returned to its 10 to 15 knot range on the other side.

Jason trimmed the Genoa. The seas were lumpy. The wind lightened some more. We furled in the Genoa. The wind built. We unfurled the Genoa. Trim. Ease. Trim. Ease. Repeat 10 times.  Did I mention that Jason used to race J-24’s?. The next day, Jason remarked: “You did great out there.”

“What?”, I said.

“You really were able to pitch in and get us through the storm”, he replied.

That’s not how it felt. I felt like I was too uncertain of what to do. Actually, I consider it a triumph that I can sometimes sit on a night watch for 30 minutes without Jason checking in with me. By the way, would someone please cut the Genoa a bit higher so I can see under it?

 

 

Having read the background info and found a flight, I announced to Jason that our next trip would be to Paraguay. I also told him that there were still strong Guaraní Indian influences. “Great”, he replied. “I haven’t had Chicken Tikka Masala for ages.” The Guaranís are one of the indigenous peoples of  Paraguay and while there aren’t many 100% Guaraní people left, the language is mandated alongside Spanish in school and 90% of the population can understand it.

Despite the lack of Vindaloo, we were happy to find that Paraguayans do like spicy food, something we miss in Argentina; I have read that Argentinians regard very spicy condiments as ruining the taste of good food.

The Spanish landed in Asunción in 1537 and formed an alliance with the Guaraní. Jesuits subsequently brought the Spanish language but were enthralled by the sound of Guaraní so a Jesuit priest created the first Guaraní dictionary, helping to sustain the spoken and written language. Even in the 1600’s and 1700’s, intermarriage was common (as opposed to other colonizations which wiped out cultures), helping to sustain Guaraní.

Asunción is known as “la madre de la ciudad” (the mother of cities) because it was the base from which many other centers were founded. Paraguay eventually declared independence in 1811 but shortly thereafter was under the influence of the supreme dictator for life, Dr. Francia, “El Supremo”. He closed the borders and no one was allowed in or out until 1840. The next dictator, Lopez, reopened the country but his son led the country into The War of the Triple Alliance, the country had a cholera epidemic, and he executed many of his countrymen. Eventually he was shot by one of his Generals. Fast forward to the Chaco War of 1932-35 with Bolivia; Paraguay won the war but lost many people. More dictators, and in 1954 Alfredo Stroessner (son of a German brewer) took over. Over his 35 year reign, the country harbored Nazis, killed its own people and was a center for smuggling. So it wasn’t until 1989 that the people of Paraguay could finally breathe a bit and the country could Asunción begin to free itself from history.

Since we only had one day, we did not get to see the countryside but we did get a flavor for downtown Asunción, which seems like a growing economy that is on the verge of becoming something bigger. The Paraguay river runs along the city and is a popular fishing spot. However, while we were there, the local police and Coast Guard seemed to be fishing for something in the river – smuggled goods? It must have been something since the local TV crew was there but we will never know as my Spanish has not yet progressed to the level of CSI: Asunción.

The popular drink in Paraguay is tereré which is mixed with herbs such as mint. On my first walk around the plaza, I was immediately drawn to the wonderful aroma of herbs being sold on the sidewalk. These guys showed me how they mix Terere. I also enjoyed looking at the colorful buses. The local joke is if you are walking somewhere instead of taking the bus, you say you are taking Linea 11 (11 looks like 2 legs).
We went to the municipal museum and the woman overseeing the exhibit tried to teach me a few Guaraní words. The language sounds very musical but I can’t remember anything she told me. It is a bit like Chinese, intonation really matters and if you don’t say something correctly you may embarrass yourself. Spanish is challenging enough for now.
Both museums that we visited appeared closed at first, but with a bit of persistence and a doorbell, someone was there to unlock the door and supervise the visit.

At the end of the day, we were happy we visited and learned a bit about the people, perhaps we should move there and take up trading?

 

 

 

 

 

Soon we will be heading out to the Atlantic, so we decided to explore the opposite end of the spectrum-the Chilean desert.  The desert really suits me. The top five things I like about the desert are: Number 5- Sand is really soft to fall on (click here to see our sandboarding attempt), Number 4-it is only one letter away from dessert; Number 3-limited bug population; Number 2-it is warm; and, the Number 1 reason-the low humidity keeps my hair under control.

Most of the buildings are made of adobe and many have adobe walls around a small courtyard. The adobe walls are great at keeping the afternoon desert winds away.

The most striking thing about the landscape is that it goes on forever, and is extremely flat, except for sudden defined mountain ranges, caused by earthquakes and volcanoes. There are large salt flats, made up of salt from the volcanoes; the salt was brought by the water run off and then left when the water evaporated. Its composition is a bit more toxic than table salt so I wouldn’t recommend it.

Each morning and afternoon we went for a hike or a bike ride.  We enjoyed hiking in Guatin (translates to Valley of the Cacti) and seeing the tall, several hundred year old cacti with their intricate root systems. At Valle de la Luna, the landscape is formed by crystallized salt, embedded with clay. We walked through areas that were once salt mines, and in the distance could also see abandoned sulfite mines as well as mines from the latest Chilean export, Lithium.

The bike paths were a bit rocky, but the real adventure came one afternoon on the banks of the Rio Grande (the one here is not quite as grande as the on up North). We started off at the petroglyphs, which had been left by the Atacaman Nomads and augmented later by the Incans. There are lots of opinions as to what they represent. Maybe they were messages for following travelers, markers for places to come back to, or told the history of important events? When the nomads were traveling through here, the Rio Grande had animals and vegetation along the banks to sustain them. Despite the smaller size now, Cristobal warned us that we would have to traverse the cold river during the hike. After wading through once, we opted to climb up the steep slope, rather than wade through a second time. Little did we know that we were forging a new, somewhat tricky path along the ledge. It took a bit longer to find a feasible way back down than we had planned for, so by the time we waded through the Rio Grande one last time, the sun was setting and Edwin, our 4×4 driver, was walking the banks wondering whether we had been eaten by a puma.

Of course, when we were told about a lake that was so concentrated with salt that one could easily float, the local Polar Bear, aka Jason, had to give the ice-cold water a try.  I stayed onshore and looked at the flamingoes.

We and a few other hotel guests went stargazing with a local guide and astronomy expert. His combination of local and astronomical knowledge together with boundless enthusiasm made for a great evening. Click here to find out more about his efforts.

For our final hike, we chose to go to Quebrada de Nacimiento (13,760 Feet Above Sea Level) . The hike started with a rocky uphill climbing from 3000 to 4150 meters. Not quite Everest base camp but I could feel the uphill. Have any of you noticed that when you are the slowest hiker, you often get fewer rests because when you catch up to the others they are ready to move on? At least we all ended at the same spot and I, too, got to sit down and enjoy the view.