Happy Halloween!!!

California Pirates

California Pirates



I remember hearing something in the distance pounding against the sailboat’s hull. Half asleep and groggy, I thought the mooring buoy must be colliding with the hull. Footsteps and voices whispering drifted into the main salon where I snuggled under a couple of blankets on the couch. The footsteps got louder, coming closer, as I wondered what the guys were doing up so early. The answer came as someone struck a lighter in the companionway. I looked up to see an unfamiliar face peering out of a black hooded sweatshirt, with other hooded men behind him. “You should see at all the shit down here!” the man said. I could hardly believe my eyes, but this wasn’t a nightmare, it was real, very real, and within a few feet of me…

Only the day before we had begun our early morning sail amid Sausalito’s dense October fog, affording us only a couple hundred yards visibility. The Golden Gate Bridge was shrouded in whipped cream, the foghorns pounding out their ominous warnings. Ships were everywhere; the coastline with offshore rocks invisible, and huge, westerly swells threatening to break on the decks.

There were six of us onboard the Elysium, an Andrews 72- foot sloop; three owners, the captain and two mates, a good mix for two-person watches. All hands were on deck looking for small islands as we moved at ten knots in and around the shipping lanes, tankers, freighters and container ships. Within a few hours, leaving the congested lanes and threatening swells, things settled down and our comfortable routine of watches allowed us the freedom to relax and unwind, as any good cruise should. Light winds and following seas dictated motor sailing along the coast for the first day. The winds were predicted to increase on the second day with an approaching frontal system.

The second day, the gray morning fog off the central coast lifted, affording us a view of Hearst Castle and Morro Rock as we glided southbound. Listening to the coast guard weather report gave us a different perspective on our day.
We found that this frontal band was due to strike the Point Conception area about the same time we were to round that notoriously rough part of central California’s coastline. Captain David and I evaluated the situation noting
the risks vs. the rewards of continuing on, despite the appearance of present sunny skies and northwesterly breezes of fifteen knots.

After speaking with all aboard regarding this judgment call, we opted to pull into Port San Luis and hang on one of the public mooring buoys just inside of the break wall— half a mile from the wharf, yet clearly sheltered from the impending foul weather.

A fine lunch of sandwiches and salad accompanied by a good Chardonnay was served by Patricia, our vibrant chef/crew. This was her first cruise aboard and she was thoroughly impressing us all with her skills and great seafaring attitude.

The wind began to increase throughout the afternoon as we napped and read, and by sunset we were all glad to be snuggled behind the cliffs that rose windward of our mooring. We enjoyed another great meal of lamb and
potatoes with some fabulous merlot, listening as the wind sung through the rigging at a brisk thirty knots. Knowing that conditions out on the open ocean would have been a handful, especially near Point Conception, we were quite happy to have moored in the safety of sheltered waters—or what we thought was safety. We decided to call it a night and planned on rising early. If the weather calmed down we would continue on south before sunrise.

I turned off my cell phone, hoping for some undisturbed sleep on the couch in the main salon. The wind increased during the night and began to calm in the early hours of the morning. Only the wind was calm as I realized that the men in hooded sweat shirts were not my crew. Adrenaline took over as I literally flew off the couch after the hooded figures in the companionway, screaming at the top of my lungs. I heard one of them yell, “Shit! Somebody’s down here!” and they began retreating as fast as they could, all four hooded men at once stumbling and running through the cockpit headed aft to their stolen dingy.

Still howling and yelling, I continued after them, knowing that it was serving a dual purpose—to let the captain and others know that I was thwarting these scallywags and intimidating them into getting off the vessel as quickly as possible. Within seconds I had chased them through the center cockpit to the stern cockpit where the helms were. They began apologizing in unison repeatedly. One of them said, “We were just looking for a place to smoke.” This did not deter me from getting their sorry asses off the stern and into the aluminum dingy, as it continued to pound into the sugar scoop. I berated them for scratching the stern, insisting they untie immediately, which was proving difficult for them with all the shaking going on! As if they didn’t have enough to worry about—with me looking like some maniac crazed enough to pull out a gun at any moment and start shooting—their outboard wouldn’t start. In retrospect it was hilarious! They finally got the motor started and drove off into the darkness still crying out apologies and that it would never happen again.

I turned and headed back toward the cabin, still not really aware of what just happened, since I had gone from dead sleep to human repellent in ten seconds. Patricia met me at the top of the companionway with a big hug and told me I was a bulldog. Many thoughts then began to cross my mind. I apologized to everyone for using the four-letter word more that twenty times in one quick minute, wondered what would have happened if the would-be pirates had been carrying a gun or knife as they descended down the stairs. I wondered if they were actually just looking for a place to smoke. Were they going to steal items out of the boat? Were they actually trying to steal the boat itself?

Patricia kindly brewed coffee as I sat down to talk with David and two of the owners. The third, a 90-year-old, was fast asleep in the forward birth, unaware of the entire incident. Adrenaline a wonderful thing but the after effects began to shake me up. We debated on whether to call the harbor master, file reports, or just continue on south. We knew a report would further delay our departure and considered calling while underway.

I turned on my cell phone to discover two messages had been left during the night. There was a family emergency that would require I return to shore and abandon the rest of the cruise. This was really turning out to be one hell of a morning. We decided to call shore on the VHF radio to inform the authorities of the incident, hoping to reach someone so early an hour. I packed my duffel and caught a water taxi to the wharf, spotting the stolen dingy tied up to the pilings. I filed a report with the harbor master, and the Elysium crew continued their journey to San Diego. I headed south by automobile to deal with other life- threatening issues. Meanwhile, we all realized that we’d just had our first encounter with California pirates, and hoped it would be our last.

Sailing to Panama

Robby Buck does Panama Canal
by Captain Jeff McConnel


Who is Robby Buck and why does he spend so much time sailing? Good question. Robby began sailing in Southern California in the early 1960's, having been raised in the Long Beach area he was naturally drawn to the sea. This was not just a passing fancy for him, as of the end of 2004 he had logged more than 600,000 miles of saltwater moving under hundreds of keels. In 2004 alone, he completed 5 transpacific crossings, taking his total transpacs to 70! Sailing fanatic, that is putting it mildly, Robby eats, breathes and sleeps the ocean life, a recent blood test revealed he had more salt in his vains than hemoglobin, (just kidding!).

Robby moved from Southern California to Maui, Hawaii in the late 60's to follow his dreams to work and play on the warm waters of the tropics. He still lives in Honolulu, Hawaii when he is not delivering a boat to or from Hawaii. If you are lucky, when he is in Hawaii, he is often the man that runs out to the dock at Hawaii Yacht Club helping with docklines and offering the visiting sailors from overseas their first "aloha". He has become a fixture at the club, some may even say a character, that proudly acts as port captain. He has befriended hundreds, maybe thousands of sailors that have plied the Pacific and arrived at the docks of the Hawaii Yacht Club, and is well known in sailing circles throughout the Eastern and Central Pacific. It is difficult to arrive at a port where Robby is not known.

In November he and a crew of 3 delivered "The Dream", a Swan 431, from Honolulu to Long Beach, California. A few days out of Hawaii, the auxiliary diesel died, and 18 days later he pulled quietly into the Los Alamitos Yacht Club, under sail alone. With the aid of their hoist he and a fellow mechanic they removed the engine and installed a rebuilt Perkins. He was then asked by the owner to deliver the vessel to Panama. I fortunately happened to call at that time to see how things were going and found that he could use another crew for the trip. Having been through the canal once before on a Tayana 55 a number of years ago I jumped at the offer. Sailing as "the captain" for many years myself, it was a welcome opportunity to sail as a mate, especially with a man with Robby's experience. This was Robby's first experience transiting the ditch, so maybe I could be a bit of help in that way. The other crew was a longtime childhood friend of Robby's, Mike Gearhardt, a marine surveyor who lived on his Catalina 30 just a couple slips away from the transcient dock.

The beginning of December brought record low temperatures, (global warming, my _ss!). As we departed for the fuel dock it was 34 degrees. After fueling we pulled the docklines in and immediately had our first adventure. The shift linkage had come loose, after 20 hours of motor trials, and at such an inappropriate time! We were able to get a line back to the dock, and Robby got to show off his mechanical expertise before we even left the safety of the breakwater. We finally got underway, motorsailing south enroute for Mexico. Sometimes the excitement just never stops, within the first our I noticed that the allen screws that secure the foil for the rollerfurl had backed out, causing chaffing and some tears in the new headsail. Within minutes, Robby's foredeck racing experience was called into play, up the mast we hauled him, down the forestay, allen wrench in hand, tightening as we lowered him to each junction. What a shame they hadn't heard of locktite when assembling the foil!

Our first few days were spent in long johns, sweatshirts, jackets, gloves, boots, scarfs and foul weather gear, and we were still cold. As tough and hardy as Robby is, he still doesn't like the cold at all, if only profanity could ignite we would be warmer! The cruise down to the border and south into Mexico was smooth and even glassy at times.

December 4, we are still motorsailing in light and variable winds, the high pressure that kept the skies so cold and clear has passed and been replaced with some intermittent light rains and shifting winds. Sunrise this morning brought into view the Cedros Islands, barren volcanic mountains offshore the mainland of Baja. We passed close by the western side of the island, avoiding a group of charted yet invisible shallow reefs that lay a few feet below the surface. Kelp beds kept us even further off the shallows. We came across a couple of young fishermen in a brightly painted yellow panga (skiff). They waved and held up some lobster asking if we wanted any, (is the bear a catholic?) of course the answer was "oh yeah". Our next challenge was to negociate two things, payment and transfer while moving along at a good clip in 2-3 foot seas between an aluminum panga and a fiberglass sailboat. I asked "quanto dinero", hoping that meant how much, (I did take Spanish 1 & 2 in 1965!). They shook their heads no and asked for candies! I asked Mike to go down and grab some out of the goodie bag that Betty, my stepmom, made up before I left. Robbie was a little reluctant to have these guys get very close to the boat and was getting a bit anxious. With candies in a baggie tossed to the fishermen and a bag of five lobsters tossed to us up on deck we made the flying exchange at 3 knots, "muchas gracias, adios". That settles what I'll be cooking, the gourmet lunch, FRESH LOBSTER (in garlic butter), couscous, beer and to finish off M&M's for desert! It doesn't get much better than that.

We were cruising along at 6.5 knots trying to make it to Turtle Bay before it got pitch black. We had about 18 miles yet to go and about 2 1/2 hours of light left, good thing we had lots of working navigation gear onboard. We intended to anchor there for the night and refuel in the morning, maybe even do a quick oil change on the new engine. We arrived in Bahia de Tortugas, Turtle Bay at 630pm, just in the last lingering light of day, found a suitable anchor spot, dropped the hook, backed down and we were ready for a nice calm night of sleep without the engine running.

At 630 am a young entrepenuer with a panga came alongside and asked if we wanted fuel and how much. We ordered 40 gals to start, and would maybe get more to top off the jerry jugs. Enrique told us he would bring 140 liters, the same as 40 gals, and charge us $2.10 per gallon. The price for the fuel seemed pretty reasonable for the delivery and its remote location, but not sure yet if the liter/gal conversion is accurate. We did hear radio chatter about some upcoming low pressure and frontal band that was supposed to hit Baja later that day. After fueling we headed out, nonetheless, on our route south, right into winds from the south, blowing 15 to 20 knots. This we found to be discouraging, sailors prefer to sail downwind, we motor sailed for three hours and made 9 miles, the boat handled the chop quite smoothly. We were able to shut down the engine and sail close reached (pointing high into the wind) for the remainder of the day, but by evening it was apparent the front would hit us right at dark. As is the case sometimes we were not going to make the next point in one tack so we decided to sail close to the point then turn offshore for a few miles and continue southeast. As the light faded and the front struck, Robby and I turned offshore to avoid an ugly intersection with a lee shore. The wind piped up to around 30 knots, the seas continued to grow and tumble over the bow and soak the decks and our faces, our foul weather gear was being used for foul weather. The rain then struck in sheets propelled by gravity and the 30 knot winds making even reading the compass a chore while trying to steer a course offshore. The point rapidly faded from view because of the rains, but we knew it was still within 2 miles of us, and the wind was determined to blow us in that direction. We fired up the engine again to give us that extra bit of insurance that we could crawl out to sea to safer grounds. The wind, as our good fortune had it, started clocking in a more favorable direction. After a long half hour we got ourselves about 5 miles off the point before we started to feel a bit more comfortable. The conditions were just downright nasty, blowing cold rain in our faces as waves crashed on the boat spraying us with the briney too! Both Robby and I stayed on watch for the next 6 hours until we were comfortable enough to have one watch or crew handling the steering and not worrying about the navigating and sail changes necessary in adverse conditions as we encountered around the point. What kept us both going through those "not so fun hours" was that we firmly believed the weather the next day would be gourgeous.

We were both right, actually by the midnight shift the skies had cleared, sailing under reefed sails at top speed with unlimited visibility. I sat up through most of Robby's watch, going between the cabin, navigating our way offshore, back on deck to help with the sailing. Misery loves company, and it did help both of us. I'm sure I wouldn't have slept much anyway, the anxiety of the conditions and the motion down below just wasn't going to allow sleep to come easy. The weather mellowed a bit, the skies began to clear as we got Mike up for his watch. He didn't quite understand what all the fuss was about, I think he is fortunate enough to be one of those able to sleep through earthquakes, fire or explosions. He enjoyed a great watch and by the time the sun was rising a few hours later things just looked rosy. Sunny blue skies with patchy white clouds gave no indication of the front that had slammed us during the night. The rest of the day gave us a pretty decent break, albeit, some leftover chop made for a peculiar blend of motions on deck.


The next morning brought us close enough to see the islands offshore of Magdalena Bay, famous for the wintering grounds for the North Pacific Humpback Whales and California Gray Whales. We were not fortunate enough to see any of the creatures near their winter vacation spots. We cruised down the coast close enough to again enjoy the mountainous rocky coastlines that Baja is known for, where the desert meets the sea. As we approach the "tropic of cancer" (23 degrees north latitude, plus change) we began to see more of the reptilian looking birds, the frigate, or "man of war". They earn their name because much of their diet is relegated from other sea birds who had just scooped up what they thought was a great fish dinner, when the pirate of the winged world descends at high speeds and steals the fish. One can hardly blame them, unlike most birds, the frigates' wings, although great for gliding and soaring have feathers that do not contain protective oils. If the "man of war" gets its wings soaked then it cannot fly, this is not good for a bird that spends months at sea at a time. I guess they sleep and fly at the same time. More pods of dolpins are joining in our boat wake as we make way southeastward to Cabo San Lucas. The end of Baja California's, great peninsula, where the Pacific and the Sea of Cortez meet.

We arrived in Cabo San Lucas about a half hour before sunset, cruised right to the fuel dock and within a short time had replenished all the diesel neccessary to journey on. After finding that, yes, the marina had slip space (just one mind you) available we pulled off the dock with a case of "sticker shock", $140 US per night to stay, and that didn't include the pedicure. We had the right stuff just to say no, an anchor and chain, well placed in the sand directly off Cabo's great beach front, smooth and calm.
We had an early night of guacamole and chips, soup and salad. After cruising at sea for the last few days it was a welcome quiet and calm night of sleep with no interruptions for night watches, and no foul weather gear.

Our next destination lay across the " Sea of Cortez" on the mainland of Mexico, most likely Zihuatanejo. This sail was one of the best, a breaching Pacific Humpback whale that Mike saw on his watch and a first for me, a 35 foot Fin or Finback whale that surfaced a couple of times, once quite near, showing a shiny black skin with a dorsel fin that had a curve or hook to it. As was becoming the norm, night and day we had dolphin escorts surfing our wakes.

A few hours after heading out of Cabo, the wind direction changed to Northerly, our course being Southeast, this gave us a great, I mean GREAT downwind sail, sailing at 7 knots and better. The seas increased in size to 6-8 feet, however this we used to our advantage now, surfing along downwind. There just isn't any greater direction than this, appropriately called a broad reach, it has always been my favorite. These condtions appeared to be with us for some time, promising us a great ride to our next landfall.

We each had our normal 3 hour watch during the night except this one was all hands on the helm and standing, full attention required to sail at full speed, surfing down the swells with only the starlight to guide us. The hours passed faster than most, due to the sheer excitement of sailing conditions. We were also blessed with a meteor shower, ( see, we do have showers aboard!) to keep our attention at its peak. This night didn't bring me tons of sleep but I did catch some winks after 3am, what a night. Our noon position, which gives us our 24 hour run out of Cabo put us at 154 nautical miles, WOW, our best run yet. The conditions are very consistent at 20-25 knots of windspeed and 6-8 foot seas on our port quarter. Robby found that some of our bread was starting to develop culture faster than us so he tossed some, and with remaining made French Toast, (or is it "freedom toast now"?) for breakfast for the crew. Life is grand, as Robby says," the weather is here, wish you were beautiful!" Speaking of beautiful, Robby's kids are also his favorite crew, three stuffed monkeys. He says they are great, they don't eat, never sleep, and are always "on watch"!

During one afternoon motorsail I was mentioning how fortunate we were to have the engine running so well. In mid sentence as I was saying that, the diesel began to race. Immediately I said, "shut the motor down, we a running out of fuel". We got it shut down within 20 seconds or so but not soon enough, as we sucked air into the fuel system. Aaaghh! That means the system has to be bled out of air before it will start again. We first added 10 gallons of diesel we had in jugs on deck into the tank. We tried starting it then to no avail, "expletives deleted for mature but tasteful readers", then the introduction to the tropical diesel engine room sweatlodge at sea program, no extra charge. I started nearest the tank with the fuel separator, which of course had run dry, replaced the already dirty filter, added fuel, sealed and secured it for leaks. We once again tried to start the engine, no joy. Next it is necessary to go to the lift pump on the engine, manually pump fuel from the separator to the secondary filter, open a bolt to let the air escape until it is only diesel squirting at you. From there the same loosen the nut, let it squirt at you thing happens with each injector using the lift pump. This failed to bring the wanted results also. I opened the separator again, filled it with fuel again and then bled the injectors while the engine was turning over, for more effective face squirting diesel baths, and in the end that sound we all love, rrrrrrrruuuuuuuunnnnnn!!. So "high fives" and we are off and running again, vowing not to believe a fuel gauge that shows half a tank (a fifty gallon one at that), and truly only holds less that 15 gallons at the time. Boat fuel tanks are "V" shaped and the guages are not very accurate, in fact when we were showing 1/4 tank, we only had 5 gals left, not 12 1/2 gallons.

Just short of two weeks at sea, Robby at the helm, we cruised into Zihuatanejo, a small village surrounding a beautifully protected bay and anchorage. We did row into shore a bit before noon to visit the harbor master. We were told to go over to immigration first before we could check the boat in. We stopped at a small restaurant and bar called Ricks. We were referred to Ricks by one of the cruisers, Mark, who rowed over and welcomed us to the bay at Zihuatanejo. He said we could get good food, do laundry, shower, use the internet, arrange for a host of services, get local information and guidance all in one spot. So right he was, as it turns out Rick is a friend of Bob and Jody Bitchen from the Latitudes and Attitudes. Rick hosts an annual regatta, The Zihua Sailfest, that raises money for supplies at the local schools, if your in the area don't miss it. The cruisers world is somehow a tight circle spread out over time and distance and bonded together by sailing machines. As it turned out we had our lunch, more than a few beers, never got all the way to the immigration office, oh well, manana. We made some phone calls, did some emailing, shot the bull, and generally carried on as sailors have for ions. We ended up taking a taxi around to the other side of the bay, had a great seafood dinner as the sun set off the point that isolates the bay from the open ocean. Some local folks were celebrating a birthday at the restaurant, dancing and partying, before long they had grabbed Robby and Mike and had them tearing up the dance floor, as a matter of fact I think I ended up dancing a bit too! After the deliciously fresh seafood dinner we taxied back to Ricks where a singer guitarist from Alabama ,Josie, was entertaining more of the local cruising community. More stories and various boating connections were made.
------Christmas Eve day, 2004, we are at sea enroute to Huatulco, a renowned area for its naturally beautiful bays, beaches, and resort areas. It is also one of the last marina areas available before crossing the Bay of Tehuantepec, a large bay stretching nearly 200 miles from point to point that well known for gail force winds in excess of 150 days a year, mostly during the winter months. It is said that you wait and enjoy Huatulco and the surrounding bays until there is a weather window, then with one foot dragging in the sand, sail the perimeter of the bay, DO NOT CROSS, the winds change rapidly and fiercely, most always blowing offshore, or out to sea. If one is caught 30 or 40 miles off the land in this area it is not unusual to have 20 to 30 foot seas beating the boat and crew with no regard for their preferences. If you cross the bay close to shore you still run the risk of high winds, however, you don't have the seas built up.

We arrived at the entrance to Marina Chahue, pronounced Chow Way, the newly constructed marina facility built by a state/federal cooperative tourism arm called Fonatur. This is the same agency which built and promoted other Mexican tourist resort destinations Cancun, Ixtapa, and Cabo San Lucas. The Harbor Master, Enrique Laclette began by showing us to a great slip, helping us with our docklines, checking us in with no hassle and generally making us feel at home. Welcome to Huatulco! We set up our awning and took a siesta immediately, just to make the cultural adjustment, of course.

Later that afternoon we grabbed a taxi for the of Lacrucecita, a quaint little town that survives on a mix of tourism, cruise ship folks a couple of times a week, local tourists from Mexico City, and yachties. The people of Southern Mexico have a racial mix that includes more indigenous blood, their physical features being different than those further north. They are a very industrious sort that are often found peddling handcrafted carvings, wooden spoons and forks, shirts, etc. The folks here are very family oriented, kids being very cared for and included in all sorts of play and work, as they learn to help out their families in various business ventures. I saw four year olds stacking soda bottles in their crates at a small makeshift open air cafe at a local beach the other day. I observed that the inhabitants here appear to be quite content with their lives and each other, spending more time enjoying one another than arguing or fighting. Of course horns still reflect traffic snarls however I never got the feeling any of it was taken very serously or more importantly, personally.

Ok, we have one more small world story.One night we were invited to join our boat neighbor aboard his Cascade 37, "Bettie", named after the legendary Bettie Page, a 1955 Playboy centerfold and cult figure for her unique lifestyle. The owner/builder, Robert Steadman, it turns out recently retired as a camerman for various feature movies, documentaries and television. Again bringing the circle theory back into the picture, he filmed a "Hawaiian Punch" commercial off Maui twenty some years ago aboard a sailing vessel that Robby was a foredeck crew on. They had a spinnaker rap around the forestay and of course Robby was the man up the mast for over an hour doing the fix. This was a very clear memory for Bob, as the filming couldn't go on until all was secured, he said he was always in awe of "that guy". It also was discovered through half a nights sharing stories and a bottle of rum later that Bob worked with my uncle Del Acevedo on the film, Mussolini, with George C. Scott, 25 years ago. Sure helps to get to know your neighbors, how many times have connections been almost close enough to reach the surface?

We find ourselves doing the Huatulco wait and see, a logical reaction to the effects of the famous Tehuantepec winds. These are essentially tradewinds which flow across the Carribean and arrive at a thin isthmus of land separating it from the Pacific. Mountains on the north and south sides funnel these winds and form a venturi which often doubles the speeds. It is said there are an average of 150 days per year with gale force winds here, that sounds like just about every other day. One stays in "this last of Mexican marina/resorts" hoping the winds drop below gale force and allow safe crossings to the southern most border of Mexico at Puerto Madero. Many a story circulates around about those more self enlightened sailors and boaters that decided to ignore the local folks' warnings of not attempting to cross when it isn't the "right time". Although we are looking forward to some wind and sailing again, we are not going to ignore the advice of so many that have gone before us. We planned our departure, as the reports predicted the winds diminishing to the 15-20 knot range, for the morning of December 30.

Robby met a young man from Argentina that was introduced to him by Enrique, the harbor master. Adrian was following his dream of some day sailing abroad on a boat, "The Dream" has now taken on another dreamer. Although he never spent any time on boats, sail or power, Robby was willing to give him an opportunity to cruise to Panama with us. The obvious benefit to us heading further south into Central America is Adrian's first language is Spanish, and he speaks better English than our Spanish. Everyone is ready to learn. After only a day or so, he was able to stand his own watches like the rest of us, we then were "on for two", "off for six", that really made for a relaxing cruise.

As we planned, we tossed the docklines and headed out of Marina Chahue a little before sunrise. . In the afternoon we were confronted with the beginnings of the Tehuantepec winds, on the nose. We tacked and motorsailed in close to shore which afforded us some protection from the larger swell which was building offshore, however the going got slower and slower until it was backward, yes we actually were getting pushed by current and waves, in the wrong direction. For 5 or 6 hours we were only able to make 2 or 3 miles headway. This was pretty disgusting, but what is a gentleman to do, but invent the sailor's dictionary of cuss words and keep trying. Trying is very "trying" at times. Sometime before midnight we got our speed up to about 2 knots and crept by the last harbor of safe refuge for next 175 miles. Later that night we were finally able to sail without the motor as the winds allowed us to. The windspeed was increasing in gusts but averaged around 20 to 30 knots. By 3am it was gusting to 35-40 knots and we adjusted by shortening the roller headsail to less than double reefed (about the size of a beach towel) and flew across the famous Gulf of Tehuantepec. By sunrise on the final day of 2004 we were approaching the eastern shore with the winds clocking more around the stern of our vessel increasing our speed and comfort levels. We spent the rest of the day cruising Southeast along the final stretches of beach of southern Mexico.

We spent the next day cruising by much of the Guatemalan Coast, stopping only at sunset in the military/industrial port of Quetzal for fuel. Large cone volcanoes rose in the distance offering a surreal backdrop for this rather typical "uncruiser like" port. We fueled and headed out as early as possible, making our way to the waters off El Salvador. We continued Southeast along the coast, staying close in the daytime and heading a bit further offshore at night to ease any navigation anxiety. When we passed El Salvador we made a direct course to Costa Rica, staying 50 to 70 miles offshore of Honduras and Nicaragua. We did find ample wind, blowing offshore from the Gulf of Fonseca and the Gulf of Papagayo. The conditions were a bit rough at times with seas climbing over ten feet and winds in the 40 knot plus range for a day and a half. The Swan 43 handled the condtions beautifully, Robby was happy we were sailing and not motoring.

We made an overnight stop in Los Suenos, Costa Rica, finding a very luxurious marina resort. Ecotourism and sportfishing were the big draws for the yachts that filled their marina to capacity. We headed out the next morning making our way to a smaller yet wonderfully quaint coastal town of Quepos a daysail away. Although no marina facilities were there beyond an ancient wharf and floating dock, the ecclectic town with its mix of "ticas" (the local Costa Ricans) and the various other international residents made for a fun place to visit.

Our last stop before Panama was another great spot in Costa Rica, Gulfito. A small fishing village located about 15 miles up a bay and estuary, Gulfito sported a couple of small marinas with a yacht/fishing club, fuel dock, restaurant and a small village with a variety of local markets and restaurants with mostly local "ticas". We were met by very friendly and helpful folks during our time in Costa Rica, it was a shame we were on a time schedule to deliver "The Dream" to Panama.

Our final leg of the journey brought us around a large peninsula with a foreboding point with an interesting name, Punta Mala, Spanish for "bad point". Only after fighting wind, seas and a current against us running over 4 knots did I christen it with my own name for it: Punta Mala Cula, or "Bad Ass Point". In three watches, two hours each, we made just over 8 miles over ground, while covering nearly 20 miles through the water. As we were taken further offshore attempting to round this point we found that we were being pulled into the "shipping lanes", concentrating all those ships to and from the Pacific that are transiting the canal. We were really on top of our "watches" that last night of our nearly 40 days at sea. Throughout the next day we inched our way upwind attempting to make Balboa, at the entrance to the canal, before dark. Once again as the light dwindled we made our way past scores of vessels, mostly tankers and freighters at anchor awaiting their turns to transit to the Carribean. We were soon greeted by the owner, Peter Noakes, and his illustrious crew, all "Brits" a fun group of ecclectic sailors. They would be taking over for the transit in the canal and then further on to Jamaica.

Robby, Mike, Adrian and me were invited to come along as passengers to enjoy one of the worlds great boat rides, "The Canal".
It takes a couple of days to take measurements, inspect paperwork, get the permission to transit, be scheduled, list crew and linehandlers, all with the help of an agent. Ours was a perky young woman with unbridled energy by the name of Tina McBride, she got us extra fender/tires and long docklines and made sure everything ran as planned, including a taxi ride back to Balboa from Colon with one of her trusted drivers. He was good enough to wait for us even as we soaked up a few beers with dinner at the Panama Canal Yacht Club at 930 at night!

Our trip through the canal took a total of two days. This is necessary for slower yachts, cruising at less than 8 knots, as the distance from the MiraFlores Locks to the Gatun Locks is too great to cover in one day. We were offered moorage in Lake Gatun where we spent the night and waited most of the next day for scheduling out of the last three locks that would again bring us down to sea level. Having survived a couple of close calls in the large locks with even larger currents and surges, "The Dream" successfully completed her mission, and Captain Robby Buck had to find more paper and bindings for his resume.

The "Dream" and her new crew carried on sailing off to Jamaica, last heard, they made it, although they had large seas and high winds "on the nose" for six days enroute.

The “Dream” has been rechristened “Chastanet”, which was her original name after being launched. She is owned by an English family and cruises the coast of France in the spring, summer and fall.

Transpacific Cruise of the "Scotch Power 3"

“Scotch Power 3” Sails for Hawaii




Every time I sail across an ocean it seems to take more time to prepare than the last time did. Not sure if it is age that makes one more cautious or just the realization of all those “little details” it takes to put together a safe, fun and satisfying crossing. The preparation for this cruise took about a month and one half. The little discovery process often reveals projects in series, for example finding just a little bit of engine coolant in the bilge leads to replacing an intake gasket, which leads to replacing the overflow tube and eventually purchasing and installing new raw water pump. With the help of Thom, a good friend and engineer, a solar electrical panel and twelve volt battery monitor was installed. A vessel survey was required by the insurance company for sailing more than two hundred miles offshore. This lead to a rigging survey and eventual replacement of a seized roller furl bearing, VHF antenna, and spreader lights. The sails were removed, sent in for repair and stitching. New batteries were added to the list of things “Scotch Power 3”, a Catalina 380, would need. Various other systems were checked and found to be in good order, the gps, radar, autopilot, refrigerator, bilge pumps, running rigging, winches, alarms, and the propane stove. The crew arrived three days prior to our projected departure, finding most of the major projects were done. We were left with the emergency life raft, food, water, fuels and few personal affects left on the list. We all went to Avalon Liferafts where we rented a six man emergency life raft and given instructions in its deployment, boarding, and handling. As our instructor stated, climbing into a raft is a very “sobering moment”, we listened with rapt attention as he explained the details. Luckily, as it were, we never had to use it for its intended purpose.

Weather is always the final factor that dictates a departure and as such we were to be landlocked for one more day as the winds were blowing gale force just off the coast of Southern California on Friday the 23 of May. We took advantage of the extra day to purchase more food, favorites, specialties, sweets, fresh items and other numerous small things. This also gave the crew all a bit of time to get to know each other prior to being “out to sea”.

I felt very secure in the shipmates that would be sailing together. My nephew, John Peter Whitney had sailed with me on the “Jonathan”, a 36’ S2 sloop from Anacortes, Washington, to Kona, Hawaii nearly three years ago. He is a bright young man, married, raising a young girl and doing work on his doctorate at Harvard. I was elated when he called asking if he could join us on the transpacific trip. I hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get away.

Christoph, a travel, dive and adventure partner has been a friend for almost twenty years. He and his wife, Nancy, sailed “Intuition” with me on interisland cruises many years ago. Christoph recently retired as a computer engineer in the silicone valley. He sails and kayaks in Santa Cruz, California. This would be his first open ocean cruise, something he has wanted to do for years.

Friend and fellow pilot, Greg Garrison, and I are partners in a single engine airplane based in San Luis Obispo, California and involved in a house renovation in Baja, Mexico together as well. He has been a power boater and fishermen all his life, currently owning a twenty-six foot Sea Ray in Loreto, Baja. We cruised on the “Elysium” in the Sea of Cortez a couple of years ago and also sailed on “Scotch Power 3” to Catalina before.

Trusting in those you put the responsibility of standing watches, opening valves, operating engines, turning propane on and “OFF”, and sailing proficiently can make or break a passage. It is of the utmost importance, it is not nearly enough to have a good vessel, proper provisions and emergency equipment; you must have a crew with whom you are comfortable putting your life in their hands, because you are. I felt very fortunate to have all of this on this cruise across the Pacific. It is a great mix of personalities, abilities, experiences, creativity and intelligence.



My stepmother, Betty, had been invaluable in making the whole cruise possible, without her this could not have happened. “Scotch Power 3” was the last of a series of sailboats dad and her owned. They spent many summers cruising with friends along the coast of California. Surely, part of her would have liked to join us on some part of the cruise, but in its entirety would prove too much. She had spoken of selling the boat; however, I suggested keeping “Scotch Power 3” in the family, moving into my slip in Kona. The vessel will continue her mission as an entertaining vehicle of the seas, in Hawaii.


On May 24 there was a break in the weather and we were bid a “bon voyage” by Betty and her standard poodle, Misty. “Scotch Power 3” and her crew departed the docks of the Long Beach Yacht Club at two thirty in the afternoon. Deciding to head for Avalon, Catalina to shakedown the vessel, systems and crew became the latest plan. We also chose to have dinner ashore, our last shore side meal for a bit. Topping of the fuel in the morning, we motored in light winds around the east end of the island to hopefully find some wind to bend the sails. After an hour we shut the engine off, conserving our coveted 40 gallons of diesel, not enough to get us one tenth of the way to Hawaii.
We found ourselves generally becalmed for most of the day, only finding wind late in the afternoon to send us sailing east of San Clemente Island as our first night at sea stole the last bit of sunlight giving way to a clear star filled sky.

There were decent winds through most of the night; early the next morning the air became light and remained that way for the better part of the next six days, making our distance sailed less than one hundred nautical miles per day. The seas were calm, the skies clear and blue, and a beautiful backdrop for a still life painting but not much in energy to propel the vessel to Hawaii. We turned south, taking weather advice from friends Thom and David, whom we would talk to on the satellite phone every other day or so. It was important to get to the northeast trade wind belt which is around twenty-five degrees north latitude, where more consistent winds should be found. We tacked and gibed slowly making our way. There were several sightings of whales, dolphins, seabirds. One special pod of Orca (killer whales) crossed our bows at a clip over twelve knots. I secretly wondered if it was the same family I had seen while crossing on the “Honu Honu” three years earlier. We wished we were going that fast, but you settle for the three knots you get when you hitch hike on the wind.

Our meals have been far from canned beans and rice, however. We all "pitched in" creating new combinations with what we found in the “reefer” and what we have seduced with our fishing lures, Kawakawa tuna, so far. Sashimi, served in the cockpit with a cold glass of wine or beer before our “main” meal has made the afternoons something to look forward to. We have also been listening to Joshua Slocum’s “Around the world alone” on audio books plugged into the boat’s sound system as a group, every afternoon in the cockpit. All of us would share the 3pm to 6pm shift, which is kind of our social and entertainment time. Preparation of dinner also took place at this time. It also had a function of changing our normal watch times so no one person is stuck with the 4am to 6am shift every day, which made the shifts rotate once per day. We all have one watch for three hours in the daytime and one two hour watch at night. Having more rest time keeps us all quite fresh and in good spirits. Fatigue has taken its toll at times on many a voyage and can take away from the pleasures of a great cruise. A rested crew is a safe crew and fewer accidents happen as a result. A shift was often looked forward to, a time for some solitude, thought, pondering, observing and listening to music under the great azure skies during the day or under a blanket of stars, moon, planets, satellites, and meteors at night. No terrestrial experience comes close to this feeling.

The large solar panel, which was mounted aft atop the biminy cover, produced enough current during the day to keep the autopilot and the refrigerator running without draining the batteries. We ran the engine or Honda generator in the early morning or afternoon to charge batteries for the night usage. We were able to keep shrimp and chicken and ice cubes frozen in the deep part of the reefer throughout the voyage.

We were at sea for nearly a week before regularly sailing at hull speed, six knots. There just hadn’t been the Pacific high pressure to supply the north or northeast trade winds. We did try sailing with a borrowed spindrifter sail off the bow, normally a great downwind sail, however without a spinnaker pole to keep the sail from slapping with every passing wave we found it to be less reliable than our roller furled genoa. As we found the winds increase to 15 and 20 and then 25 knots we noted it was too directly behind us to use both the mainsail and genoa. We continued on just under the mainsail, secured with a line going forward from the aft end of the boom to the bow cleat to avoid the dreaded “uncontrolled gybe”, when the boom flies all the way from port to starboard or vice versa, which has the potential to create havoc with the mast or make it assume the horizontal position, something to avoid at all costs.

Around our tenth day out we were far enough south that I told Pete we “this will be a mahi day”. I knew he would be looking forward to catching some mahi mahi or “dolphin fish”… dorado, if you are from Europe. Early on we had a good strike and sure enough the electric blue color of the mahi shined as the fight began, however it was short lived, as I lost the fish at gaff; it swam off. Not long afterwards we had a double mahi strike and boated both fish, twenty to twenty-five pounders. Pete fought the larger of the two for sometime and asked for a little help when it came to leader and my gaffs were successful this time. Good thing too, for I am sure it is one of the accepted rules for mutiny to loose more than one fish at gaff in a day. We froze some of the mahi and had a great lunch of “mahi tacos” with a cool Tecate in the cockpit all the while “otto” or best crew, steered without complaint enroute to the island of Hawaii.

We made several controlled gibes to avoid heading directly downwind to Hawaii, generally running about 30 degrees off to port or starboard. Of course winds do shift with every passing rain squall and therefore our course. We used a sailing feature on the autopilot that keeps the vessel aligned according to the wind and not a compass bearing. It actually steered straighter and safer than we could have in the large ten to fifteen foot swells. It was more difficult to steer during the nights with overcast and no stars to aim at; we all owed lots of thanks to “otto”. The only problem we had was when he broke his arm, or linkage from the actuator to the rudder post. That was solved with a jury rig using a ring cotter pin and plastic wire ties which cured the problem for another 1,000 miles.

Once in the tropics, the tradewinds became quite regular, blowing in the eighteen to twenty-five knot range most of the time with gusts to thirty-seven occasionally. We have been running with just the mainsail with one reef point taken in to be somewhat conservative while still cruising along at an average of six knots. The time takes on a very surreal feeling, days blending into nights; sleep taken at all odd times is the way aboard a sailing vessel. The body generally adjusts to these “unusual” patterns with an occasional revolt of insomnia when an unusually rough night keeps tossing you around in your bunk like a tee shirt in a washing machine.

We have been watching videos aboard in the afternoons while generating some extra battery charge with the Honda generator. These “movie times” are augmented with snacks like sashimi, crackers, cheeses, artichoke hearts, hearts of palm, sundried tomatoes bathed in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. We are adapting to roughing it, oh did I mention an ice cold beer or favorite glass of wine? I also invented a drink to go along with the ice cubes the freezer portion of the refrigerator has been keeping frozen… The “tangtai”….like a maitai but made with space juice, Tang!!!! A squeeze of lime and not a bad drink for a hot afternoon cruising along on auto pilot….I think we all had “way too much fun”. Greg and Christoph (their first crossings) were thinking things should have been a lot tougher than that, after hearing all the sailing yarns of tragedies at sea. I even heard Christoph somewhat complain that no accidents, scary times or bad stuff happened and what could he write home about! Just a perfectly pleasant cruise, fair weather, all systems working all the time, plenty of rest, fine cuisine, good music on the ipods at night. Wow!

The dream continued, more fine weather, following seas, brisk winds, surfing down swells and catching fish anytime we put the lures out to fish. We eventually caught eight mahi mahi and eight tuna, the latter of which were Christoph’s favorites, served sashimi style with wasabi and soy sauce. He thought we were being excessive by continuing to catch the mahi’s, we continued none the less and never heard a complaint from any of the folks back home who shared in our fresh and “fresh frozen” catches of mahi fillets that upon our arrival in Kona.

The last few days were made up of a variety of emotions, anxiety and anticipation of our arrival, the thought of sailing through the notorious “Alenuihaha Channel”, spending time ashore with all the freshwater showers we could handle, beds that didn’t shift and bounce underneath us. Some couldn’t wait to arrive; some had immediate plans to continue on to other places. I was feeling kind of mixed, in that I would have been just fine sailing another week or two…or maybe three, it was just so ideal, all in all. Greg had a bit of it too; he had fallen in love with being “out there” crossing great oceans on a simple breeze and a well founded vessel. He was anxious to get back to see his wife in California, having been away for nearly two months. Before leaving I asked if he would want to do another cruise and received a very strong, "YEAHHHHH"!

The last full day of the cruise we caught another couple of mahi as we sailed in a rather benign channel with two to three foot seas and fifteen knots of wind. The Big Island was visible most of the day as we altered course slightly to the east of Upolu Point, heading in the direction of Waipio Valley. This was a slightly more advantageous point of sail in terms of comfort and speed, but as Peter pointed out “it isn't the shortest distance between two points…ah the theorists, gotta love them! I think he caught my drift as we closed the distance between us and the cliffs of the dramatic Hamakua coastline. We crossed a tug and barge's path, agreeing by radio to intersect their course just slightly aft of them. I don’t like the idea of attempting to cut in front of those behemoths, what if the wind died or shifted as our hull lies in front of their steaming course backed up with fifteen knots of speed and tons of momentum? Actually we had another fish strike about two miles before our closest contact with them, had to alter course to slow the boat down enough to fight the fish.

As the light of the day dwindled we watched our last setting sun off in the west. Waipio Valley, its waterfall off the east cliff face shown white against the quickly darkening rainforest walls, our natural “Big Island lighthouse” showing our way. As we got within one mile of the cliffs I ordered a tack or change of course, turning directly downwind for Upolu Light. Enough moons illuminated the islands cliffs to make a dramatic backdrop for our final night of sailing, all is well. I was the fortunate one to enjoy that early evening shift, followed by Greg, whose excitement kept him awake even during my shift. We rounded the north point of the island at midnight and made for Keahole Point, the westernmost portion of the island. As the tradewinds were blocked by the island itself we had to motor for a few hours until the nightly offshore winds kicked in giving us the speed to once again use the wind to find our way to Honokohau Harbor on the Kona Coast. We passed the point around sunrise and made our way past the green buoy and into the shelter of harbor. We were given a temporary slip to use and soon were greeting our friends as the made their way to our dock to greet us and be some of the first to enjoy the spoils or our crossing, fresh mahi fillets.

I took care of checking in with the harbormaster, paid some fees, registered the vessel in Hawaii, made an appointment with the State Agriculture Department to meet us and inspect the vessel for plant or animal life, turned out we were the “only animals” onboard! The crew had washed and secured the “Scotch Power 3” while I dealt with bureaucracy. We were set to go ashore for a lunch and schooners of beer at the harbor house, a mandatory policy for sailors whose legs haven’t quite adjusted to the stationary aspects of land. More friends joined us at the harbor house to add to the merriment. It is always a great experience to have crossed an ocean and survived, (and then some) and lived to tell the tales with friends and loved ones on the other side. A short five hour plane flight will never seem quite as long after a sailor crosses an ocean by the grace of wind and vessel.

Momi the Persian cat

Momi (the pearl)


Momi, a pearl white Persian cat was given to myself and Luann as a wedding gift from our friend Toni in 1986. Momi was a true independent thinker, did what she wanted to, came and went as she pleased, was affectionate when she wanted and aloof when she felt like it. She hated bathing, like most cats I suppose, voted with her claws or should I say talons. Momi did like our dog Nani, they played as good friends play without the racial segregation of dog and cat. She also would wander about the rainforest and the road fronting our house overlooking Kailua Bay as her own little fiefdom.

She brought hours of entertainment into our lives while at home and never missed a meal. Like so many cats she did like to claw on anything that resembled a tree in the jungle, for instance a couch or chair that had upholstery that felt like bark to her I guess. With all her idiosyncrasies she was still the cat we loved.

As life sometimes turns out, Momi outlived our marriage, Luann kept the animals, I moved out of Kailua up north to Puako. I missed the animals, Nani was aging, but still having fun romping around and even taking roadtrips down to Waipio Valley to a friend's cabin near the beach. Momi carried on her declaration of independence and eventually lost an argument with a car on Hualalai Road. Luann called me and asked if I could bury Momi at sea from my small sailing vessel, "Intuition". I was cruising the coast with a friend of mine, Gonzo, at the time. We agreed to meet and pick up Momi at Keauhou Bay. Luann sadly brought our little pearl down to the boat wrapped in a white bed sheet. We got a couple of lava rocks to weight the burial wrap, we didn't want anything floating back up to the surface.

So Gonzo and I sailed south to Kealakekua Bay, where Luann had requested Momi be laid to rest on the deep purple waters off this pristine shore. With a final aloha we lowered Momi overboard and watched as her white sheet disappeared deeper and deeper into the cobalt colored waters. She was gone, never to be seen again except in our fond memories, we thought…

I had been doing some singlehanded sailing at that time, taking the time to give some thought to where I was headed to in this new direction, single handing the helm of life also. On one such sail about five days after burying Momi, I was sailing in light breezes off Puako (thirty –five miles north of Kealakekua Bay), in the distance I noticed what appeared to be a boat fender floating. I headed over in that direction to pass close by, as the hull approached the floating object I saw that indeed it was not a fender, it was fuzzy, white and bloated, and there was an unmistakable odor, a stench. There she was, a pearl white Persian cat, there was no doubt in my mind that Momi had escaped the shroud of linen, loosed the lava rocks and bobbed to the surface, drifting for the better part of a week and intersecting my course. I tacked the "Intuition" to have one more look and yelled an admonishing "MOMI" no! As in her life, she continued after her death to defy order, logic, or reason and do just as she pleased, strangely enough I lived only two blocks from where I found her drifting in the current.

....another story....Captain Poopdeck

Many people fantasize how the life a a sailing charter captain is full of beautiful women renting your boat and services for a day, tossing their worries and bikini tops to the wind, yeah we wish. The reality is that charters are a mix of all the regular, real people, some skinny, some fat, some happy, some sad, just regular folks. Once in awhile there comes a day that stands out from the rest, we call that an “outstanding day”. On this one particular morning I was aware that one of the folks sharing the boat charter for the day was an attractive female that had been out a few times before with her father, a local Kona realtor, and his wife. It had been a wonderful sail that actually developed into an exciting dinner/date later that evening, a friendship ensued. We had enough fun on that trip that she returned to Hawaii several times and always took in a sail on the “ Intuition”.

Lena showed up on the lava ledges overlooking the harbor a few minutes before the charter, smiling and looking as great as I remembered, even better. I later learned she had taken up bike riding in a big way, it was evident in her shapely form. The other two charter guests arrived a few minutes later, oh this was going to be fun, two, yes, two very attractive girls looked on, asking if I was Captain Jeff. I think if my name was Mike I would have lied anyway. Now I have to admit it was difficult not to rip a lip with the smile that kept uncontrollably showing up on my face.

As I readied the vessel, hanked on the genoa to the headstay I motioned that it would just be a couple of minutes. My stomach had been growling a bit more than usual that morning, however, I wrote it off to drinking too much of that great Kona coffee. Here is where the charter took a bad turn, really, really bad. I felt this growing feeling inside of me, to be precise I thought it was just a fart, and as most temporary feelings let it pass. That was the mistake, instantly I realized I had suffered what one friend labels a “separator failure”, that is an inability to distinguish solids, liquids and gasses. In shock I straightened up as I felt the “dying rheas” filling my trunks and immediately running down my left leg. Shock, usually reserved for injuries now dominated my being, I was immobile, paralysis set in. Only my mind was moving after my bowels stopped, what do I do now? Answers were not coming forth from the remnants of my mind. I heard voices, “are you alright?” One of the two girls was calling down from above. I stammered out a “sure, uh, I just need to finish a couple of things”. Lena had walked up to within three feet of the bow where I had been bent over the sail, “can I come on board now”, she asked with a sweet smile. “No, not quite yet, let me finish getting the boat ready, only a couple of minutes”. Knowing that my backsides were covered I retreated into the cabin walking backwards allowing myself a temporary sigh of relief.

My next question was what to do next. I grabbed a couple of towels and cleaned myself up, stripped out of my soiled shorts and luckily had some swimming trunks to slip into. Again I heard voices, coming from the bow, my other two guests were asking the captain for permission to board. I yelled out “hang on a bit, I’m almost ready”. I shot out of the cabin with my soiled shorts and instantly had them in the water next to the boat, a quick rinse, into a garbage bag and stowed in the cockpit locker, I was ready. I headed up on deck, then saw the footprints I had left walking back from the bow. I had more work to do, clean up. I realized that if I only cleaned the footprints on the deck that all eyes would be following my progress, so what I did was to clean the boom or cabin top a bit, then hurriedly bend down to swipe the deck and so on all the way up to the bow, this smoke screen tactic seemed to be working. Was I really going to get away without them noticing the tragic situation this charter found itself in? Deep sh..!

I stowed the last of the cleaning materials and greeted the three guests aboard. All seemed quite normal, I was even pretty sure no one had a clue as to what happened seconds before they boarded “Intuition”. I guess this was still my lucky day. We tossed the dock lines and headed out of the harbor. As it turned out we scuba dived, snorkeled and sailed, enjoyed a picnic lunch and had an outstanding day. I did confide in my friend Lena, asking if she new I had been sick during the morning. She, nor the others ever caught wind of the fact that the captain had anything go wrong that day.

Nearly twenty years later only a few of my good friends know the origin of my nickname, Captain Poopdeck. The truth is out now!

"Intuition Stories"

More stories from the captain's locker ....."Kona's Stripper Skipper





Her First Words


As so many times in the past, awaiting my charter guests’ arrivals I would watch from the decks as the cars slowly passed by in the parking lot, trying to guess which one fit the description of the folks I would be spending the day with. A few minutes before nine o’clock a small compact car stopped in front of my sail charter sign, a very large woman and a very young girl wearing diapers made their way down the ramp. This was not at all what I thought was the normal profile for a sailing charter on a small boat. My definition of normal has broadened greatly over the years, this may become apparent over time to those who read some of my sail charter adventures.

As the two walked down the lava docks toward “Intuition”, the woman asked if I was captain Jeff. I said “yes, good morning, how are the two of you doing today"? The woman responded "great", as the young girl in diapers didn’t say anything, she looked pensively at all the boats, avoiding eye contact with me and clinging to her Mom’s hand.


As with all the guests I described how to swing a leg over the bow pulpit and step on the deck of the forepeak. I realized this might not be the easiest gymnastic for a large woman, she refused my offered hand as help and gingerly stepped aboard with ease, much to my surprise. She grabbed her daughter and hefted her over onboard and we were ready to begin our day.
I went over the safety briefing for our small daysail journey and as usual asked what they would like to do, sail, snorkel, whale watch, etc. The woman said she just wanted to go out on the ocean to introduce her daughter to sailing. I asked how old her little girl was, she answered by saying that her little girl was, "a special girl". I said aren't they all? It seemed the little girl was fairly apprehensive, not such an unusual response for a young child. I asked whether or not her daughter was talking yet and was told that she was not because of her unusual circumstances when she was younger. Again I asked how old she was, I was stunned, or more accurately, shocked when the mom said she was seven years old! Her mom went on to tell a story that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

It seems that the little seven year old girl in diapers that didn't speak was victim to a rare and extreme form of child abuse. Her parents, (the woman with her turned out not to be the blood mother), kept her locked up in a closet soon after birth. She was fed chocolate bars and coke once in awhile, never spoken to, never touched, washed or cared for during the first five years of her life! I did not know what to say at that point, it was the most horrific state of human tragedy I'd ever come upon. The woman explained that she was a child protective services worker in a midwest state, that she had responded to a complaint and had discovered the little girl in her closet/prison. She went through all the legal motions, arrests, hearings, placing the small girl in protective custody, etc. The blood parents were convicted, leaving the young child in the State's hands. The case worker then applied and succeeded in adopting this poor little girl. They had been together for about a year at the time they came out to sail with me on "Intuition" that day.

I decided I was going to do all I could to make this day a wonderful, joyful and fun time for this little girl and her new mommy. As I set the sails I had the mom steer as her little girl watched on with curiousity. As I returned to the tiller and shut the outboard motor off, the magical "quiet" set in. This was always the beginning of the true sailing adventure. I asked the little girl if she wanted to steer the boat, as I motioned with my hand how moving the tiller turned the boat. With some coaching I was able to take her hand, placing it on the tiller and moved it back and forth to show how the boat responded. At first it was not registering what was going on with all this, however, soon the little girl began to move her hand back and forth with mine. She was seeing now that her hand was dictating our course, a smile was beginning to form on her small face, a smile that grew as the day went on. Within a few minutes I removed my hand from the wooden tiller leaving the vessel to be steered by our new young captain. The young girl's mom and me were really enjoying this, the feeling is hard to describe. It soon became apparent that the little girl was enjoying being in control, in charge of her direction, and the course of our vessel all at the same time. The transformation was exciting. Things were stirring in her little mind, confidence grew, apprehension slowly waned, we were sailing on a course that was hard to imagine. I asked the little captain if she wanted me to steer again, it was obvious that she was fine with doing what she was doing when her small hand clutched the tiller, no way was she giving this up.

So our day went, one small discovery at a time, our course was straight and the direction that things were taking was perfect, nothing could be better. We had some sandwiches for lunch. Our captain was steering with one hand and eating her sandwich with the other, just like a pro. We had a comfortable 10 knot breeze and calm seas, normal for Kona. We headed north along the coast past a favorite surf spot called "Pine Trees" by the locals, actually Mangroves and Ironwood trees, no one quite knows how that all got started. The Keahole Airport was a couple of miles past that, a few commuter jets land and take off every hour or so, along with the small general aviation planes doing "crash and goes" or "touch and goes" as the flight instructors call the landing and takeoff maneuvers students practice prior to passing their final FAA flight tests.

Then something happened that BLEW US AWAY! Our young sailor looked up pointing and said, "plane, plane". Crying, her mom soon explained that was the first time, first words ever spoken in this young girl’s life. We both pointed and said plane, plane, yes, yes. What a momentous feeling, a very exciting time in one's life, no matter. So what do we do now, with no more planes in sight? We look around, there is so much out there, within minutes more words flow, "boat, boat", then in a short time the real clincher, "mommy", this sent us all over the top. Life seems to be unfolding before our eyes, one life that almost wasn't, in particular. Sailing along, talking, smiling and causing goose bumps, our little sailor takes her mommy and me for a sail that none of us will ever forget.

As I look back upon that day many things come to mind, how unfortunate some innocent souls' lives can be, how fortunate it is that there are people that care enough to change the course of a childs life, how fortunate yours and mine is to be able to enjoy this gift of life that we share. Have a great life.

Old stories for new book

Here are some of my adventures as a captain on a 26 foot sailing charter boat in Kona, Hawaii during the 80's and 90's



Saved by her boobs

The surf was crashing on the breakwall outside Honokohau Harbor that winter morning in the early 80’s. Often the results of storms generated far to the north of Hawaii produced huge swells that propels surfers down huge wave faces or moves boulders from the sea floor tossing them into ocean front hotel swimming pools, depending on location. My location was the harbor entrance, my goal was to safely depart without undue harm to my charter guests, the “Intuition”, my crew, or myself. This particular morning I was chartered by a family of four, husband and wife and their six year old son and four year old daughter. My friend, Randy, came along for the sail, mostly to enjoy the trip and doubling as my crew for the charter.

Stopping at the harbor’s basin just inside the entrance as I had done hundreds of times in the past, I waited and timed the sets of waves, watched them lift the green entrance buoy #1, which laid offshore four hundred yards. I picked a moment in time of relative calm and motored without incident onto the azure sea for another fine sail along the Kona Coast. As we passed the buoy, Randy raised the mainsail, we headed out in search of the first of the light thermal breezes that developed along the leeward shore of Hawaii’s Big Island. One big cycle, the sun heats up the interior slopes of ancient ( and not so ancient!) black lava flows, the hot air rises up, drawing in the cooler moist air off the ocean. This cooler moist air is drawn inshore, giving us our sailing breeze. As this moist air flows up the slopes of the island and rises higher, it cools, condenses, and forms clouds that pour rain on the upper elevations of the island most any afternoon. To complete the cycle the rain that falls in the upper slopes finds its way back through a system of lava tubes to the sea, and in particular the harbor at Honokohau, where as much as three million gallons of fresh water arrive daily. This is Kona. I would often comment to my guests that the gentle breezes that we feel on our cheeks now and fill our sails will become those clouds over the mountain this afternoon and the falling rain later. When we stop to snorkel later you will feel the chilly freshwater seeping out to sea from the porous island. This is recycling at its best.

As we continued out to sea our view of the Kona Coast widened as we came around Kaiwi Point looking south. I noticed a man who appeared to be waving his arms wildly, as if he were doing “jumping jacks”. I pointed this out to Randy and our guests. The man was nearly a mile away from our position. My first thought was that he was trying to signal a fishing boat off of the point, as there are numerous big game fishing charter boats that ply the rich waters off the coast. As we watched the man’s movements they appeared to become more and more excited. I decided to head in that direction to see what was up. Over the next ten minutes the jumping became more exaggerated and the man appeared to be pointing offshore. After 15 minutes of heading toward this man we finally got within earshot, the man was screaming “right in front of you, right in front of you!” The conditions along the jagged lava shoreline were quite intense, the swells met the steep cliffs unimpeded by any shallow water until the surf builds and crashes loudly, sending spray as much as one hundred feet in the air. The forces of nature are staggering. I yelled back to the man jumping up and down on the shoreside cliffs, “what?” He said, “ she is right in front of you”, I only saw the white foam covering the surface of the sea. We were close to shore, dangerously close to shore now. I motioned with my arms as a swimmer would swim, he screamed back to us, “yes, down!” It was confirmed, there was a swimmer down, somewhere near us, but where? There was nothing in front of us, we all realized the seriousness of the situation, a swimmer down, for more than fifteen minutes, and we couldn’t see anyone. The waves crashed against the lava cliffs sending reflective waves back out at us in the form of wild chop, undulating waves, and lots of foam on the surface. One minute seems like a slow motion hour in situations involving life and death.


I glanced off the port side about twenty feet from the boat and saw something I didn’t expect, couldn’t quite fathom or believe, BOOBS, two boobs floating in the soupy brine. That was it, her head was submerged and all that was floating were her two boobs! I yelled to the others, Randy went forward to grab his mask and snorkel to use in the rescue, however the father of the charter family jumped immediately overboard and swam to the woman. He lifted her head from the water and towed her back to our small sailboat. She was unconscious, eyes wide open, water coming out of her mouth. Randy and I pulled and struggled to get her on deck, but we couldn’t seem to get her all the way on deck, half way up and no further. Many things were happening at once, the five year old boy was screaming “BOOBS, gross!”, the mother was yelling, "she’s dead, she’s dead!”. It became clear why we couldn’t get her into the boat when her belt loop from her cut offs ripped on the boat's cleat, Randy and I came tumbling into the cockpit with an unconscious woman, all the while the strange screaming continued.

I suddenly realized that we were extremely close to the cliffs and crashing surf and still with the husband trying to climb on the lifelines, the unthinkable happened, the lifeline snapped and the husband was drifting aft critically close to the outboard and propellor, the outboard that I need to put into gear and get away from the cliffs immediately! Again, seconds transformed into hours as we took three or four more seconds to pull the man onboard and motor away from certain tragedy that awaited the “Intuition” only feet away. We were free, safe and in no immediate danger.

The victim lay in the cockpit, fluids pouring from her mouth and nose, Randy was ready to start CPR when I noticed that she was still breathing, water and foam coming out as she struggled to breathe fresh air in. We covered her torso with a towel, turned her on her side and pressed her stomach to attempt to get more water out of her. The mother was still yelling, “she’s dead, she’s dead”. This was not what I wanted a victim to be hearing so I had her husband take his wife and the kids down below. I began speaking into the woman’s ear telling her she was going to be OK and that we were going to get her medical help. As the minutes went by, color returned to her face, and although she was still unconscious her breathing steadily improved.

We called over the VHF radio to have paramedics meet us at the Kailua pier, a twenty minute trip from our position. We were able to assess her other injuries during this time, multiple lacerations, contusions, and bruising. She had obviously been pummeled on the sheer lava walls of the point by the huge winter surf.

We finally arrived at the pier, tied up alongside, as the medical personnel came aboard with a gurney. They loaded her on and lifted her off the boat for her eventual fifteen minute transport to the Kona Hospital. Her boyfriend who had been at the scene of the accident met up with us and explained what had gone so terribly wrong. They had been standing on the cliffs in awe of the huge surf crashing on the rocks below when a wave much larger than the ones they had seen, exploded, sending spray high into the air, also a large volume of water had been forced up and around a rock behind them. As the water flowed back to the ocean it swept them off their feet. She was pulled over the cliff and dropped onto the next shelf of rock, still several feet above the level of the sea. This level was only temporary as the next wave struck sending her already unconscious body slamming up against the cliff she had just been pulled down. Her boyfriend described her as looking like a rag doll as her lifeless form was tossed about. He said several waves repeated this as he stood helplessly by, unable to do anything for her. She was finally swept out to sea and remained underwater until we arrived. We calculated that she was underwater for about twenty minutes before we got on the scene.


The boyfriend thanked us for saving his girlfriend and headed up to the hospital with her. I called the hospital after the charter and spoke with her later that evening. Needless to say she was quite sore, bruised and suffering the headache that accompanies a concussion, but alive, and happy about that.
She spent the night there under observation and was miraculously released the next morning. They asked for my help in finding an affordable hotel room to spend another day recovering. They spent a day at a local seaside resort and then I offered to put them up at my house for a couple more days before they returned to their home in Florida.

After leaving the pier with our charter it was difficult to not rehash our experience together. We did snorkel and sail and had a great picnic lunch after all. The excitement level was not nearly what our morning brought us, but then again who needs that much?

As a rather humorous reminder of the rescue, friends Gonzo and Penny gave me a pennant, like the ones charter fishing boats fly, after catching gamefish, however this one depicted a topless woman floating in a foamy sea. I would fly it above “Intuition” on occasion and get a good chuckle.

more xcountry stuff

Still trying to get photos to download on this post...having tech. difficulties....we'll see what happens....

genesis

OK, first step is done, I now have a blog page....blogblog, so here goes.

Will, esq. Maguire gave me this link to get my stuff out there.....maybe it will be easier to share some writing and pics with friends, family, interested parties, wild parties etc.....hehehe.

It is still dark here in Lorain, Ohio, my temporary digs for the next couple of weeks. On a mission helping my girlfriend, Chris, move from her home of 22 years to Hawaii, with me. It is all happening at lightning speed, beginning with our trip across the continent from Long Beach, Ca. to Lorain, Ohio a couple of weeks ago. There are the strictly physical things, like boats, cars, houses, junk, etc. to sell or store or......give away? Then there are the many friends to say goodbye to, wish well and say aloha to until next spring upon our return visit. Then of course and most importantly is family....leaving them, moving off the continent out into the middle of the ocean with some guy promising jobs, adventures, sunlight, whales, diving.....generally life in the tropics.

I have met many of Chris' longtime friends, shared stories, food, beer, wine and fun times with.
They are excited to see her do what she has wanted to do for so long AND to have someone "special" in her life. They all wish her well, some worry about it, some hate to see her leave....but many want to come and visit Hawaii.....we may have many visitors, who knows?

The first years I lived in Hawaii I had many, many, friends visit. After a while the pace slows down a bit, but heck even after 34 years, some still come and visit, ie., Jim and Pamela Doman, Randy Steigeley.....et.al. Oh yeah and ESQguy....Will Maguire

So, I think this should suffice as a small beginning, so aloha from where the first snows are sprinkling on the shores of Lake Erie.....my cue to help finish of the tasks at hand and head south then west.....

Aloha fellow blogsters!!! jeff