A Tough Passage North
Los Angeles to San Francisco on a Schedule
It was the fall of 2018 and MAYAN had been in the boatyard in Los Angeles for over a year. She needed to escape. All vessels linger in boatyards longer than anticipated, continuously maintained and improved, a spa experience. MAYAN was no exception. She had received new varnished teak cap rails, a new cockpit, new fuel tanks, fuel plumbing, exhaust system, a powered mainsheet winch, new sampson post, and dozens of smaller improvements. While we were sure MAYAN loved the attention, it was time to go sailing. A month previous our planned departure, the picture on the left is what she looked like.
A year earlier a group of close friends had gathered together to plan our participation in the St. Francis YC Stag Cruise. We would leave the fresh air of San Francisco Bay and head up the San Juaquin river into the late summer of central California. We’d moor at the St. Francis’ Tinsley Island outstation and enjoy the company of hundreds of fellow sailors. Numerous commitments had been made and flights secured.
Now, our cruise crew was bound for San Francisco from all over the world. We would meet at the StFYC docks and board MAYAN on Wednesday afternoon. The plan was: stow our gear, have a cocktail in the cockpit while everyone caught up, head in to the Clubhouse for dinner, and wander back down to MAYAN to crawl into our berths before our passage up the river early on Thursday morning.
The problem was, it was now 1630 hours on Sunday and the fuel dock would close a 1700. The MAYAN delievery crew had planned to come aboard Friday afternoon to stock provisions and finish up the last few tasks before we dropped the lines Saturday morning to sail the 293 nautical miles from Los Angeles to San Francisco. While it’s no surprise that we were late departing, the result was that we had burned through most of the extra time we allow along this route to wait for calm winds or rest the crew. We had to leave the boatyard now or wait until Monday morning at 0600 when the fuel dock reopened. If we waited for Monday, we’d never make our target arrival in San Francisco mid-day on Wednesday.
The weather forecast showed our passage would be light winds during the day and calms at night until we reached Pt. Conception. Then it would blow. Hard. Then HARDER! We were at risk of ignoring one of the great truths of cruising: A schedule is the most dangerous thing on a boat.
Getting Out of The Boatyard
Every time we’ve tried to leave a boatyard we’ve discovered some invisible force that binds us to the dock. This afternoon was no exception. Having already pushed our departure back two weeks, we were now in a situation where we would either make it to the Stag Cruise on time or not. On Sunday morning I had sent a message to the crew for the Cruise alerting them to the situation. All extremely experienced sailors they unanimously replied: “Do what’s safe, we can wait.”
The yard crew had worked wonders. The bowsprit was remounted. The new railcaps were installed and varnished. The rig was re-tuned. The list went on and one. The team at the Maritime Preservation Trust got it done.
Now, at the last possible moment, we dropped the lines and backing away from our slip at the yard headed for the fuel dock. MAYAN was uncontrollable! Something was badly wrong, I couldn’t steer predictably. Once out in the channel, as we started to move forward, the problem became obvious. The steering gear was working backwards! Turning the wheel to the right made MAYAN turn left. With the problem diagnosed, we carried on to the fuel dock with me holding the top peg of the wheel and imagining it was a tiller, push to starboard the bow goes to port.
As we sat at the fuel dock filling MAYAN’s new fuel tanks for the first time, the crew discussed all manner of comical solutions to our steering problem. “We can just put a big sign on the aft side of the cabin that says TURN THE OTHER WAY.” Despite the series of bad jokes, we all agreed that we couldn’t leave Los Angelese without fixing the problem.
Pulling open the steering box it was immediately obvious that the arms on the Edson worm gear steering were inverted. To be clear, this problem was created by your author. I was the one who had torn down the steering gear for maintenance and reassembled it in the inverted position. So much for letting the owner help!
To fix this, we removed the steering gear from the top of the rudder post and from the steering box, disassembled it on a sheet of cardboard in MAYAN’s new cockpit, reassembled it correctly, reinstalled it within the steering box, and reattached it to the rudder post.
It was 2330 hours on Sunday as we finally freed the mooring lines and gently backed MAYAN into the channel. This time, she behaved perfectly predictably and we set off for the Los Angeles Harbor entrance. Passing Angel’s Gate Lighthouse at 0003 hours we made a course to leave the Pt. Fermin Rock buoy to starboard, pushed the engine up to its normal cruising RPM of 1750, and set the watches.
Los Angeles Harbor to Santa Barbara Harbor
With a crew of five, we divided into two watches of two sailors each, I was always on standby/reserve and able to help with sail changes and navigation at all times. Polling the crew, we decided that 4-hour watches were fine all around. After rounding Pt. Fermin Rock, the watch on deck was Gene Sofen and Peter Mattsson, the watch below was Garret Demirjian and Keziah Choi.
The sea was glassy with little perceptible swell and only the wind MAYAN made for herself as she powered along making 8 knots to the NW. Visibility was spectacular under a high marine layer, with Los Angeles off to starboard and the jet traffic leaving LAX providing an outstanding navigational aid. Our course would keep us a few miles N of the commercial shipping lane, and Gene visually confirmed the three ships showing on the AIS.
I stayed on deck until Pt. Vicente was off the starboard quarter and we had 40 miles to our waypoint off Laguna Pt. in Ventura County. Confirming that Gene and Peter knew they could wake me anytime, I set my watch timer for two hours fell into my bunk still in my weather gear at 0100.
My personal rule is to only sleep for as long as it will take for an incompetent crew to bump into something like the shore or a reef, but I was tired after rebuilding the steering gear. Having done hundreds of miles with Gene as a watch captain in all manner of ugly conditions, I knew could trust him completely to keep MAYAN on course and clear of the shipping lanes. At 83 years old, Gene had spent more time as a racing sailor, commercial fisherman, and ship’s captain than I’d been alive. Peter is a solid crew and has sailed with us often along the coast around San Francisco and within the Bay. I slept soundly.
The reason our heading was to the N of the rhumb line was to catch the favorable Souther California Eddy. The south-bound California Current swirls around the islands of San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, and Anacapa and curves into the California Bight. These four islands and a few rocks further west are the top of a mountain range.
As the current rounds Pt. Conception the momentum of the water carries it past the the NW end of this mostly submerged mountain range. This creates a counter clockwise flow of about half a knot in the waters of Santa Monica Bay and the channel between the islands and the shore of Ventura County. We often see these back-eddies behind every point along the coast. They can prove very helpful to a small boat moving NW up the coast, but one must be careful when heading in close to shore to take advantage of the favorable flow.
Sadly, MAYAN was on a tight schedule. It’s often best to move NW along the coast at night when the typical headwinds are calm. As we passed by Marina Del Rey (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marina_del_Rey,_California) I was reminded of many enjoyable days as a young racing sailor in these waters. Both the California (http://www.calyachtclub.com) and Del Rey (https://www.dryc.org) yacht clubs are within this harbor which also offer fuel and dockage for cruisers.
The 0400 watch change was uneventful, as MAYAN continued to power through glassy waters off of Malibu Beach and Pt. Dune. The new watch on deck: Keziah and Garret, are part of the Maritime Preservation Trust. They were comparatively new to blue water sailing. But, having worked with them at the Trust’s boatyard I knew they were attentive and trustworthy. I briefed them on the course and the shipping traffic and went back to sleep for an hour.
As we neared our Laguna Pt. waypoint it was clear that we’d picked up three-quarters of a knot of favorable current. Aboard MAYAN we display both boat-speed and speed-over-ground on the instruments. This aids in the never-ending hunt for favorable current, a key skill to hone for the days and nights ahead. With the sky a lighter gray and Anacapa Island broad off the port bow, we changed course to the rhumb line to Santa Barbara.
Along the shore to starboard lies the the Channel Island Harbor, home to the Pacific Corinthian Yacht Club (https://www.pcyc.org). Each year they host the McNish classic yacht regatta, something we’ve participated in many times on other boats and hope to sail in aboard MAYAN. A few miles NW lies Ventura Harbor, with fuel docks and a boatyard (https://venturaharbor.com). These harbors make a great place to stop for the night if one is transiting the coast and wish to travel only during daylight hours.
Just under 30 miles further NW lies Santa Barbara Harbor (https://www.visitsbharbor.com), with its small boat harbor and easily accessible fuel dock, it is one of our favorite stops. I’ve sailed in and out of this beautiful port since I was a kid. This was MAYAN’s home port when David Crosby owned her. The 84 mile run from Los Angeles, where we started with full tanks, would give us a handy way to accurately measure fuel consumption as we topped up the tanks for the rest of the passage north. We entered the Santa Barbara harbor at 1420 hours, showing that we’d been pushing against the California Current for the first 40 miles before finding the Southern California Eddy.
As MAYAN made her way slowly up the main channel to the fuel dock at the head of the harbor shouts of “Welcome home, MAYAN!” rang out across the harbor. She is a beloved boat in this harbor and a small willing crowd gathered at the fuel dock to catch lines and say hello to their old friend. Eager hands passed over the fuel hose and topping off the tanks showed that we were burning two gallons per hour while powering at 8 knots through the calm water and running the diesel heater to keep the cabin at a comfortable 65 degrees.
With full tanks and very little wind in the lee of the mountains to the north, we resumed powering NW towards Pt. Conception at 1610 hours. This legendary point is the first place that a boat headed north will encounter the strong winds ubiquitous to the Northern California coast. Expecting some breeze based on the weather forecasts, we headed for the point assuming we would hide at the Cojo anchorage a few miles east and to leeward of the point if the wind was blowing too hard.
By 0100 we had the anchor down in Refugio. Gene and I sat in the cockpit looking at the glassy water. The rest of the crew was in their berths. I had to ask: “When we came by here earlier and you said ‘We should just go anchor in there’, you knew it was blowing hard out at Cojo didn’t you?” With a rye smile, Gene replied: “All those fishermen were anchored in here because they couldn’t stand it out at Cojo.” We sat for a while watching the reflection of the lights on the still water. “You get some sleep, I’ll stand anchor watch.” Gene continued after a time. “You’re going to need the rest.”
Rounding Point Conception
My iPhone woke me at 0500, Gene was in the galley warming some of the minestrone soup Stacey had sent with us, Peter was pulling on his foul-weather gear, the wind was still, the sea black and glassy. Keziah and Garrett were left to sleep until the 0800 watch change.
As MAYAN powered towards Pt. Conception the wind built to 20 knots from the north, but it had calmed in night. Our course was as close to the shore as we dared, staying out of the worst of the wind, just outside of the kelp beds. Looking south off shore we could see where the wind came fully down to the water, the backs of whitecaps were clearly visible in the building dawn.
The sky was clear and robin’s egg blue, the water calm near shore, but rough ahead as we started to pass the Cojo Anchorage. The indigo blue of the sea was topped by large whitecaps streaking foam down their leeward sides. The wind speed offshore looked to be at least 25–28 knots and with gusts to 35 knots. MAYAN motor-sailed on a beam reach at 12 knots, with a single reefed mainsail, main staysail and fore staysail. There was a lot of north in this cold wind and because Pt. Arguello protrudes 8 miles to the west of Pt. Conception we found flat water and slightly lighter winds along Espada Bluff just outside the kelp beds after rounding Pt. Conception. We also found a strong counter current flowing to the NW which kept our speed over ground at 10 knots even though we were now motor-sailing hard on the starboard tack. For 12 miles we enjoyed a fast and comfortable ride.
Looking offshore it was clear that once we rounded Pt. Arguello we’d be slogging into heavy chop and an eight to ten foot swell. A large yawl was spotted heading south with a heavily reefed mainsail or storm trysail flying. We would later learn that this was the S&S yawl CHUBASCO who was making the passage to the same event a few hours ahead of us. Her newly re-installed rig had started to pump wildly as they pitched into the large seas and they appropriately decided to return south to avoid damage to the boat.
With the 0800 watch change Keziah and Garrett relieved Peter and Gene, who immediately headed below. Peter turned in the main companionway and announced with a grin: “I’m headed to my nice dry berth. Have fun up here!” And he pointed ahead to Pt. Arguello and the heaving sea beyond. “Keziah, could you make one last check on all the portholes and hatches before we take on those bumps?” I asked. She disappeared and retuned on deck with warm gloves and her jacket zipped tight. “All secure, skipper.”
There is a small point just south of Pt. Arguello called Rocky Point. Most sailors wouldn’t know it had a name, but on numerous trips up this coast I’ve found one can head a little offshore on starboard tack, as we were now doing, come about and get one last protected mile to windward in the lee of Pt. Arguello. As we sailing in towards the cliffs and approached the 4 fathom line, Garrett waved at tourists pointing their cameras at us from the lighthouse on the point above. At 4 fathoms we tacked back onto starboard and settled on a course that would just clear the rock that lies southwest of the point. Towering fountains of foam were leaping up as the swells slammed into that un-named rock. “Here it comes.” I announced to Garrett and Keziah as MAYAN’s bow lifted to the first of the swells we’d be working over for the next 200 miles.
Point Arguellow to Cayucos & Point Estero
Unprotected by land from the north by northwest winds, current, and swells, MAYAN’s boat speed through the water plunged to 6.5 knots and the current costs us another knot. It would be slow-going for the next few miles on starboard tack as we gained enough sea-room to allow us to tack back to port and sail parallel to the shore.
The windward side of Pt. Arguello can be a brutal lee shore in the prevailing northwest winds. Once onto port we’d be sailing all day and into the night along a shore with literally no place to hide. While rounding Pt. Arguello the wind had been unusually further to the north. “We’ll hang onto the starboard tack for a while.” I announced to the crew as we slogged into the remaining NW swell. “This wind is unusual and it’s helping us get some sea room to windward of those cliffs.” We all looked at the cliffs towering above the rocky beach and the flashes of white foam as the swells slammed ashore. It was not a coast one wanted to have to leeward in a strong wind. After an 2 hours of motor-sailing Garrett let me know that we were getting headed, “I’ve fallen off twenty degrees. Should we tack?”
“Yes,” I replied from the chart table below. “We’re ten miles offshore now.” I said with a grin. It was one of the few things that was going our way during this trip. Settling in on port tack I sat in the cockpit telling Keziah and Garret about the disastrous shipwreck of multiple US Navy destroyers in 1923 pictured on the left. Navigating by dead-reckoning and traveling fast in a fog, the fleet’s Commander had ordered the ships to make a turn too early and run most of them up on the point.
MAYAN was now taking the west by northwest swell ahead of the port beam and her speed climbed up to 6 knots. The current was still pushing us to the southeast, but had moderated to under a knot. By the 1200 watch change the decks were starting to dry, and the varnish was sparkling with salt crystals. All hands tucked into lunch with a level of optimism that things were getting better. Pt. Sal was seven miles off the starboard beam and our speed over the bottom had crawled up to 6.7 knots.
Port San Luis lay directly ahead, a great anchorage if one isn’t on a schedule. After lunch I explained to our crew that any reasonable cruising sailor would be stopping to spend a quiet night anchored in that bay. But, we’d used up that time in the boatyard. So we were going to head in until we got a lifted and the current decreased, then it would be back to hugging the shore for us.
Just before the 1600 watch change MAYAN tacked onto starboard and headed offshore, having been lifted up above the dangerous point that protects Port San Luis. The Susa Rock (buoy “14SR” R 6s), Westdahl Rock (buoy “1” G 6s), Santa Rosa Reef (unmarked), and Pecho Rock (unmarked) all serve to discourage sailing anywhere within 2.5 miles of the shore to the west of the point. Sailing out of the lift we’d found going in towards shore, MAYAN was now heading west and punching into the swell again. It was VERY wet but the wind had moderated to 25 knots.
Once we could lay Cayucos on port tack, we came about and started to beat across Estero Bay gathering up a steadily lift as we approached the north side. Since before rounding Pt. Conception MAYAN had been sailing with two reefs tucked into her mainsail. A steady stream of seawater had been pouring across her decks and cabin top forward of the mainmast and spray had been flying across the cockpit with each large swell. It was damp on deck, damp below decks, it was damp everywhere.
I was up at least every two hours and when Gene and Peter came on watch at 2000 hours, I filled them in on our course and strategy to sail all the way across Estero Bay and then hug the shore as closely as we could until Pt. Estero where we’d be forced back out into the worst of it again. With the lights of Moro Bay 45 degrees off the starboard bow, I headed down below for a one hour nap.
MAYAN’s motion was easier. The wind in the rigging was a low howl now instead of a scream. I climbed into the cockpit to see Moro Bay well off the stern quarter and the small lights of Cayucos to leeward off the starboard bow. “We’ve been lifted more.” Peter announced, “The water’s flatter, this is downright pleasant sailing.” We all smiled through the darkness. The only problem was, the dyneema main halyard had chaffed through and in the strong headwinds the mainsail had gently furled itself between the lazy jacks. Gene and Peter had set the main boom in its gallows and carried on. The growl of the engine exhaust droned on as we motor-sailed forward at just under 7 knots.
Short of Cayucos a couple of miles, we tacked MAYAN when we could almost lay Constantine Rock (unlit buoy: “1CR”) this course would leave the buoy close aboard the starboard side. A text message arrived on my phone from our regular navigator, Lance Burc, guiding us from shore: “Hug the shore! It’s blowing like hell out there!!” I let Gene and Peter know, and we all settled into enjoy the relatively calm 25 knot breeze as we motor-sailed parallel to the shore towards Pt. Estero.
Hugging a Rocky Shore
For the next 70 miles the shoreline is rough and can be challenging to sail close, but the points: Piedras Blancas, San Martin, and Lopez can provide a small amount of protection and current relief when one sails in just to leeward. Exact navigation is required, no more naps for me for a while.
The only easy place to duck in is the first, San Simeon. This is a lovely anchorage below the massive Hearst Castle, a crazy monument to one man’s ego. Once again, I recounted lovely nights swinging at anchor there to the rest of the crew while we bashed to windward and had our 0000 watch change. There was a general sigh and then we all got back to work navigating carefully along this difficult shore.
With the mainsail now tied off with stops and just the fore and main staysails flying sheeted in hard, MAYAN was motor sailing through the water at about 6 knots. But, our current relief was gone, and we were only making 4.5 knots towards our destination. Hugging the shore was keeping us out of the strongest of the wind, but required a long night of navigation and attention. By 0400 our progress towards our destination had only been 18 miles. With Piedras Blancas off our starboard quarter and Cape San Martin still a little under four hours ahead, we were grinding it out. The 0800 watch brought us to just south of Anderson Canyon, and the 1200 watch dragged us up to just south of Pt. Sur. Through it all MAYAN’s ancient Mercedes diesel bus engine never missed a beat.
Rounding Point Sur
One of the most dangerous points on the California coast, Pt. Sur is guarded to the south for 2.5 miles by the Sur Breakers and Sur Rock noted on the chart. These shoals reach out almost a mile from shore. In calm weather, one can pick their way through the rocks to get closer to shore, but on this day the rocks were roaring as each swell slammed ashore and drowned them in foam. Current relief was denied us. Directly west of Pt. Sur lies an unnamed shoal that is simply labeled “Breakers”. This day it was another seething patch of foul water.
At Pt. Sur the coast turns right a little and runs almost due north. The SE bound California Current surges into shore north of Pt. Sur and is forced to turn to run south. The swells rolling in from the northwest hit the steep shore and bounce off. The results of this combination are seas which are confused, angry, and exceedingly irritating. They have a nasty habit of hopping aboard your boat as you try to head north. This day, the scuppers ran a foot deep.
MAYAN’s speed over the bottom dropped to 4 knots, her high bows kept out most of the waves, but the spray was flying over her with every wave. The crew on deck, hoods up, faced aft and watched the wake slowly being blown away downwind. The every-ten-minute scan of the surrounding horizon was wet work.
From Pt. Sur to Cypress Point on 17-mile-drive is one of the ugliest bits of water we’ve ever crossed in weather like this. This 18 miles took MAYAN six hours, an average speed of 3 knots, while the knot meter read 4.5 knots through the water, and the waves tossed her hard. Seas bouncing off the cliffs crossed with the northwest seas headed in from the north Pacific and came aboard from both sides when the wave peaks crossed. The only good bits about bashing up the Big Sur coast like this is the spectacular view of one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. It is breathtaking and lethal to a disabled boat. All hands were aware that if the motor faltered, we’d fall away offshore immediately.
Monterey Bay
The watch change at 2000 hours found us in home waters for the first time in two years. The waves smoothed and the current dropped away as Cypress Pt. Fell behind. MAYAN’s speed over the bottom crawled up from 3 to 6 knots and the crew felt we were flying. Then a text came in from Lance again: “Don’t get too relaxed, the forecast is calling for 30 knots on Monterey Bay tonight.”
“Only 30 knots?” Laughed Garrett.
“Piece of cake!” Said Peter, as he and Gene headed below to get some sleep.
Half way across Monterey Bay the wind built to 34 knots with the occasional gust to 40 knots, and the main staysail tore the tack entirely off the staysail boom. Garrett and I dropped the staysail, lashed the main staysail tack to the boom with a length of Dyneema line, and reset the sail. Keziah held MAYAN on course through all this, quite an adventure for her first blue-water passage.
While below logging our progress around 2130 hours I was alerted by a low battery alarm. Our 12-volt bank had dropped to 10 volts. The main engine alternator had stopped charging at some point over the last 12 hours. I hadn’t noticed. My fault entirely. Because we were powering and I had assumed that we didn’t need to conserve electrical power, we’d been running the heater to keep the cabin warm, the hot water heater so the crew could wash with warm water, and the coffee maker for warm drinks. The 12-volt house bank was now so depleted that we couldn’t use it to start the generator. Switching everything off but the LED running lights and sailing instruments we slogged on. At 0000 hours a cold tired crew went off watch and crawled into their damp sleeping bags for their last night at sea.
In these home waters there are three harbors: Monterey, Moss Landing, and Santa Cruz. Our tired crew would have loved a rest in any of them, but this passage was all about making it to the StFYC docks by mid-day tomorrow.
Año Nuevo, Pigeon Point, and Point Montera
At 0310 MAYAN had Año Nuevo abeam to starboard and by the 0400 watch change she was nearly abeam of Pigeon Pt. The wind had calmed a little to 25 knots with gusts to 30, the seas were large, but less confused. With the shore running due north and the wind coming from the northwest, we were now really missing our mainsail. It would have given us an extra knot at least. We were also missing our heater. The interior of MAYAN was dripping wet and cold, as was her crew.
Pillar Point harbor was off the starboard quarter and Pt. Montera abeam. The wondrous smell of Stacey’s minestrone soup poured out of the companionway at 0800. Gene passed bowls of this magical liquid to Keziah and Garrett as they headed into the cockpit. The wind had faded to 15 knots, the sea was flattening out, and MAYAN was making 6.5 knots over the sea floor. Life was improving.
San Francisco Bay
The wind had been blowing hard for days and the northwest swell was running at 7–9 feet. In these conditions, MAYAN always takes the deepest passage through the South Shoal SE of the San Francisco Bay entrance. It is a deep point in the sandbank 2.2 miles west of Ocean Beach showing 37 feet on the chart. While breakers have been reported to the east and west of this passage, at 1000 hours this day the swells were feeling the bottom but no breakers were observed.
Laying in a course from the South Shoal Passage to Lands End, MAYAN’s motion smoothed out as the wind finally started to die. Gene and Peter appeared on deck as we rounded Lands End with hot cups of coffee for the watch on deck. Now making over 7 knots, MAYAN passed under the Golden Gate Bridge at 1121 hours. With her sails in a harbor furl and her covers in place, she tied up at the StFYC docks at 1153. All hands safe, wet, and exhausted.
Dénouement
The MAYAN shore crew of Stacey Vrolyk and Matthew Coale greeted our soggy crew of 5 with clean dry clothes, sheets, and blankets. Matthew went aloft to replace the main halyard, then replaced the failed voltage regulator as the battery banks recharged from shore power. Stacey re-stocked the depleted stores and after we all washed MAYAN down with freshwater and soap both below and on deck, the crew hit the showers in the StFYC clubhouse. As our Stag Cruise guests arrived at 1500 hours, they came aboard a boat that looked as if it had been safely at the dock for days. The next day, MAYAN and her crew made a great passage up to the St. Francis Yacht Club outstation at Tinsley Island.
Los Angeles to San Francisco — Passage Data
Rhumb Line Distance: 293 nm, Distance Sailed: 359 nm, Time: 2.5 days (59 hours 53 minutes), Average Speed Over Ground: 5.69 knots, Fuel Consumption: 140 gallons, 2.33 gallons/hour, 2 miles/gallon
Conclusions
Every passage results in valuable experiences. Sadly, some of these lessons had been learned in previous passages, only to be ignored by your author, a grim reminder that we need to review and remember more often.
The items that could have been better included:
- Making a passage on a schedule can be dangerous. In this passage the weather was well within the abilities of some of the crew and the boat, but the less experienced crew members were at the limits of their experience at times. Fortunately, we had enough experienced hands aboard to make this a learning experience, one the crew will not forget.
- Inspection of the charging system is now included on the list of items to check every 30 minutes during a passage. A hot-swap voltage regulator has been installed on the main engine 12-volt charging system.
- While MAYAN has started the generator from the house battery bank for decades, that failed in this case because the voltage was too low. We have installed a separate generator starting battery.
- The track for the clew of the main staysail tore out, it was only held in by a few small wood screws in tension. It is now thru-bolted to the boom.
The items that worked well during the passage included:
- Heaps of warm hearty home made soup was a BIG HIT. Thank you Stacey!
- Navigation using the B&G and more often iPhones and an iPad proved to work extremely well. The redundancy was reassuring, even though every device performed perfectly.
- The mandatory use of Jack-lines and Hard-points, combined with harnesses wasn’t an inconvenience, but folks need to be reminded.
- The main engine and its associate systems, with the exception of the failed 12-volt regulator, worked extremely well.
- The cabin heater was great for crew morale, until we ran out of electricity.
- Carrying small bits of Dyneema line in one’s pocket is quite handy.
