Food
I quickly came to appreciate the fresh food I had brought. My boat has a built-in cooler that I stocked with ice before departing. I brought bell peppers and cucumbers and carrots that I kept cold as long as possible. I brought a couple of bags of salad and ate those before they went bad. The best performing vegetables were the cucumbers, which lasted the entire trip without turning too mushy.
Oranges! I brought oranges and they held up well. Aerated bags, never became moldy. Sticky fingers, sweet with sugary juice. Delicious pulp.
Canned food has a ridiculous amount of sodium! In my often-dehydrated state, I became increasingly disgusted by the salty quality of the soups and products that I had along. Blech.
Were I to do it again, I would buy a small electric fridge/cooler and wire and lash it in somewhere. The fresh vegetables were key and missed when they dwindled.
Power Supply
I installed a lithium battery system before departing, supported by a fancy upgraded alternator that could produce plenty of amps, and a simple two-panel solar system. My electrical needs were limited and on days where the sails did not block the solar panels, I could run the boat without alternator charging. By the end of the afternoon my primary 50amp hour battery would be 93% charged. Then overnight running radio, electronics and lights @ 2.5 amps 10 hours, I would be down to 25% charged. Flip off the lights at dawn and by 10am or so get to flat energy draw (solar panels push offsetting radio and instrument pull) and by noon, gaining 3-4 positive amps. So a few days where
Engine
To the degree I had any problems with my Yanmar 3 cylinder, they all related to air getting into the fuel lines. I had to bleed some air a couple of times early in the trip, and then once (traumatically) right at the end, within sight of Diamond Head. I encountered big waves (2.5 meters) and fresh winds (25-30 knots) simultaneously and I believe this jostling carbonated the fuel in my tank, which caused the engine to gasp and sputter out as I was turning the corner at Diamond Head, with big breakers and coral reefs and tourist boats in sight. “Go get on the deal team, Vilhauer. No one else is here to solve your problems for you….”
With my solar panels, I only used about 11 gallons of diesel of the 35 gallons I had along. The vast majority of the consumption was for morning battery-charging sessions. I use about 0.7 gallons per hour at 2500rpm and I could normally achieve 85% state of charge in my lithium primary battery within 40 minutes.
User Error
The potentially worst situation in which I found myself was (surprise!) something I could have easily avoided. At some point past midnight on the morning of June 24th, the wind shifted from an Easterly direction to the South. I awoke and took stock of my bearing and intended destination and knew I needed to address the sail trim and course. The swell made a sea-dog’s sails-alone turn inconvenient, and after all I am not a sea dog. I am a modern gentleman, so I decided to take the easy way out of firing up my engine, putting some horses into her, and turning the boat like a Buick.
It was still dark. I let the engine warm up at slow RPM for a couple of minutes and then shifted into forward gear. In about a second, the engine froze. It did not sputter or cough. It froze. I tried to start it again and no dice. I tried to shift back into neutral, but the transmission was frozen. I surmised that there may have been something wrapped around the prop shaft. Sure enough, after reviewing the contents of my cockpit, I realized that my jib furling line was missing. I clipped into my safety gear and walked up the side deck seeing the absence of the line in every spot where it was supposed to be. Sure enough, when I reached the furler on the bow of the boat, I found the line pulled taut directly under the boat.
I had neglected to cleat off the furling line, and to tie a stopper knot in the end of it, so the rope probably was slackened enough to dip into the water near the front end of the boat, at which point the rest of the line was pulled forward and into the water and trailed underneath the centerline of the boat, perfectly placed to seize in the propeller.
What does one do, 500 miles from land, in 16,000 feet of water with a rope-wrapped propeller shaft? I lead cub scouts and the principle we teach the kids is that, when lost one should S.T.O.P, or stop, think, observe, plan. I waited until daylight. I contrived a sea anchor to slow the boat down. I dropped all of the sails. I threw on my goggles I set some backup rescue lines to trail behind the boat. I set a couple of entry points to allow me to get back on the boat. Then I jumped in the ocean.
It was exactly as I had anticipated - the furling line was wrapped around the prop shaft. The boat itself was still jacking around in the waves, and it would have been bad if I had gotten hit with the prop or the strut, but it all worked out just fine. I unwrapped the line and got back on board with a minor amount of effort.
Then commenced another 1-2 hours of work lowering the jib, resetting the furler, and re-hoisting. It all worked out, but was the most pointed example of a small user error spiraling into getting-off-the-boat-alone-in-the-middle-of-the-ocean, something I had no intention of doing at the start of the trip. Yet, with singlehanding, there is no one coming to solve the problem for you.
Weather
I was dealt a good hand with weather. Days 3 and 4 getting off the coast of California were a bit challenging, but for the most part, I had wind between 10 and 20 knots, blowing approximately in the right direction. One could not ask for much more. I was becalmed for a 36-48 hour period, but that bifurcated the trip nicely. After two weeks my impression was that the ocean was relentless. After blowing for weeks, the prospect of an indifferent barometer and still air was even more striking. The calm air was, fortunately, a relatively short chapter, and I still closed out the passage in 20 days.
I quickly came to appreciate the fresh food I had brought. My boat has a built-in cooler that I stocked with ice before departing. I brought bell peppers and cucumbers and carrots that I kept cold as long as possible. I brought a couple of bags of salad and ate those before they went bad. The best performing vegetables were the cucumbers, which lasted the entire trip without turning too mushy.
Oranges! I brought oranges and they held up well. Aerated bags, never became moldy. Sticky fingers, sweet with sugary juice. Delicious pulp.
Canned food has a ridiculous amount of sodium! In my often-dehydrated state, I became increasingly disgusted by the salty quality of the soups and products that I had along. Blech.
Were I to do it again, I would buy a small electric fridge/cooler and wire and lash it in somewhere. The fresh vegetables were key and missed when they dwindled.
Power Supply
I installed a lithium battery system before departing, supported by a fancy upgraded alternator that could produce plenty of amps, and a simple two-panel solar system. My electrical needs were limited and on days where the sails did not block the solar panels, I could run the boat without alternator charging. By the end of the afternoon my primary 50amp hour battery would be 93% charged. Then overnight running radio, electronics and lights @ 2.5 amps 10 hours, I would be down to 25% charged. Flip off the lights at dawn and by 10am or so get to flat energy draw (solar panels push offsetting radio and instrument pull) and by noon, gaining 3-4 positive amps. So a few days where
Engine
To the degree I had any problems with my Yanmar 3 cylinder, they all related to air getting into the fuel lines. I had to bleed some air a couple of times early in the trip, and then once (traumatically) right at the end, within sight of Diamond Head. I encountered big waves (2.5 meters) and fresh winds (25-30 knots) simultaneously and I believe this jostling carbonated the fuel in my tank, which caused the engine to gasp and sputter out as I was turning the corner at Diamond Head, with big breakers and coral reefs and tourist boats in sight. “Go get on the deal team, Vilhauer. No one else is here to solve your problems for you….”
With my solar panels, I only used about 11 gallons of diesel of the 35 gallons I had along. The vast majority of the consumption was for morning battery-charging sessions. I use about 0.7 gallons per hour at 2500rpm and I could normally achieve 85% state of charge in my lithium primary battery within 40 minutes.
User Error
The potentially worst situation in which I found myself was (surprise!) something I could have easily avoided. At some point past midnight on the morning of June 24th, the wind shifted from an Easterly direction to the South. I awoke and took stock of my bearing and intended destination and knew I needed to address the sail trim and course. The swell made a sea-dog’s sails-alone turn inconvenient, and after all I am not a sea dog. I am a modern gentleman, so I decided to take the easy way out of firing up my engine, putting some horses into her, and turning the boat like a Buick.
It was still dark. I let the engine warm up at slow RPM for a couple of minutes and then shifted into forward gear. In about a second, the engine froze. It did not sputter or cough. It froze. I tried to start it again and no dice. I tried to shift back into neutral, but the transmission was frozen. I surmised that there may have been something wrapped around the prop shaft. Sure enough, after reviewing the contents of my cockpit, I realized that my jib furling line was missing. I clipped into my safety gear and walked up the side deck seeing the absence of the line in every spot where it was supposed to be. Sure enough, when I reached the furler on the bow of the boat, I found the line pulled taut directly under the boat.
I had neglected to cleat off the furling line, and to tie a stopper knot in the end of it, so the rope probably was slackened enough to dip into the water near the front end of the boat, at which point the rest of the line was pulled forward and into the water and trailed underneath the centerline of the boat, perfectly placed to seize in the propeller.
What does one do, 500 miles from land, in 16,000 feet of water with a rope-wrapped propeller shaft? I lead cub scouts and the principle we teach the kids is that, when lost one should S.T.O.P, or stop, think, observe, plan. I waited until daylight. I contrived a sea anchor to slow the boat down. I dropped all of the sails. I threw on my goggles I set some backup rescue lines to trail behind the boat. I set a couple of entry points to allow me to get back on the boat. Then I jumped in the ocean.
It was exactly as I had anticipated - the furling line was wrapped around the prop shaft. The boat itself was still jacking around in the waves, and it would have been bad if I had gotten hit with the prop or the strut, but it all worked out just fine. I unwrapped the line and got back on board with a minor amount of effort.
Then commenced another 1-2 hours of work lowering the jib, resetting the furler, and re-hoisting. It all worked out, but was the most pointed example of a small user error spiraling into getting-off-the-boat-alone-in-the-middle-of-the-ocean, something I had no intention of doing at the start of the trip. Yet, with singlehanding, there is no one coming to solve the problem for you.
Weather
I was dealt a good hand with weather. Days 3 and 4 getting off the coast of California were a bit challenging, but for the most part, I had wind between 10 and 20 knots, blowing approximately in the right direction. One could not ask for much more. I was becalmed for a 36-48 hour period, but that bifurcated the trip nicely. After two weeks my impression was that the ocean was relentless. After blowing for weeks, the prospect of an indifferent barometer and still air was even more striking. The calm air was, fortunately, a relatively short chapter, and I still closed out the passage in 20 days.
