It’s been crazy sails these last few weeks,  and I’m talking the noun, not the verb. MY genoa is in terrible shape and I took it to a couple of local sailmakers to get quotes on possible repairs or worst case, replacement via insurance. What an education this has been.

I’m reluctant to name names here as one nun does not a convent make, but I’m not at all happy with the service I received at one of the lofts. I had my main repaired at UK Halsey a few years back and the experience was fine, but this time I had several promises made re. communication and estimates, none of which happened. It’s disturbing when I proprietor looks you in the eye and says he will do such-and such, but it never happens. I know they are busy but then you should be vague, or not make the promise.

But more of a concern is his assertion that my genoa had been made of an expensive laminate called Vectran, which accounted for it’s unusual yellowish tint. When I asked for a replacement via insurance, he gave me three estimates, the highest of which was almost $9,000.00. The sailcloth and the sail itself would be imported from China.

My experience at Lieche and McBride was vastly different. The sailmaker spent a great deal of time with me stretching out the sail, going over it and describing what could and couldn’t be done. He also suggested the sail wasn’t worth repairing.

What happened next was startling. He assured me that the fabric was merely good old fashioned 8 oz. Dacron, possibly yellowed by age and the time the vessel had spent in the tropics. An ancient character showed up at the loft (the original owner) and he recognised the cloth immediately. Apparently, sometime in the 80s a batch had been turned out of the mill discoloured. This cloth had been sold to a broker in eastern Canada at a discount, who then flipped it, touting it as an expensive new high-strength cloth and 50% more expensive. Doyle bought up a lot of this and unknowingly turned out “premium” sails that were in fact quite ordinary.

The old sailmaker gleefully recounted names of guilty parties involved.

The story gibes with what I know about the sails. They were in fact purchased out east at the correct time, and sold to a PO as premium sails. Apparently more than a few folks got taken in this scam.

OK, so by chance this old guy was around when this went down and so knew why the sails were yellow. But calling it Vectran? He showed me a sample of Vectran, and it’s usually sold as part of a laminate – strips of cloth with a clear mylar film, not a solid sheet of the stuff. UK Halsey insisted this was a laminate cloth, yet every laminate I’ve ever seen shows two clearly distinct materials, not a solid, uniform sheet.

L&M then turned out a replacement estimate for an offshore-quality 8 oz 140 genoa for $3400.00, made out of US cloth in either the US or at the Sydney loft.

Talk about a bad taste in my mouth.  It sure goes to show the importance of shopping around.

After talking with my insurance broker, I decided to not go with a new sail right now, as if we made a claim our deductable would then double to $2,000.00! I’ve got a lead on a good used 150 out east that I think I will scoop when I get back from this sailing trip.

And talking about sails! I left Victoria because I needed to get away (God did I need to) and since I have a job started next Friday I figgered there was no time like the present. There are times when I deplore the fact that I don’t have an anemometer aboard. I checked the winds reported around Victoria when I headed out, but they weren’t very accurate. I was expecting to find winds in the mid teens, but it sure didn’t feel like that when I got out.

I’ve come to realise that this boat is significantly overcanvassed, especially for our area, which regularly blows up to gale force in fine weather. Anything over 15 knots and you should be looking at putting a reef in, and yet other boats around me will still be sailing under full main and genoa. Even though I’m sailing with a storm jib these days, I still find that rule holds.

Anyway, I read AFTER the fact that there were gusts in the 24 knot range in the area that I was passing through when I ripped the head right off the main.

You read that correct – it came clean off during a gybe. The only thing holding the rest of the sail aloft was the leech line and the luff boltrope.

This wasn’t an ugly gybe at all; the main was dead centred when I swung the stern through the wind. At the time I was doing over ten knots through Enterprise channel, but there was a good flood at the time. Nothing felt untoward and I was shocked to look up and see the sail ripped through like that.

I’ve had a while to think this through and I’ve come to a few conclusions.

One is that I had too much canvas out, although I think that was a minor issue. After all, it ripped at the first seam, at a batten, and if it were really a loading issue it would have happened much further down the sail where the stresses are at maximum. I was also sailing a broad reach at the time.

I think the real mistake was with the halyard. I had recently replaced the halyard with a larger line of special low stretch double braid. The old halyard was quite stretchy and while grinding in the sail it would squeal and make all kinds of noises. This one is silent and makes no indication of tightening; the winch just gets harder to turn. With so little stretch and me expecting (and not getting) some kind of aural feedback, I fear I severely overtightened the luff of the sail.  A good hi-tension whack as the sail gybed was all it needed to rip the old sail at the seam.

It was a not a good day.

When I left the harbour and turned off the wind, the vessel heeled right over (again, too much canvas), and it turned out that Tracy and I had neglected to properly affix drawers and lockers. It’s not usually part of my departure protocol to go through all the drawers and locker doors to make sure they are properly latched, but it sure is now!
Three drawers full of crap flew open and spilled over the cabin sole.  A locker that we use for all our papers and magazines and documents flew open. Everything in the first 1/3 of the quarterberth also hit the sole.   In short, it looked like a bomb had gone off down there.

Oh, and the bilge pump stopped working.

I went as far as Cadboro Bay, dropped the hook, and grabbed myself a beer. What else could I do?

Anyway, I spend the next day repairing my main. 5 hours of hand sewing and it was if not good as new, as strong as it was before I ripped it. The next day we sailed to Monetgue and the following day to Ganges. The sail works fine and I’m a lot wiser. From now on I keep a permanent reef in the main unless it really is “light air”. I’ve been making great time under a #3 jib and reefed main even sailing a broad reach and with winds below 15 knots.

I’ve gotten into the habit of cruising like I was racing and that explains my anxious wife and some of the sail damage I’ve encountered over the years. I’m gonna cool it and go a little slower (most of the time).

A shot of the ripped sail. Ripped right apart just above a seam and a batten. In the picture is my sailmaker's palm, whipping twine, scissors, sail needle and clear, reinforced duct tape. I've tried "official" sail tape, but its very expensive and just falls off.

In this picture I've traced lines where the cloth will be trimmed and where the seam will be.

A nice clean edge and the sail seams ready to sew. I might not have needed to fold the cloth over but I wanted it to be as strong as possible.

I taped the two parts together just to hold it while sewing.

Starting at the luff. Thank God for my sailor's palm or I wouldn't have gotten through all that material. Like 6 layers of 8 oz cloth.

One entire seam done. Another still to go.

The one downside to this repair is that by folding the cloth at the seam, it shortens the upper section a bit. Since we are talking a triangle, the leech no longer matches. Oh, well. It's over 40 feet up; hopefully it won't be too obvious (as it turns out, you can't see it).

Starting on the second row of stitches. A rather long and tedious process. I think I could have used a smaller needle and twine.

The sail is back together again. 5.5 hours later. I'm not glad it ripped, but I am glad that I was able to repair it. One more developing skill in the toolbox.

Download | Duration: 00:01:58

We were away this weekend with a student doing sail training and it went great. The above is a compilation of the best stuff. Of course I wouldn't do the gnarly with just any new sailor; this lady had her own kayak tour company for many years, and has kayaked in 30 knots, so she was on it like a fat kid on a Smarty. The weather this weekend couldn't have been better: light winds in the beginning and ending with 40 knots after she had learned what she came for. After rounding Trial Island we had to turn around because those gales and the size of the rollers right on the nose made headway too difficult. I saw it as a final great teaching moment when I turned tail and headed back to Cadboro Bay.

What I didn't expect was the smell coming out from under our bed when we got back to Fisherman's wharf. I have little sense of smell so it's always Tracy who starts to complain when something goes wrong in the plumbing. It was with total resignation that I pulled our bed apart to get at the perfidious holding tank yet again. What I found was the drain for the forward compartment was plugged and the whole thing was flooded with seawater that came over the bow. This is one design flaw of tour boat - the hole that drains into the bilge is about 1/8", so guess how often it plugs? And it's waaaay down under the tank so I pretty much have to stand on my head to get a clothes hanger down into it. There are lots of hoses along with the tank, and when it fills up with water it doesn't smell too good, although there aren't any leaks.


I have been feeling a little down since we got back. I dunno if it's the inevitable fall after a high, or if it's just that I so much prefer my time on the water than at shore. I've been thinking a lot about this and it makes sense. Life afloat is immediate, uncomplicated, demanding, and most often peaceful. It requires personal resources to overcome immediate obstacles. The scenery is gorgeous and stunning. There are very, very few abstractions.
Shore life is filled with demands, schedules, and a multitude of abstractions, many of which have a negative connotation. I got a parking ticket the other day, which is a classical example. So much of what make modern urban life is abstract, confusing, demanding and totally delusional.  While I can feel anxiety while pounding upwind in 40 knots, I know that is a rational and reasonable emotion, based on what I'm experiencing. But what does finding a parking ticket mean? That I have several big bills to take care of this summer? That my blog is waaay overdue? That I have jobs waiting and commitments to keep?

Stressing about making a meeting on time is far more negative for me than trying to decide if the waves are getting dangerous and if I should turn tail.

Maybe it's the social component. At sea there are only a few of us, and by and large I trust those I bring aboard. All the challenges I face are environmental, mechanical and perhaps spiritual. And almost always immediate. But most of the challenges ashore are about social commitments, which is as abstract as it can get. It's always commitments to others that makes my head spin ashore, and the more social I am, the more intertwined those commitments become. I can see it is the web of community that so many find reassuring, but to belong means to surrender part of yourself. Maybe that part is just ego. It would be the deepest of ironies that once I find that one thing that makes my life so blissful, that which that I've spent so much of my life searching for, To realise that it is simply a refuge and the way forward is to turn away from it.

I still remember a quote; I don't recall if it was from Hesse or Geothe (I'm paraphrasing): The way forward is not back into some imaginary childhood paradise but ever more into sin; ever deeper into human life.

Yesterday was a real hoot. Not only was the weather wonderful for a change, we participated in Variety Clubs Boat for Hope. It was a real joy to see the smiles and hear the laughter of not only the kids but their parents as well; we fostered special needs kids and know how overwhelming the job can be.

I think the pics speak for themselves:



































The day started out rather hellish though and I would dissuade anyone who wants to get printing done to a deadline from using Island Blue. I told them I needed a banner for this weekend as I wanted to advertise my boat as we went around in the harbour. They assured me it would only take a few days. I dropped off the file Tuesday afternoon and the fellow said he would have a proof ready for me the next morning. I didn't get a proof until Thursday afternoon which didn't give me a chance to make revisions (I would have increased the font size). He checked and assured me again that it would be ready the next day. I stopped by Friday afternoon and it turned out that they forgot to print both sides. He told me the art store was open later than the printing side and I could pick it up later that evening. Problem is the art store closes at the same time.
The next morning, while getting everything ready for the Boat for Hope, I called them several times to see if it made it in. Nobody answered the phone. In the end I had to drive downtown to check, and it was there but it took them quite a while to find it as it had been left in the print side of the store (closed for the weekend). In the end we did get it mounted on the boat but the whole thing was very stressful and I was late for the sail. It was totally unprofessional and none of the promises were followed up.

There was a lot of this kind of stuff this week. My online data backup Mozy stopped working a few weeks ago and I contacted customer support. This is the email I sent to the tech support department:
 
"I have to register my EXTREME displeasure and concern at the behaviour
of one of your tech support people. He had asked to take control of my
computer to read the Mozy log file, to which I agreed, although I
informed him I could just copy and paste it into the chat window
(which is what I did on a previous chat session with a tech when I had a similar problem).
Once he had control he poked around a bit, started the mozy program and then went to my
harddrive.
The mozy log file is in the library/logs folder, but he immediately
went instead to a protected folder where I keep my critical personal
passwords (labeled "passwords", unfortunately) and tried to open it.
When I asked him what he was doing, he said he needed the password for
the Mozy log file, which he never actually located or tried to open,
AND WHICH DOES NOT NEED A PASSWORD TO OPEN.
He then started up my chrome and firefox browsers, and I fail to see
how these two browsers have any relationship to a mozy log file.
I have no idea what this person was doing but reading this log file
did not happen. After twenty minutes of this I logged him off.
My problem still exists, nobody has answered my emails, and this guy
demonstrates some very suspicious behaviour on my computer.

On several occasions I have tried to contact customer support about this and no one responded. Obviously I had to find another backup solution and so after reading reviews I decided to try Jungle Disk. I had almost all of my first 4.6 gigs of data uploaded when it all vanished. All of it. I have another email sent to Jungle Disk tech support so I'll wait to see what they say. Oh, and Virgin overbilled me last month to the tune of 30 dollars. When you call support they put you on hold for about an hour so I sent an email instead. That was two weeks ago and have yet to hear a reply.

I've been thinking about how all this stuff plays out in my life and the stress that it causes. Obviously I have too much going one: I have two businesses going, including one I've just started up, I'm trying to write my novel, trying to keep on top of the maintenance needs of my boat and car (the Bimmer needs new brake pads according to a light that just went on the dash), we've had visitors for the last three weeks, I've got clients to take out, job estimates to prepare, relationships to keep alive, a board meeting coming up, a RESULTS meeting on Wednesday, a Green Drinks meting on Tuesday, a scooter to paint and sell...

It occurred to me today that the problem isn't all the stuff in my life, but my attitude to it; of course I'm choosing to get all stressed out when the banner isn't ready for our sailing. The thing is I'm totally aware that non of this means anything. In fact, I believe that very, very little that we focus on in life means anything. We don't mean anything and those things that we do and desire don't either.
Now I don't mean this in a nihilist or despairing way; I believe a few things are profound and the rest is just illusion. Whether I succeed or fail at anything only matters to my ego. And my wife of course.

But here's the hitch. When I take something on, I have to forget this uncomfortable truth. To succeed at what I do requires me to believe it actually matters in order to throw myself into it. So money matters. It matters if my sailing this weekend generates new clients. It matters if I get my banner in time to show the world what we do. It matters if the dufous behind the counter at Island Blue knows what he's talking about when he tells me "no problem".

If the money didn't matter (which it doesn't), all the rest falls away. Perhaps I could walk through some of these hoops if I didn't fool myself, but I sure wouldn't walk through most. Life is too short and there is too much to value to waste time propping up a house of cards - which is what everything people do invariably results in.

I've been here before. The difference is that I understand that it's ridiculous. My ego really wants it all to work out but my heart knows it doesn't matter.

I tend to point the finger at Tracy when I get like this. I believe that for various reasons she has much less faith than I, and stakes her faith in what she calls "practicality", which I see as little more than fear masquerading as responsibility. I have taken enough leaps of faith to trust landing on my feet and so have less vested interest in what human beings create as safety nets. Making money is very important to her, and I am afraid that her fears become my own. Certainly there is no lack of pressure to conform from the greater society.

But ultimately that's a cop out. Whatever her fears are I choose my own (and I have plenty, I assure you), and it's easier to blame her, or society, for my own conforming.
I know that I could stop it all tomorrow, just quit it, and nothing would change. Love would still happen, the bills would still come in, and the questions would remain. I guess I have to ask myself why I'm choosing this path.

It's human nature to build walls around oneself for security, it's insanity to rail against the walls that you yourself built.

It’s amazing how this stuff can get away from you; it’s replicated all around you, everyone else is doing it, and the rewards are quick and tempting. The cost is vague, diffuse, and conceptual. Worse, the deeper you go the less tangible the costs.

Over the last few weeks things have been crazy busy. Work opportunities have been piling up. I’ve started a major ad campaign with Focus Magazine. I’ve invested in a large banner that I designed and will be flying at the Variety Club Boat For Hope flotilla this weekend. I’ve calculated and delivered on some job quotes. And of course, I’ve been working on some ongoing maintenance on my boat.

The jobs and responsibilities just keep piling up and the more they do, the further from myself I become.

I’ll admit that it’s easy. My blue collar background means I have a constant urge to be “productive”. Being able to buy stuff is nice. My ego likes the importance I place on being a businessperson.

The problem is that I know it’s all hokum, I know that it’s stressing me out, and I know that it’s taking me away from where I’ve struggled so long to be. I neglect my writing, my meditation, and to some extent my home and family. And certainly my soul.

It feels like stepping into a hamster’s wheel; once it starts rolling it actually takes a determined effort of will to step off it. Just carrying on means that the wheel will continue to speed up, going faster and faster, taking you with it.

I’ve had the nagging sense that I’m falling off my path, but what’s a nagging sense compared to getting a job that might net 7 grand?

What is so ironic was a talk I had with my brother over a couple of Skookum Ales at the Superior last night. For a long time now he’s been in a rut and hungry for a change in his life. He’s climbed very far in his university career, and now he finds the golden handcuffs difficult to shake off. He’s planning on a sabbatical next year, but is bemoaning another 12 months before it is realised.

I found myself advising him to not wait; it’s been 6 years since his work lost meaning for him and I challenged him on what value he puts on his life that he is willing to postpone change another minute.

We had a good discussion on the role fear plays in all of our lives, and how we all want to “get our ducks in a row” before we make changes. The problem as I saw it is that getting ducks in a row simply means making change without really changing anything. It means creating something beforehand so that one feels comfortable moving ahead. The problem is that this kind of proactive effort means that in fact you aren’t really changing much because you have already constructed your future something out of what you already know.

Personally I believe that if you are really searching, if you really want to discover the new, you have to walk down unknown paths. That means doing what you haven’t done, doing what’s frightening, doing things that never occurred to you before.

I’ve had some dreams of flying off to the Caribbean and signing on as a charter skipper. Or possibly signing up with CUSO to volunteer overseas. I’ve researched this stuff and didn’t like what I found. Signing up with the big charter companies means applications, resumes, lists and all the competitive BS that I turned away from a long time ago. Amazingly, it was the same at CUSO.

I’ve long since found that it is far, far better to find something through networking and meeting people than fighting and clawing for something through established channels, channels that are designed to suit the needs of those with money and power, not the people that will eventually serve them with their labour.

So if I go volunteering in Africa or skippering in the Bahamas, I will simply have to go there, talk to people, and see what I can find. Maybe I’ll end up cleaning toilets to survive, who knows. But I do know that whatever I choose it will be a new and unknown path.

Why is that important? Because it’s by walking down unknown roads that we develop wisdom. It allows us freedom of will as we are not trapped in a small but safe world. My brother feels trapped because he only knows one road and is afraid of the unknown. I’ve gone down so many roads that I’ve come to understand that disaster doesn’t wait for us on the unknown road (at least not specifically; disaster operates irrespective of whether we hunker down or march off). It’s been my experience that all that happens is we have experiences. Some may be rewarding, others will be difficult. Life carries on.

It’s when we are safe and caged that life can cease long before our last breath.

So if my bro walked away from his job, all that would happen is that he would begin learning and have experiences. He would do something else and find out a lot that he couldn’t learn while safe in his old life. And one day he will be dead, so it really doesn’t matter if he begins again with Molly Maid or finds himself a sugar momma while playing guitar on a streetcorner. Your life and soul doesn’t give a damn if you are a university prof or a bum or a Roto Rooter man. Really, it doesn’t.

Coming full circle, I return to myself. So why am I stressing myself out over these work issues? Why am I neglecting my heart and my art? None of this has any meaning or transcendent value. It’s simply keeping me occupied.

I’m starting to wonder as well about my boat: do I own it or does it own me? I’m tempted to walk away from it except for the fact that it won’t change anything. I’ve long since known that money issues (the lack thereof) have far more to do with the hearts of those earning the money than the money itself. I could dispose of the boat to lower costs, but nothing would change. There is no shortage of things and opportunities on which to spend money and so the more disposable cash we have the more we consume.

The upside would be that I would create a simpler life again and would free me up to take off to far corners of the world to see what may be found.

But that’s planning and moving the ducks in a row, which I already know is false

Isn’t life amazing?

Replacing my running light. Talk about faith my in handiwork: that splice on the halyard shackle  - the one keeping me aloft - is the one I made a week ago.

Come sail with us. Sail training at www.Discoverysail.com

Well, as I suspected they say that the sail isn't repairable. Blast and damned. Time for a new/used one. The challenge is finding one out there for a reasonable price. Maybe by the end of the season I'll afford a new one but not now. So I'm now on the hunt for a used one, DImensions luff 49', Leech 46' 3", foot 23' 10".
Worst case scenario is that I have to use this jib for the summer , which isn't such a problem as it sounds as I've got the asymmetrical spinnaker for lighter airs.

Aside from that, the boat is in great shape. When this terrible weather improves I've got a few details to take care of on the mast and repaint the depth lines on the anchor chain, and give the boat a good spring clean and wax, but there's nothing else that needs to be done. Fantastic!!

I've decided to put out an add for my business in FOCUS magazine. I was hesitant as the price is steep, but it costs money to start up a business. I'm excited to see this effort in print.
Meanwhile, between jobs now and entertaining family from out of town. Trying to at least, given the lousy weather. Right now it's 6 degrees below normal and it feels like February outside. I would prefer to be off sailing for a week, but what're you gonna do? Really feels like I'm cooling my heels, waiting

In between showers I've been working on my scoot. First thing required was a good carb clean:

The scoot:




The carburetor. Tracy gave me hell while I was working on it, said it stunk up the boat. I told her that her her nail polish remover stunk it up worse. Bad idea.




Checking float level and cleaning out jets.




This unit functions as an accelerator pump and choke. Somebody must have had a lot of water in their gas! Fortunately I was able to clean it right up.



This pilot jet was completely plugged.



When I got it back together it ran great, although the engine acted like it was running out of fuel at higher RPMS. suspecting a clogged fuel filter or screen at the tank petcock, I took it apart, only to discover that the filter element was missing. A little fiddle farting around and suddenly it took off like a rocket!. I hate it when things fix themselves.


Tonight I'm going to join some boys who are in town for the swiftsure race, which looks like it will be quite the show as there is some real wind today. Drinks and jocularity for all. I'm deeply disappointed to not be racing but you have to be a member of a yacht club and that's not really for me. Oh, well.

One thing I've really noticed since entering the "market" (thanks to that construction job) that there's both an infinite amount of ways to spend money, and very few of them have anything of substance to offer. To make things more ludicrous, consumption increases both business and stress.

I'm appalled at how crazy busy and even disassociated I've been in the pursuit of consumption lately, getting things in place for my business and keeping the boat in repair.

There is a great paradox in owning this boat: it is a tremendous source of freedom for me and an awful responsibility. The cost is ridiculous. I’m not sure when it happened that sailing became a middle-class pursuit; at one point in history sailboats were working men’s boats. There is no way that fishermen could afford what sailors pay for today, and I’m not sure why it has evolved that way.

Sails used to be canvas, standing rigging was galvanised and running rigging was hemp. Of course our modern materials are stronger and last longer, but look at the enormous increase in cost. Our vessels are much more comfortable, but I doubt they are any more seaworthy.

I dream of heading offshore someday, and yet I wonder if I will ever afford it. This is a very complex issue in that I am a person who really tries to live in the moment – in which case this “problem” is irrelevant – but if I do venture into dreaming such lofty goals it will require me to give up what I have and sacrifice the present for an unknown future. This is a double whammy against my values; not only is it focusing on the future instead of the now, it’s sacrificing the now. By sacrificing I mean getting full time paid employment, which in my past experience was always horrid.

I’ve encountered several people who have done what I’m considering –many of them quite young – and I’ve never figured out how they got the money to afford it. How do twenty-somethings manage to sail off in a 45 foot ketch and then spend 5 years cruising the Americas? Wealthy family? Inheritance? When one looks at the cost of living these days, I can’t see how that kind of money can be saved earning a young person’s paycheque.

Of course it is possible that that kind of adventure just isn’t part of the life of an iconoclast such as myself. Certainly, when I have known the source of wealth of some offshore sailors, they were very middle class and/or professional. I’ve since given up on that life for myself and so maybe it just won’t happen.

I do know that I’m alone in this in that Tracy will never come with me.

It is hard to know how to approach this issue in that I don’t know what I’m missing. But the way things are you pay the ferryman first then find out if the crossing is worth the price. There are many, many other ways to adventure that don’t require such a huge investment. One couple I know spent $75,000.00 in three years of cruising, not counting the cost of the vessel.

Maybe crossing South America in a VW bus would be more attainable (and I might even have Tracy along for that one).

There is also Fainleog of course. I love our boat and appreciate how many compliments we get, especially when we tell people her pedigree. People respect the CS36T. But she is much more than what I need for a solo cruise down the coast, and I’m reminded of John Vigor’s book Twenty Small Sailboats That Will Take You Anywhere. There are some wonderful small and inexpensive yet seaworthy boats in there, and perhaps that’s what I should be looking at. Our current vessel was purchased with living aboard in mind, and that’s rather different from cruising.

I just discovered John Vigor's blog , and although I never met the man I suspect that we would get along just fine. Check out what he has to say about fads, which perhaps relates to what I was griping about.

The link function isn't working so I'll have to spell it out the old fashioned way.

Come sail with us. Sail training at www.Discoverysail.com />

I've been incredibly busy lately with doing spring maintenance on the boat. Not much in terms of things actually breaking, but I'm a big fan of preventing stuff from going south, short of having two of everything and swapping stuff all the time. The previous owner of this boat had both deep pockets and a passion for having a backup for just about everything. toilet parts, heat exchangers, 3 alternators, spare starter, ten belts - even a spare (new) engine, which I'm deeply disappointed I didn't buy off him!

I don't have the zeal of funds for that kind of insurance but I do try to keep up. I replaced the mainsail halyard (almost $200.00), and had to recall a ten-year unrequired skill for doing eye splices. Being a bit rusty the halyard shackle splice is a little ugly, but it's functional. I had 15' of rope left over which I whipped into a new mooring line (the splice on that one turned out much nicer; I guess doing a perfect 1" eye takes more skill than a 8" one.

The tach has also been acting up so I decided to have a look at it. Sometimes it doesn't read properly but usually all it takes is a good whack to bring it back in line. Lately the whack required is getting excessive so I knew I had to look at it. Since physical violence usually cows, the problem is mechanical, not electronic.

I hate pulling off the dash as it's a mess behind there but I'll be damned if I'm going to tidy it up. The connections are secure and tight so I know the problem is in the tach itself.





First problem is the tach is non-servicable. If you look at the front you can see that the retaining ring is wrapped around the shell and crimped, which means getting it off will likely mangle stuff. Bugger!





As it turned out, the metal was aluminum and came off fairly easily. These things are pretty complex inside.




I pulled the circuit board out and checked all the solder joints, and they seemed okay. I sprayed the controls with contact cleaner, stuck it back into the dash and damned if it didn't work again. That's always a good feeling.

As I mentioned in a previous post, my genoa is in pretty sad shape. years of rolling it up has created folds in the fabric, which has broken the vertical fibers and weakened it in several locations. Some of these have started to tear and during a raucous spring sail one blew right out. the UV stripe at the foot is rotted out and with all these tears I was concerned if it is repairable.
I took it to a local sail loft and I have to admit I'm troubled with the response I got. The fellow told me that this is a special one-off type of sail. Made by Doyle, it was built of very heavy, very strong fabric that encorporates two types of fibres - Dacron and another that I can't recall the name he used. This accounted for the yellow-ish colour of the fabric. The second fibre is very strong but sensitive to UV degradation.

What he told me is that this material had degraded and that accounted for the horizontal tears - the vertical filaments had weakened and so you can easily rip horizontally across the sail. He then proceeded to try to sell me a new sail.
Now the argument sems sound as far as it goes, but there was one problem that I repeatedly pointed out and he repeatedly dismissed. The only place you can rip the sail is across these creases where the sail has folded for the last many years. It seems to me that if there was overall UV degradation of the sail you should be able to rip it anywhere, not just across these creases. and the non-creased main is the same stuff and presumably the same age and it doesn't have this problem.

The creases are a real issue as there are so many, but his argument isn't washing with me. This was a very expensive, very strongly built offshore sail, and I don't want to toss it on a whim. there's been previous work done on this sail and I suspect the creasing has been a problem for a long time. Normally you sew a cloth UV strip onto one side of the sail, the side that shows when it's furled. Sometime in the past North Sails attached a UV strip that wraps right around the leach and adheres to both sides, like a huge strip of tape. I suspect this was to strengthen the leech and try to support it from creasing. This sail fabric is like thin cardboard and that's why it always creases at the same point and creases hard.

The sailmaker has a new technical sail that he would sail me at a huge discount as it was cut for a boat that had a mistaken measurement. Or he could make me a new one. Or we could try and fix this one (no warranty). Alternatively, I have a lead on a used sail that is in great condition for an excellent price, but would need to be cut down for my boat. The problem with most of these options is that I would then have an excellent, offshore capable main with a garden-variety genoa. This used sail I looked at is great but you can see it has a fraction of the strength of my old genoa; the fittings and reinforcing is much, much less.

Of course a lighter genoa would be a hell of a lot less work than dragging across and winching in an 80 lb sail when tacking.
as usual, everything is a compromise.

We finally finished that construction project, and not too soon for me. I was glad for the work, but it was sooo much more than we expected. But I'm proud of what we accomplished.





The owner is selling, and I think we greatly increased the value of his house, considering the ugly rotten mess that used to be there. And because it is built properly this time and will shed water, it won't rot out in twenty years.




This is what we started with. I wish I had taken pictures to show what it first looked like before we pulled off the rot. The old wood filled a twenty cubic yard dumpster!




And as if I didn't have enough on the go, check out my latest project:


I paid $300.00 for it. It's a 200cc and will do 120kph with two passengers (apparently). All it needs is a little electrical work, a tune up, a battery and seat cover and it'll be worth $1200.00 I figure. It's funny how people will let something go so cheap rather than just learning how to fix stuff. I got it started for the first time yesterday and it ran great, although the carb needs cleaning. It's nice that it's a 4-stroke - very smooth clean and quiet.. It will be fun bombing around on it until it sells.

Pretty much at the end of this infernal job and happy about it. I'm please with the accomplishment and the cash, and especially the insight I've gained in the experience.

It's been a long time since I've worked like this - in the notion of exchanging labour for money - and it's has been a great review of why I walked away from it as a lifestyle a decade ago. In my Loser's Guide I described how labour and money function in society as a force of oppression, and although I knew intellectually how powerful it is, I had forgotten what it felt like. For one thing, so much that I truly value I have put aside, including this blog. Mostly from exhaustion.

What has been really interesting to observe is how Tracy's mood has paralleled my own; she too has been very exhausted. I don't know how much that is because we are so in tune with each other (very likely) and how much I normally support her but now I don't have the energy to do so. Her job really hasn't changed but she has looked and felt utterly worn out. And if anyone is thinking it's because I've been leaning more on her, that's absolutely not the case. I cope by shutting down and tuning out, not by demanding more.

My plate has been so utterly and totally full that my nervous system has been whirring along at high alert for weeks. I'm continually either working at something or trying to figure out what else has to be done next. It's an external focus, scanning the environment for responsibilities. Going into the feelings, I can immediately see how primal these feelings are. They arose as a survival strategy: we are alert and scan the environment for unseen dangers and opportunities. Hormones flow, blood vessels constrict, pulse rate increases, vison and hearing are sharpened. But in this case rather than a possible tiger in the bushes it's a deck job that must be completed so the guy can sell his house. The context is totally different, but the reptilian brain is primitive and undiscriminating, and is incapable of differentiating between a risk of being eaten and a risk of social approbation. It's a one size fits all system and I've been physiologically convinced there's a tiger in those bushes for 6 weeks now.

Those of you who adopt this as a way of being are unfortunate indeed. I'm always hearing from people how they wished there was less stress in their lives, and this is why. Being alert for danger all the time is wearying. It's like turning a meadow vole loose on a NHL playing rink; no matter what he does or where he goes, he's completely visible and totally vulnerable. He'll run around like crazy looking for a way out and a place to hide, but no matter what he does he's dangerously exposed.

We live in a culture of absurd complexity and business, most of which are of our own choosing. I've only dipped back into it for a few weeks and it's damned near killed me. I've spent the last ten years learning to be grounded in myself and seeking for purpose and meaning from that inner light. This has been a total reversal, and it's been exceedingly painful.

I suspect once you go so far down the road of pursuing that inner light, you just can't go back and adopt what others consider "normal". I suspect that's why the notion of being cloistered arose: that functioning in society and pursuing a spiritual life are in opposition.

I feel it all the time, the constant pull away from my path and the constant distractions. It's very rare that I find someone who I can look to as a mentor or as a light that I would like to follow. I am part of a spiritualist community and even within these enlightened souls I'm startled at times how egoistic some of them can be. 
Not that I think I'm very far along, and God knows I have many failings; it's just that I'm constantly pulled and tugged to get back into the fold and adopt what is called normal, which is essentially what these weeks have been. And it's frantic and stressful and egoistic and primitive, the opposite of what I feel is required for a spiritual life.

No thanks. What we in the West have become is unhappy and unfortunate, at least as far as this soul is concerned. I'm the first to admit that perhaps that speaks to the nature of this soul rather than anything out there, but as far as I'm concerned it makes no difference.

The great irony of all of the above is that it doesn't make any difference. Even while typing this I'm aware of my soul watching bemused as I make my lofty assertions, as if there is any meaning to it at all. I'm aware of how my heart feels in my chest and the level of stress I feel and laugh at myself. I laugh at my fear of failure that motivates me, I laugh at my pride of accomplishment, I laugh at my arrogance in thinking that I know anything.
I know that every letter I've written here is meaningless, as are my feelings and thoughts. As is everything to do with language, culture, history, society, or humanity. But it is exactly our human limitations that make these so important to us, it's really all that we got. I guess the important thing is to understand that while we are of flesh we must do as flesh does, but that it's not the real story at all. The real story is the spirit in all of us, end of story. The rest is just daytime television.

Imagine a dark night with fireflies: luminous motes swirling and dancing around each other; coming together, drifting apart in eddies and currents of light. If you passed in the daytime you would see insects and fields of grass and trees and sunshine and maybe a passing fox, and believe that was all there was to it.  Imagine the fireflies as souls and the daytime is what we see and believe reality to be. The trick is to figure out how to pass by at night so you can see the motes in their pure, unadulterated beauty.

Along with work I've been doing a lot of stuff on my boat. The damn Whale tapset in the head has been acting up again. in fact the thing is falling apart. This is the second set we've put in since we moved aboard, and it's damned expensive. They want over $150.00 for a  Chinese tapset made of cheap plastic, with non-standard washers and no spare parts are available. It browns me off because the set works poorly and is largely unserviceable.
Finding an alternative has been a problem because you need a small, 4"inch bathroom set with a pull-out shower head, which is very hard to find.
Fortunately, I stumbled on a set by Vetus. unlike the cheap Whale garbage this set is made in Italy, is chromed brass, has a porcelain shower head, and uses standard washers. And it sells for thirty dollars less than the Whale unit!  That's simply an example of how yacht parts can be grossly overpriced simply because it's a yacht part, and how Whale can kiss my hiney.

The only downside is the pipe threads on it are European and metric, but a bigger wrench took care of that!


The expensive and despised Whale unit. I had to melt the aerator on after it broke off one day. And it kept leaking as standard tap washers didn't fit. Around $170.00 with taxes!




The Vetus unit. It's so solid it weighs like 4 pounds.




The only hitch was the tap inlets don't match with standard North American fittings (there's always something). I needed to use an adapter and a bit of force and teflon tape to make everything fit.





The only good thing about the Whale unit is that I was able to scrounge the escutcheon plate to cover the holes in the sink deck.




The unit ready to be installed. I was even able to use standard braided risers instead of vinyl hoses for the plumbing. I won't be replacing those hoses again!





The tapset installed. We now have a quality set in the head and can still use it for showers. The feel of it is amazing: solid and precise. You had to be very careful with the Whale unit as it went from cold to scalding in about 1/16 of a turn. I still can't believe it was so much cheaper than the Whale junk.

Oh god it's never going to end. The job looks fantastic but the details just go on and on; I've worked 9 days in a row now and I'm beat. Beyond beat.  It was supposed to be a small job and it's been 6 weeks now. And I got another phone call for another job in a month. Nooooo.

I know I shouldn't gripe about work when so many people are struggling, but that's a paradigm I don't share. I've made a lot of money but nothing has changed. I'm the same, my life's the same, so what? I could win the lottery and I think that would just freak out my wife because what we she do then? I know I wouldn't do anything differently.

On Sunday Tracy and I went out to the mall (ugh) and I spent $180.00 on some shirts and shorts, half of which I'll take back depending on what fits. I think I've only bought a pair of jeans since last summer and it still felt awful buying this stuff. Surrounded by all these consumer articles I couldn't help but think what a waste it all was. And so phony.  I could chose this or that and each choice was a different political position: did I want to be young and hip, or mature and conservative? Did I want to blend in or stand out? It was awful.
I enjoy nice stuff and yet it was all made in China, it all was superficial and false. And whether I ear one of my old T-shirts or a nice new Calvin Klein, nothing has changed, except that I've participated in consumerism.
Now it's not that I'm all in favour of Maoist jackets, but everything seems to have become about the brand and the image and I don't want either, and yet there is no neutral option.
I wondered whether it was some neurotic issue about whether I deserved it or not, but it's not that: things that have a utility and purpose I don't mind blowing a load of money on, but something like fashion that's all about appearance rather than substance makes me feel like a poseur.

I hate clothes. I hate my BMW. I hate everything that is about social standing and position. And yet the deepest irony is that my God doesn't give a damn about what clothes I wear, what I drive, or how much money I have in my account.  It doesn't care about my success or failures, my social position, my education or the things that keep me gnawing on my nails at night.
There ARE some things that matter, but 99% of those issues that we fret about mean nothing, absolutely nothing. Everything I've listed about is empty and counts for zilitch and yet it is my paradigm and so I'm bound to it's limitations.

I think that's what's appealing about poverty: there is so little between you and the divine. The oath of poverty that once was pat of religious orders had a purpose, I think, although that kind of thing can't be prescribed.

I'm proud of the work that we have done to transform this house, and I'm pleased with my efforts, and yet it's disconcerting to know that it doesn't mean anything. Almost all that we humans cherish doesn't mean anything. It's hard sometimes to know what does as the message is a subtle one, but it comes to being there for people, about being love personified; it's about compassion and caring and gentleness and patience and stillness and silence and a whole lot more that's ineffable.

What is it about identity that's become such a hot topic these days? The troubling thing for me is that the identity that we talk so much about, the "who we are" part of identity, isn't what's got everyone up in a lather. It's our commodified selves that are under attack and spawning so much media. When and how did did this happen? 

Like most people I've spent considerable time pondering on my identity and playing with it perhaps more than some. As I saw it, who I was was whatever I really wanted to be and there were a great many ideas waiting out there to try on.  Some became integrated, some not. Some were just a dabbling in culture. My university training became part of who I am because I found strength and social power through it, and I had a real aptitude for that kind of abstract thinking. I can still talk with university profs like an equal. I was also a hipster for awhile, but that proved to just be a developmental phase that I grew out of. There were several others, most of them arising from my personal, diverse cultural history and the very different communities I've lived in. The "when in Rome" kind of thing.

But in all cases I was in charge of my identity, and it was mine alone. Others could judge it of course, and sometimes I was mocked or sneered at for doing something different or following my own inscrutable path, but it was always mine. I never worried that somehow someone could take it.

And yet identity theft is the great hidden menace that looms over boomer suburbia. Apparently identities have changed such that they are now extrinsic and therefore liftable. No longer a dialogue between the self, the world and your maker, it appears as if who we are now has a value and we have become commodities.

I don't think this is just a matter of semantics. Apparently so many of us have so much wealth that others can make a lot of money in pretending they are us.

That this can even happen suggests a few things: That a great deal of ourselves is now defined outside of us, in many different databases. And these lists of numbers convey tremendous information about who we are; our digitised selves have become huge and powerful, and beyond our control. Who of us has the capacity to erase all data about ourselves? Nobody has, because aside from our few flesh and blood lovers and friends, to the rest of the world we are a number, and numbers are far more manipulatable than people.

It also suggests that we are a very well off lot that so many have such an interest in us and that we have so much to lose. It also means that we’ve lost control of our identities; through the relentless pressure of the market, consumerism has dominated our lives to the extent that we have become de facto credit cards, numbers easily copied.

If we were just defined by culture and history and experience and personality, there would be no identity theft. How many people actually want to be someone, bad enough to steal – if they could –that person’s persona. Even if they could, they would invariably bring the stamp of their own identity to it and you would have a third, different identity. Besides, do you really want to jack someone’s wit? Their quirky smile?

We’ve forgotten what identity means and now define ourselves by data and accounts and numbers, which is all fair game. For now all they can steal are our digitised selves; maybe one day they’ll start coming after the deeper stuff. Remember Being John Malkovich?

Wonder of wonders, David Crosby (of Crosby, Stills and Nash fame) is selling you his grand 1947, 59 foot Alden schooner Mayan .
I guess you would have to be a rock star to afford a beauty like that. What a nightmare to keep a jewel like that afloat.

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