Gecko Sailing

March 27, 2019

Home (freezing cold) Home

March 2^nd was 38 degrees Fahrenheit and blowing. The airport had lost my bag, so I made my way to Gecko with just a backpack and a down jacket clutched around me. My mom was visiting for a break from the cold Maine winter, and she followed me down the dock wearing all the clothes she had packed. Luckily our friends Tim and Jennifer had loaned me a space heater, and we were soon huddle around the tiny white beast while I put the kettle on and grabbed blankets. I felt like I’d never left.

Not many moms would visit their kid on a cold, snowy, unheated boat

For my mom’s entire visit, the temperature never got above 50 (in the sun, out of the wind). She can do anything, so she never complained. When she left, her shorts sat unworn in the bottom of her bag. That was when my work began.

Day 1 of being home. Note the clean hair, nice clothes, and well-rested face. Yep, definitely day 1

My work list looked something like this:

-Working jib (get one)

– Fix stupid leaking anchor chain locker

– Sew new slugs onto main

– Sun shade (make one somehow)

– AIS receiver

– Waterproof foredeck hatch

– Get charts

My first task was acquiring a sail. My dad had loaned me his working jib for my trip down with the stipulation that I send it back to him when I arrived. I was trying to figure out how to get a used jib inexpensively when I ran into Crazy Joe and his newly purchased marine surplus store. Oriental is home to a large population of sailors, both transient and local. It also has a marine surplus store with a colorful history of owners and inventory. When I sailed in in November, it was under different ownership but I had gone in to check out their vast inventory of sails. Nothing was marked or organized, and I spend a fruitless morning sifting through jib after jib and finding nothing. When I came back in March, Joe had purchased the place and he offered me a deal: if I helped to measure and organize the sails, I could take what I needed in return. I agreed, and thus came into two beautiful new jibs.

Sail inventory at the marine salvage shop.

The other projects on my list were more straight forward. To waterproof the anchor chain locker, I first rebedded the hawseholes themselves. There was a tired gasket under each one, and the screw freely turned in the deck. I realized that most of the water that had been getting in was probably washing between the ports and the deck. This might have accounted for much of the large volume of water I’d been pumping out.

I entirely sealed up the starboard anchor chain port. The ports themselves are too big for the boat and are an enormous hole to have right in the front of your boat. I figured with half the hole volume, I’d get half the volume of water. I then bought an inspection port and installed it into the door of the chain locker. I used putty and boatlife caulk and sealed the door in place. That done, I decided to see how the locker did at sea before I drilled a drainage hole in the bottom. It’s always better to wait before you drill holes in your hull. Perhaps the water coming in will be insignificant enough that I can get it out with a pump occasionally and not worry about flooding the compartment.

Waterproofing the anchor chain locker. It’s so nice to work from bed

I’ve decided I would like an ais receiver for passages. If I can set a guard alarm for ships, I’ll be able to get better sleep offshore, and I’ll be able to hail them at night if I’m unsure of their course. I looked into several options, including a receiver with a wifi antennae that I could pick up on my iPad. However I soon realized that the cheapest option would be to buy a new vhf that came equipped with an ais receiver. That way I wouldn’t have to install a new antennae, run new wires, or spend a surprisingly large sum of money on the string of electronics I’d need to make the luxury of wifi work.

Wiring in my new VHF with AIS capabilities!

For a sunshade, I found an old sail and cut it to make it fit over my cockpit. I sewed a slit with velcro to fit around the toppinglift, and then lashed the ends to the mast and shrouds. My only complaint is that it’s a bit bulky, but it’ll be great for catching rain water and withstanding heavier winds without tearing.

I’m hoping to leave Oriental in the next few days! I still have a few projects to get done before I go, but I’m almost there. I’m so excited to get going!

March 21, 2019March 21, 2019

Oriental and Away

My last two weeks run to Oriental were blissful compared to the cold windy slog I made from Maine to Virginia. I ducked into the intracoastal waterway after Portsmouth and motored through the Dismal Swamp. In order to make it between two of the locks at either end, I had to crank up Geck’s little engine to 5 knots, the fastest it’s ever gone.

My first lock! It was pouring rain, but I enjoyed every minute of it!

This was the absolute slowest I could go between the locks and make the next timed opening. To accomplish it, I had Geck’s 10-horse at full throttle. Funny smells wafted out of the cabin as all the carbon burned out of the twists in the engine piping. Luckily there was no wind or current against me, and I obsessively checked engine temp and the sea strainer to make sure I wasn’t going to overheat. I barely made the second lock, and then breathed a sigh in relief as a throttled back to a happy 3.5 knots.

First sunny day in the intracoastal. I’m down to only one layer of clothing!

I sailed down the Alligator river and anchored at one of the bends in the bottom that night. When I arrived well after dark, I saw the anchor lights of at least 10 other boats scattered throughout the two large bends that served as a protected anchorage. I had finally caught up with a fleet! The next morning I woke up with the sun and left before anyone else. Since there was no wind and I was motoring again, I was slowly passed by every boat within the first few hours. They all waved cheerily, and I felt as though I was really getting somewhere (except for the part where everyone else was getting there faster. Wherever THERE was).

I actually allowed myself to take a weather day in Belhaven (it was raining). I was ahead of schedule at that point, and I realized that I didn’t have to stand in the pouring rain all day if I didn’t want to. So I stayed below and made cookies, only venturing out for a walk during a lull in the weather. I even went for a swim in the disgusting brown water when the sun came out later.

Downwind run to make an anchorage before dark. Spoiler: I made it two hours after dark

After spending two nights in Belhaven, I sailed an easy 30-mile day and ended up anchored out in a small deserted bay halfway to Oriental. That night was the first time it was warm enough to sit in the cockpit and watch the sun set. I brought out a book and my down jacket, and felt an immense happiness settle over me. The night was whisper calm with a full moon. The water was glowing in the starlight, and I did a crazy moon dance around the deck, whooping and singing loudly at the empty night. At least I think it was empty. If anyone was trying to sleep near Bonner Bay on November 20^th, I’m accepting tips for the show.

My first sunset in the cockpit of the trip

I arrived in Oriental on Novermber 21^st, the day before Thanksgiving. My initial plan was to make my way into Whittaker Creek, where I would eventually be leaving my boat for the winter. However, I ran aground a couple of times in the channel so I gave up and went around to anchor by the bridge. I later found out that you have to stick close enough to the reds that you can high-five each one as you pass it. If it’s still looking sketchy, you can go outside them. And if you still can’t get in, wait for the wind direction to change and it’ll blow more water into the creek.

Almost to Oriental and finally not wearing pants

I spend a lovely Thanksgiving in Oriental with some old family friends, and then successfully (this time) made my way into a slip at Whittaker Creek Marina. Nine days after arriving in Oriental, I said goodbye to Gecko and got on a plane to fly back down to work. While it wasn’t the most relaxing sail, I had pushed Gecko hard and fast and made it from Maine to Oriental in 25 days. The only times I used my engine were for stretches of the intracoastal, and the occasional push if the wind died. The average wind speed I experienced was 20-25 knots, with temperatures averaging in the high thirties. Leaving the Geck to return to work was much harder than I’d anticipated. I had another work list of projects that had to be completed before I left for the Caribbean, but I hadn’t had time to start any before I took off. I patted Gecko on her stupid leaky bow and told her that I’d be back soon.

Back in Punta Arenas in the canopy of a tree

November 23, 2018November 23, 2018

Homelessness and the Final Push

I left Cape May when it was blowing 20 knots in the anchorage. I was waiting for the wind to switch from the south to the northwest. As it swung around, it grew in intensity until my boat was bobbing around and the rigging was clattering for attention. I didn’t want to go out where it was blowing 20-25 with 7-foot seas. I had just come through enough weather getting to Cape May and I was sick of it. Why couldn’t it blow 15-20 with a nice gentle swell? I knew that if I didn’t leave, I would be stuck in Cape May for at least another three days because of another system that was due to roll through. Once again, my choice was to jump out between two storms. I was tired, my legs were covered in bruises, and I was sick of the cold, windy, wet overnighters.

D50652E1-FBD3-4696-9383-30FC969EA547 — Days of pre-dawn departures were starting to weigh on me

At around nine that morning, before the wind had finished shifting, I laid on my back in the main cabin and called my mom. My parents circumnavigated on their Cal 25, and sailed up in the Arctic on their 33’ sloop. They’ve seen more weather than most, and I felt like I needed a pep talk. My mom was sympathetic: “You should just go”, she said. “If you can handle a little breeze, you’ll be so glad you went. Otherwise you’re going to be stuck in Cape May hating yourself”. She was right. So I went.

0696B758-063F-496C-A1F4-6B9149AACD59 — Cozy mornings in my PJs are a rare treat compared to my usual pre-dawn departures

To prepare for another offshore trip, I had blocked up the anchor chain ports as much as I could with my limited resources on hand. The starboard hole, I sealed off with a plastic bag held in place with hair ties and sealed with putty stuffed into the cracks. The port hole was trickier because it had my anchor chain coming up through. After upping anchor, I stuffed a bunch of plastic bags in the hole and hoped for the best. I pulled back the v-berth cushions away from the locker and staged the pump. I was as prepared as I could be.

623FA1DE-7391-4091-B8C3-18175175F6B5 — Other prep involved making baked potatoes to stuff into my pockets on deck as homesteader-style hand-warmers

I unenthusiastically upped anchor and headed out into the swell. The waves were bigger than any I’d seen yet, although the wind wasn’t gusting to 35 like in Sandy Hook, so at least there was that. “See,” I told myself, “It could be worse.” Once the sails were up and Gecko was pointed in the right direction, I actually began to realize that this trip was going to be just fine. The wind was strong enough that I was making good speed without the thrilling gusts that dipped the rail under. The waves were large, but they were hitting me on the quarter, and Gecko was scooting along as happy as a clam, and just as wet, I thought to myself, as I turned up the collar of my jacket. I set the windvane and settled back in the cockpit to watch the sun ride across the sky and plop below the horizon. Once darkness hit, I started my routine of napping for 20 minutes, popping up on deck to check for ships and adjust my course, and then heading below again. It was so cold that I pulled my blankets over my head and curled up in a little ball to get warm. Right when I started feeling cozy, my alarm would go off and I’d have to get up. I slept in my full foulies, sea boots, and harness, because it was so wet in the cockpit, and every second I spent adjusting my gear was a second I wasn’t spending sleeping.

B113204D-2857-45FD-AEC4-D5FF05F37102 — Another boat sailing next to me. Nice bottom paint!

I kept up this routine until about one in the morning. There was a shoal that I was going past and I wanted to keep my eye on it until it was safely behind me. I went below and pulled the sleeping bag up to my chin, but instead of going to sleep, I kept my eye on the chart plotter to make sure I didn’t veer off course and over the shoal… I woke up an hour later feeling great and wondering why. With a start, I realized I was sitting up with the chart plotter in my hands. I frantically checked my position and realized I’d sailed right past the shoal. Fool’s luck, coming to the rescue once again.

2A4C9EB4-DBD7-4F51-8B1F-C13E794006B5 — I’m a big fan of fool’s luck

I arrived in Norfolk the next afternoon. The wind never stopped its insistent blow, and Gecko sped down the channel. Navigating around all the container ships and navy cruisers on a half-working brain probably would have been more stressful if I wasn’t so tired. It’s kind of like a built-in anxiety destroyer, I mused. The more tired you are, the less you care about your limited functionality. I remembered the morning after I spent my first night sailing across the gulf of Maine. There were so many ships that I hadn’t had more than about an hour total of sleep that night. The wind died as the sun rose and I was motoring and falling asleep at the helm. At one point, I remember thinking: “It’s ok to go to sleep. Holly’s steering. She knows what she’s doing.”

88B5E89E-8F27-43CE-9465-60926529F9B1 — What I was wearing when I was mistaken as homeless

I spend that night in Portsmouth over by the Navy hospital. My legs were itching for exercise, so even though I was exhausted, I went ashore for a walk. I decided to go to the Food Lion and get some more provisions. On my way back, I found myself suddenly flanked by two woman wearing head-to-toe fleece, and big smiles. They told me that their church was having a free dinner and that I was welcome to join. I smiled and thanked them, thinking they were looking for new recruits or something. My sleep-deprived brain was too addled to realize what was actually happening. The women looked at me with concerned eyes, and started talking about how all hard times come to an end and that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Then they told me that they would walk me to their church. At this point, the truth started dawning on me and I realized that not only would I not get out of their free dinner, but that they thought I was homeless. It’s incredibly hard to refuse charity once people decide to give it, and the ball was already rolling. My protests only strengthened their resolve. I was ushered into a warm little room and given a fried chicken dinner from more sympathetic eyes and smiles. I tried to appear grateful and homeless so as to satisfy their need to provide aid to the destitute. How do homeless people act? I looked at the ground and smiled shyly at their compliments and kind words. Finally I was set free. I somewhat guiltily made my way back to my boat, the first home I’ve ever owned, and the first time I’ve had a permanent place of residence in over four years. The dinner was a beautiful display of charity, and I was touched by the church warrior’s generosity. I was also convinced that I had been thoroughly been initiated into the live-aboard shabbiness that seems to befall so many of the cruisers I’ve met. I was officially Boat Trash. I was psyched.

November 15, 2018

Leaks, Gales, and Liberty

Winds and gales continue to follow me down the coast (or am I following them?). The day I sailed out of Long Island Sound and past the Statue of Liberty, it picked up to 25 knots again. I had heard that the body of water around the S of L and Manhattan was crazy with boats and taxis, but I found it to be quite empty except for a few ships and ferries. I suppose this isn’t the time of year for quaint nautical expeditions.

ECA46A6A-AD58-4D67-B69E-9026C9ACF515 — Sailing under the Brooklyn Bridge

After leaving Long Island Sound, I zoomed over to Great Kills Bay, hoping that it did not live up to its ominous name. In my temporary patriotic zeal, I had somehow forgotten to conduct my regular routine of at least dousing the jib before heading into an unfamiliar bay in strong wind. I suddenly found myself cruising at 7 knots and white-knuckling the tiller as a steered around channel markers in the 9-foot dredged channel. I believe my mantra was “you’re so dumb, you’re so dumb, you’re so dumb”, but I can’t really remember because my brain is already hard at work blocking that particular memory. I finally turned up into the bay and dropped the jib, running forward to wrestle it down and lash it into submission. As I was up on the bow, I noticed that I was right next to a mooring. I bent over and grabbed the pickup, securing to my bow cleat, and then ran back to douse the main. I had somehow managed to sail into a bay in 25 knots of wind and onto a mooring. I chalked it up a fool’s luck and vowed to never do it again.

B943D55A-24B5-4645-955A-3E302D9D8187 — Saying goodbye to Manhattan

I waited in Great Kills for almost 24 hours before I caught my next “weather window”. I was planning on sailing straight through to Cape May, a distance of about 120 nautical miles. Tuesday morning, the boat was dancing around so much on the mooring that I was getting vaguely queasy. I was trying to cook a big stew for my upcoming passage, but every time I looked at it, it appeared so vile that I ended up throwing whatever was at hand into a pot and letting it simmer, figuring that if I was hungry and cold enough, I’d eat basically anything. By the afternoon, it was still blowing 25 knots in the mooring field, but I decided it was time to go. I was jumping between two weather systems and I was anxious to get a move on and make some miles.

323D7B7E-B0FC-4A76-9113-6AC31838A96D — The average wind speed for my trip has been over 20 knots, with temperatures hanging in the low 40’s

I motored out of the bay (no sails this time), and was greeted with a seven-foot chop that had kicked up in the shallows. Putting up my main took almost half an hour. Since my electric autopilot was broken, I was lashing the tiller and running forward, but the boat would invariably get knocked off course by a wave and I’d have to run back and re-position. Once the main was finally up (with two reefs), I set the jib, and began the most harrowing part of my journey to date.

D5910C01-723D-4309-9F78-32CF7E52B893 — A deceptively beautiful sunset. Gecko was surfing downwind at 7-10 knots

I was sailing out around Sandy Hook, and the depth was around 20 feet. The waves that were being kicked up were towering over the back of the boat, and the wind was up to 30 knots. Remember my mantra of the other day? It was back. Luckily I was going downwind, and as Gecko surfed over each wave, she reached over 10 knots! The problem came when I had to turn broadside to the weather to make it around a dogleg in the channel. Gritting my teeth, I turned the boat, and immediately the wind threw her over on her side and a wave broke over the windward side, filling the cockpit. The entire port side of Gecko was underwater and I was standing on what usually was the vertical part of the footwell in the cockpit. Weirdly, at this moment, my whole body went calm and I knew that Gecko would be fine and I would be fine. The gust ended and Gecko was upright again.

595002FE-60A5-44E0-B3B9-89D8FFD59817 — I feel like I’m being sustained on a mixture of luck and long underwear

That night, the wind had died down to a tranquil 20-25 knots, and I was plowing along with my windvane doing all the work. A little after midnight, in between 20-minute naps, I went to go use the head and I found water sloshing over the floorboards. I grabbed a flashlight and a bucket and started bailing. After tackling the immediate problem, I sat back and tried to think of all the places the water might be coming in from. For the pounding that Gecko had been taking for the past 10 hours, even if it was a leak, it wasn’t a serious one. I checked the thruhulls but they were dry. Following the source of the water up to the very bow of the boat, I realized that the water was coming from the anchor chain locker. The locker doesn’t have a drain, and the door leading to the compartment isn’t water-tight. This was a glaring oversight in my overhaul of the boat this winter, but I couldn’t have known it was a problem before because I’d never run the Geck so hard.

854242C3-73DB-48F2-BEFB-4E4877C2AC45 — Pumping water out of the chain locker at 2am

Water was pouring through the ports where the anchor chains exit onto the deck. It had filled the anchor chain locker, and was flowing over the top of it, through the v-berth, down along the bilge, and pooling in the head bilge. I grabbed a pump and started hauling gallons of water out of forward section of my boat, pausing every 20 minutes to check outside for ships. I don’t usually get seasick, but pumping water out of the very front of my boat in 25 knots of wind did make me feel a little nauseated. For the rest of the night, every few hours I would repeat the process until the winds died down at around 5 in the morning. The wind continued dying down until it was blowing less than 5 knots and I had to motor into Cape May, a fact that I found ironic and amusing. I dropped the anchor and finally relaxed. I had made the 120 mile journey in under 24 hours.

2583FF14-044A-469D-97FA-43B279244919 — Beach Adventures in Cape May. I found a (much needed) five gallon bucket on that walk!

After I made it safely to Cape May, I sat on anchor for two nights and then headed out into more weather to make it to Norfolk. Stay tuned for more!

November 8, 2018

20 is the new 10

This past week has been intense! The day I sailed into Long Island Sound, I had 20 knot winds and five foot seas at my back. This met a three knot current being squeezed out of a gap against the wind and the waves. Creating 10 foot breakers that I had to surf through. I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf. I never thought my first time would be on a sailboat, but I think I’m hooked.

After an exhausting day of sailing and surfing down waves, I found an anchorage and collapsed- the first time I was able to leave the helm all day.

I’m starting to know Gecko on a much more inate level. Not only from weather- in the past week, five of the days have been blowing over 20 knots. I’ve been in thick fog, breakers, pouring rain, picked up moorings in pitch black harbours I’ve never been in, and weathered 30 knot gusts. I’m also learning how to live on my boat, her quirks, her perks, and where the drips originate from.

I experience every emotion throughout every day. Waking up at four in the morning to a freezing boat is always a push. I have to set my alarm in the quarterberth (I sleep in the V), otherwise I won’t get out of bed. But no matter how cold or tired I am, as soon as the sails go up, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And that’s what counts.

F0D0BF5A-63BA-4E5B-A158-C8A9F88E1C73 — Leaving my lovely second family in Buzzard’s Bay Photo credit: Karen O

November 3, 2018

Dolphins, Whales, and Avian Hitchhikers

I set out from Pemaquid Harbour at around noon on October 30th with a strong tail wind, and high ambitions. My parents saw me off, lovingly attaching my jib sheets and halyards. Half an hour before I was due to leave, my dad was headfirst in my lazarette, messing around with the engine, and my mom was giving me a jar of homemade butternut squash soup. They stayed in their dinghy as I cast off the mooring lines and sailed out of the harbour. It was the best send-off I ever could have wished for.

7F05C42A-C205-4AE7-91D4-4CFF5A2E7BA3 — Glorious sunset on my first night out. I had 25 knot winds and I covered a ton of miles.

My first evening was beautiful; I had great wind, and the gleam of adventure made everything shiny.

DA7A60AF-98D7-4B03-9231-A8F70343503A — Some windvane action

That night the wind died, the temperature dropped, and there were ships everywhere. I made it through the night wearing all my clothes and huddling in my sleeping bag. If you want a visual, imagine a colourful maggot clinging to a tiller and eating crackers.

B3AC609E-7F25-4A2E-A4D1-30823D177F44 — Breakfast after a freezing night of temps in the mid 30’s

By the next morning, I was near Cape Cod, and life was on a hard upward swing. I had a pod of about 10 dolphins playing in my bow wake, two little land-birds hitched a ride on my boat, and I sailed so close through a pod of whales that I was worried they would hit me (or that I would hit them).

I picked up a mooring in Province Town that night. It was blowing 20 knots, the sun was down, and I was hilariously tired. It took me three tries to grab the mooring because I kept getting blown off before I could run forward and grab it. I kept telling myself that soon I’d be happily attached, as the wind stole the curses out of my mouth and sent them flying.

02C0359E-E3A9-42AB-9C75-F425C69558FB — My temporary shipmate

The next morning I woke up at five and headed for the Cape Cod Canal. It was gloriously warm, and I spent the day cleaning my boat and singing loud nonsense songs at the top of my lungs. There’s a great freedom to being at sea by yourself.

87C4C02F-4A93-4326-A226-954A294378FB — Gecko going under her first bridge in the Cape Cod Canal

After the Canal, I motored through Buzzard’s Bay in the dark. There was a huge weird tide rip, no moon, and unexpected swirly currents. Several years ago, I made the same trip at night when I worked aboard the Harvey Gamage. The only difference then was that I was in charge of a watch of fifth graders, who were on the helm the whole time while I nervously jittered by their elbows. In comparison, this time was, if not a walk in the park, maybe a jog through a bad neighbourhood.

Yesterday night I picked up a mooring in Marion and I’m waiting out some bad weather. I’m hoping to leave early tomorrow morning and see how many miles I can make before another system rolls through on the 7th. Fingers crossed!

October 28, 2018

Provisioning for the Cold

I’m almost ready to head south! Unless the weather drastically changes, my plan is to leave Pemaquid Harbor on Tuesday, October 30th. The forecast calls for 20-25 knots from the northwest, so I should be able to make it to the Cape Cod Canal in about 24 hours. Without stopping, I’ll head straight down to Cape May and then up the Delaware and down the Chesapeake. I have no heat on board, so the incentive to make miles before I run out of clean long-johns is higher than usual.

The average temperature for my trip will be low 40’s in the day, and high to mid 30’s by night (hopefully)

This past week, I’ve been provisioning my boat, filling my tanks, and doing some last minute modifications. I switched out my old 7-foot length of anchor chain for 50 feet of new chain, plus about 70 feet of rode. I know that having anchor chain means more weight forward, but I also like to sleep at night when I’m on the hook, so I decided it was worth it.

A peek at some of my dried food provisions

Last week, my dad and I went for a sail and tested out my new Monitor windvane. It was sustained 25 knot winds gusting to 30, and not only did Gecko handle the wind beautifully, but the windvane worked better than I ever would have expected. All those hours of cursing the stupid thing while I tried to install it melted away when I saw it handling gusts and lifts with nothing but a grim steely glint.

Tomorrow I’m going to buy all my perishables, get my affairs in order (do laundry), and look over my charts one last time. I’m looking forward to that feeling that comes right after raising the sails; when all the hurrying and planning of the past weeks melts into the immediate “now” of being underway.

Gorgeous fall days justify the chilly temperatures

October 18, 2018October 18, 2018

Overhaul Part 1: Carpentry, Love Notes, and the Custom Galley

When I first purchased Gecko in May of 2017, she was set up as a weekend sailer. Even though she’s only twenty-seven feet, I was able to comfortably sleep seven people. The galley was perfect for storing booze, snacks, and plastic cups. The storage was minimal, and the cushions were plaid horsehair; in short, I had purchased a floating hunting lodge. Regardless, I had a great summer cruising around Maine and starting my fathoms-long list of changes and improvements.

0EA1C620-FFB2-45D5-8D4F-6100B0E412B5 — Gecko the way she looked when I purchased her as “Seamark”

I hauled out in October of 2017 and started on my first project: rip out and rebuild the galley, convert the pilot berth into lockers, change the drawers into lockers with doors, and redo the head storage area. I figured it was smart to start with something unambitious and easily manageable.

45AED159-7950-4A4E-861A-3A1A905DF789 — The most torn apart Gecko ever was. At this junction there was no plumbing, electrical, and all the main cabin lockers were torn out

I started by replicating the port side lockers into the space that was formerly the pilot berth. Once I had completed this, I took out the sink in the head, redid the counter top, and pulled the locker face forward by about eight inches to create more storage. Although I liked the idea of saving time by washing my hands while I was using the head, I felt like I could handle the twelve-foot trek to the galley sink.

Gecko’s original galley when I purchased her

I ripped out the entire galley and purchased a two-burner gimballed stove with an oven to install in lieu of the Princess two-burner stovetop. I started designing my new galley by putting all my kitchen supplies into the empty space and building cardboard partitions around my kitchen-ware. I find it much easier to build into the three dimensional space, rather than trying to draw it out on a 2D piece of paper.

7CDB4BDA-BE0B-434E-B5A6-F5D24E0AD011 — Early cardboard mock-up for my galley lockers area behind the stove

Once I was satisfied with cardboard palace, I created templates and started cutting out plywood and building my lockers. Therefore, my locker that holds pots and pans is the width of my widest pan, the plates fit perfectly into the plate area, and I can never buy any new kitchenware ever again or I’ll have to rip out all the wood and rebuild.

E7689B69-3636-4639-914D-7440285A2D86 — The dry-fit galley lockers. And new stove!

I also put in a new sink, a fresh and a salt water pump, and installed a new counter-top.

8871C50D-9599-4819-BEEC-B9C65A3C4550 — My completed galley

After I’d created all the shelves and bulkheads around the boat, I cut out locker faces and doors. Instead of using finger catches to hold the doors closed, I carved little tabs out of teak for each door. This is a locking system my dad came up with on his first boat, and it is an elegant and inexpensive solution for motivated fools with a chisel and spare day or two.

A98C578D-45B4-4DF3-B612-8E3C54853D08 — Same view, different boat! (This was pre-launch, so minus the mast)

I replaced all the port lights with lexan that I cut and routered into shape. I’m not sure what brand of ’till-death-we-part adhesive was used to seal in the original port lights (probably 5200), but it took about half an hour with a hammer and chisel to get each one out. They came out in splintered pieces.

F206D44F-6300-42FC-BB94-60C55911E4D8 — Replacing the port lights was a tedious job. Here I was celebrating my last day with giant holes all over my cabintop

Rebuilding the interior was the first project I started, and it was ongoing throughout my other renovations. After several months in, I went back over the very first locker I built, and was able to see how far my skills had come (not as impressive as it sounds since I was starting somewhere after macaroni necklace but before mud fort). Underneath the counter-tops, I wrote messages to myself like little hidden talismans in the heart of my boat.

October 7, 2018October 7, 2018

South of Cape Horn

We left Punta Arenas on October 4th to cross the Drake Passage that lies between Cape Horn and the Western Antarctic peninsula. This journey typically takes us about four days, depending on weather. On the afternoon of day one, we were met with 50 knot winds hitting us on the beam, and 25 foot seas on the nose. For reference, the top of the crane in the video below is about 25 feet above sea level and the containers on deck are about ten feet high.

We had waves breaking onto the back deck, and with each new trough, the whole boat would shudder as it took the force of thousands of pounds of white water slamming against the hull.

After about 24 hours, the winds dropped and the seas laid down. On day four, we encountered pancake ice, rising and falling with the swell. This was the first sign that we were nearing Antarctica!

Ice and fog in front of the glacier skirted mountains

On the evening of day four, we got our first glimpses of the mountain ranges and glaciers that make up the Neumayer Channel that we transit through to get to Palmer Station.

At last, on the afternoon of day five, we tied up at station. Today we are doing cargo ops- delivering fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as lab chemicals, containers of break bulk, and various other supplies. We will remain on station for seven days, before we head back into the notorious Drake Passage.

September 27, 2018September 27, 2018

It’s spring! (In southern Chile)

For the past week, I’ve been back at work on one of the two research boats I’m employed on for about a third of the year. The Laurence M Gould is a 70m research icebreaker in the employ of the United States Antarctic Program. I work between this and our other Antarctica research vessel, flying down for a month or two at a time.

81F5A885-089E-485D-9217-A6449FC965EF — The Gould in one of the Antarctic fjords. I took this photo on my first trip down to the continent but am constantly awed by the endless beauty around me every time I come down to the ice

I work on board as a marine technician; every trip we do is different since we work with whichever scientists get grants to come study on our boats. I help them to interface their gear and the gear we provide with the icebreaker. Depending on the trip, my duties can include driving zodiacs, driving cranes, deploying large oceanographic instruments, deep sea fishing, etc. We have biologists who study penguins, whales, leopard seals, and other large marine life. We also have oceanographers, glaciologists, geologists, climate scientists, and ice scientists. We work with hundreds of different universities and scientific groups including NOAA and Woods Hole.

86A6DB56-42DA-47AC-84D5-ED0E106A525D — Hanging a block on the A-frame- one of my varied jobs on the boats

This time, I flew down early to help work on one of our RHIBs (reinforced hull inflatable boat). It’s a 30′ aluminium boat that we use for research at one of the stations. This speedy nugget can go over 20 knots, and was custom built to provide research support for the scientists down at the station.

13808AE2-F875-42F2-89FE-D52BAF0453C2 — One of the RHIBS in action down in Antarctica

The extra week working on the RHIB means that I’m spending more time in Chile than usual. Normally we have a few days of port call and then head straight down to the ice. I’ve been enjoying the equinox and the first few days of spring. Temperatures still hang out around freezing this time of year, but longer days indicate an entrance into summer. Eventually the sun never goes away and we experience all the beautiful shades of the midnight sun.

740EA3A3-8D5F-4DF8-B66B-B0FF691B7074 — 0645 Sunrise in Punta Arenas. At this time of year, each day is getting longer by four minutes. That’s about half an hour more daylight per week!

On the second of October we’ll head south into the Drake Passage, a crossing which takes about four days. Around the 6th we’ll see our first sights of Antarctica. No matter how many years people have been in the program, everyone still lines up along the bridge and on the bow to stare at the mountains, glaciers, and icebergs. We always say that if you’re no longer awed by the scenery then it’s time to quit and find pleasure in the perfect geometry of an office cubicle.

It has been four months since I’ve last been down here and I’m already getting excited for the landscape, some of the coolest people I know, and of course- penguins