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We bought a boat…

By: Noah D.

And, with shocking simplicity, we made the purchase.

Literally, a decade of dreaming and research has led to this.

And, as we were on our way home, the question, “Are you happy?” was raised. My answer sounds like a fortune cookie: Happiness does not come from the things we own, but the way we put to use the things we own. Cats can be happy with a cardboard box because they know how to play in them. But humans can be miserable with multimillion dollar mansions.

Happiness is our own responsibility, not the responsibility of anyone else or the things with which we surround ourselves.

Here we are, 42 foot sailboat in hand, doing everything we can to live our lives in a way that we will look back on it and say, “Wow, that was a great thing.”

“Boat shopping” has a new meaning…

By: Noah D.

I had a nice huge blog post written up, but before I clicked “publish” I had an attack of superstition. Okay, yes yes, nautical things are rife with superstition and such, but something made me feel as though I should hold off on posting some of my thoughts until things are more concrete. I refuse to jinx it.

But, here’s the gist: There’s a certain boat for sale at a certain marina that makes me swoon. It has a few issues, but… like any good relationship, you have to be mature about things and take the good with the bad. Just like some people make awesome spouses even though they snore, I feel like this certain boat is a lovely lady even though she need a few pokes and prods occasionally to straighten out those kinks. All things considered, a project boat she is not.

Boat shopping has taken on a whole new meaning now that I might have just photographed “the one”…

Now, if you’re able to identify the boat from this photo alone, I applaud you. Otherwise, you’re just going to have to wait and see… 🙂

Once I was the new guy…

By Noah D.

I came to London the first time in 2008. Since, then I have spent quite a bit of time here: coming up on one year with nary a break.

But I was once the guy on the street corner staring at a map. I had never been to St.Paul’s or walked from the Houses of Parliament to the Tower Bridge on either side of the river. I didn’t know the difference between Leicester Square and Covent Garden and Piccadilly Circus or Oxford Circus or what happens at those different places. Less than that, I didn’t even venture a guess at what a “Shoreditch” was or the best place to exchange money.

The expat community in London is quite large. I wonder how many take a little pride when a friend visits and says: “Could you show me around?”

I assure you, it doesn’t happen in small towns very often. You usually need a purpose to visit small towns. Not that they’re not friendly, of course, but why else would you go there?

Perhaps it is even a point of pride, but being in London and being on the streets this much puts me in a position of responsibility: a position of hospitality. It is certainly not a heavy burden, per se, but it is one I take seriously. If I can help someone have a good experience in “my town” then it is up to me to give it a shot… even if it is more walking than you’ve done in weeks. 🙂

But shouldn’t that be the way of the world? Not passing each other on the street with indifference, but almost as the monks do in their hallways, blessing each other and wishing each other well in their journey. To be unrealistic, should I not wish to bless each of the throngs of holidayers clogging the exit of Tottenham Court Road station? Should I not hope to wish the Random Stoppers as they walk along in a crowd and suddenly turn around to flow upstream like a salmon to spawn?

I’m being a little idealistic, but I have to wonder: why extend hospitality and illumination to only your friends on the rare occasion they come into town when you’re around dozens and hundreds and thousands of people every day who you might just be the light in their rather dark world.

If you’re ever in town, look me up. I’d love to show you around…

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NOTE: In the interest of full disclosure, this post originally appeared here. I post it here because of its relevance to recent events and the fact that I, too, need to listen to my own thoughts from time to time.

Making progress on S/V ???…

By: Noah D.

Well, as promised by merely making a little webpage for a yet-to-be-bought-or-named boat, the time has come to start making some serious progress. By serious progress, I mean… all the research in the world means nothing, really, until you go out and start walking on boats that have FOR SALE signs and getting the bank accounts arranged.

Next week, I’m going to be making a little trip to visit a half-dozen boats.

Pardon me being so cryptic, but I’ll write up a massive post next week with loads of pictures, exhausting details, and perhaps even a video or two.

See you then…

Ireland experience…

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By Noah D.

So, in lieu of boat news at the moment–but of course that is coming along–we actually do go out and do things from time to time. Living in London, it would be an absolute shame not to explore a little of the region. In a matter of days, we decided to use a three-day-weekend wisely to the time we actually began our little excursion and we fully planned our getaway. By “planned,” I should mention, I use that term loosely: you’ll see why in a moment.

This particular time, we took a little trip to Ireland. Now I’d been to Ireland (and specifically Dublin) but this was Lynn’s first trip to the Land of Éire. Flights to Dublin from any number of the 291 airports in the London metro area cost in the £100 range per ticket. Including the cost to get out to whatever airport it might be (Heathrow costs as little as a few quid if you take the tube but the Heathrow Express from Paddington costs £20, Gatwick Express from Victoria costs £17 or so, etc) there must be a better way…

There is.

It is nice to get to sea somehow from time to time. There’s a RailSail double ticket that cost us just around £40 per person per way. The train goes from London to Holyhead in northwest Wales; then the ferry leaves from there to Dublin. The whole thing cost only £162 for the round trip for two people, taxes and such included. Certainly better than we could have done flying.

However, the cheap route comes with a little baggage. And not the rolling kind. I consider it a plus, actually, because it adds the feeling as though you’re actually traveling rather than teleporting from place to place in the metal tubes.

The first few hours after departing Euston Station in London, we stood with our stuff in the connecting area between train cars. Completely due to the fact that we were taking the train at one of the busiest parts of the week (Saturday morning at 9am), all the other travelers and commuters were on their way out of London to the north and to Wales. To fully grasp this, you must do it someday. Fifteen or twenty people with all their bags, and breakfast, and sweat, in a curved space about one meter wide and three or four meters long. But, to our advantage, we did have the bathroom inches away. Whatever advantage that might be.

We only stood or leaned or sat in this crawlspace for a little over an hour. Maybe ninety minutes. I think it was at Crewe there was a mass exodus and we got a seat for the rest of the trip. It is in these moments that people’s true nature shine. In the midst of so much calmness and resignation to the situation, there are spastic ninnies who seem to be unable to handle a bit of mild discomfort. Without giving them any more space than they deserve for now, I say to you: never be the spastic ninny.

One concern that every traveler must consider is when changing modes of transportation (for instance, rail to ferry or rail to airport) how far is one mode of transportation from the other and will there be an unforeseen middle mode of transportation. If you are traveling to France via Portsmouth Harbour, there’s a little connection to be made there that likely involves either a brisk walk or a brief taxi. Holyhead, on the other hand, requires a very brief stroll: the ferry terminal is literally inside the train station. It’s… like… a hundred meter walk.

Check-in was similar to checking in to any other ferry or airline terminal. Considering we were about to go to another country–the Republic of Ireland is not part of the United Kingdom–there was surprisingly lackadaisical security. I’m not actually sure I got checked. Our bag was checked like an airport and I’m sure it was scanned eventually, but otherwise, my “personal bag” was nigh untouched.

A brief bus trip took us directly onto the ferry. No surprises there.

The ferry itself was actually just fine. Most of these ferries are designed similarly and have the classic things most cruises have: cafeteria, a cafe, a bar/pub, a big sitting area, the outdoor areas, etc. And I’ve been on loads of ferries in my life, but this one might actually have one of the better foods I’ve had on board. Maybe I was just hungry, but I was pleasantly surprised by the non-microwaved quality of it. Kudos to you, Irish Ferries, on your realistic representation of a steak and ale pie.

Now, the next part of the story involves revealing something about my tendencies toward travel: planning is often optional. But more importantly, the use of “no plan” as part of the experience always–always!–ends up with some sort of experience worth telling. It ensures an anecdote. And here’s the one I built in for this little weekend getaway…

From the ferry terminal, we took a quick taxi to the airport to pick up a rental car. We wanted to get out of Dublin and see the countryside, and what better way to do that than to drive it. We would pick up a car and drive for a couple hours until we found a neat little town, and then find a quaint little bed-and-breakfast to settle down for the night. Of course, Ireland is famous for the astonishing number of these little bed-and-breakfasts all over the country, and why would it be any problem to find one with a vacancy?

I say, One Direction stole our beds. Or rather, their hoard stole our beds. How could we have known they were in town for a multi-day concert series and pretty much every bed in a 50 mile radius of the concert was taken! By the time we started looking, we were almost an hour outside Dublin. It took every bit of the next two hours to find a bed-and-breakfast with a vacancy by stopping at every place that looked occupied. Proof, again, that there are lovely people everywhere in the world… even at random, tiny pubs in the narrow roads of County Meath. Or perhaps I should say especially at random, tiny pubs in the narrow roads of County Meath: explaining our situation, the proprietor and few patrons at the bar started pitching in ideas and making calls. A few minutes later, we had lodging at the Isaac’s Well in Clonmellon in County Westmeath.

The landlady had just had surgery and could not provide us with the “breakfast” part of the bed-and-breakfast, but the accommodations were actually spectacular. Everything seemed fresh and new and the huge room and bathroom actually sparked the conversation: “What if we just stay here all weekend?”

And for €35, definitely not bad.

Oh, and about the money: The next morning was Sunday. We started looking for someone to check out, leave the key and pay for the room. There was no proper desk, of course, and the barman had just tossed us a key the previous night… and the bar was closed. Honor system it is, then! We left the money and the key on the table in the room and departed…

Oh, and one last thing before leaving this area of Ireland: if you’re ever near Kells, pop into the Keltic Bar by the Headford Arms Hotel (also full of One Directioners, btw). The kitchen had been closed a few minutes by the time we arrived, but the staff sat us down by the fire and went to get the cook who had just left. I’m not sure I’ve had this happen to me anywhere else in the world.

So… driving the countryside of Ireland now, we loaded up on road trip snacks and headed west. The internets say that Ireland is approximately the same size as the state of Indiana, so it takes just a couple of hours to drive all the way across it. Especially considering they’ve got a serious highway system that makes travel across the country pretty straightforward and fast. We made it all the way across the country to Galway long before lunch. To the north to the wilds of Connemara or to the south to Doolin and Dingle and the Cliffs of Moher and all those places people tend to find themselves while backpacking Europe.

To the north, it is!

We worked our way northwest. This area is just really brilliant. Really beautiful and craggy landscape. The grass and trees seem lightly laid on top of some ancient world, like the moss that sits just on top of rocks. The whole world could be peeled away.

You’ll notice, Lynn is making most of these photos. I was driving. It isn’t a forgiving road.

Having just come back from an assignment in the Republic of Georgia, I took an interest in the sheep. The sheep are completely different here than the ones in Georgia. (But that story is for another time.)

Traveling like this is a bit of a risk at times. For the person with their face in a guidebook, they probably won’t ever miss all the big stuff that we might have driven right past. But we still do okay, I think. Anything missed, we just have to come back and hit next time… but we don’t miss much.

Like the relatively insane Kylemore Abbey, for instance. If you’re randomly traveling through this sort of terrain and this thing pops up in the distance, you kinda go see what’s up. Turns out, it was one of the most elaborate and lavish estates in the British Isles. Even Kings have looked to it as a getaway home, but one famously decided against it citing the fact that even a king couldn’t afford such grandeur.

The story of the palace is legendary in the area and I dare not spoil it for you here. Best to visit and savor it all for yourself.

Now well into the afternoon, we must continue on.

Driving down the coast of Connemara, the landscape changed again. The huge hills (or “bens”) continued, but the coastline changed everything. Thatch-roof, stone cottages and a narrow road winding amongst ancient rock walls that end in the sea… I love unconventional landscapes and this was certainly one of them.

Returning to Dublin was quick. As much of a shame as it was to leave the brilliant countryside, we needed to get the car back to the airport.

Which brings up another topic: car rentals.

I though it would be nice to give the local company a shot instead of going with the huge giants like Hertz or Avis or Sixt. Well… I’m not sure I’ll be doing that again anytime soon. Found online on a typical travel site, it was the cheapest. But to get the same level of car, insurance, and GPS unit, we got our clock cleaned. I mean, properly reamed.

The dorky little car was a champ and actually moderately fun to drive on these crazy narrow roads, but the rental company (which I have intentionally neglected to mention) left a lot to be desired. Especially in the “hidden fee” category.

Looking back at it now, I probably should have known better, but what’s done is done. And why didn’t I just say “forget it” at the check-in desk instead of going through with it? Because unless you cancel within 24hrs of the booking, you gotta pay for the first day. Yep, ya got me, friend. Shame on me.

Not really the feeling you want to go away with, is it…?

Anyways, all that aside, the rest of the trip (post-credit card melt-down) was just fine. Dublin is a neat little town. It is manageable and can be walked across in a really short amount of time. Most of the sites can be seen in a single day.

What is worth visiting? I’d say the Jameson Distillery or the Guinness Storehouse should be on the top of your list. Even if you aren’t interested in the libations, these–along with similar places like the Jack Daniels Distillery in Lynchburg, TN–are single-theme museums that do one thing really well: tell you how a very specific product is created from start to finish. Where some museums spread themselves too thin, these types of educational tours break down a process and show you how something is done. And they do it around all the original equipment. There’s a fair amount of propaganda, but what do you expect: that said, the tour staff are cute and funny about that fact, interacting with their groups and keep it from being boring. And, of course, there are taste-testing moments throughout… which means you’re actually getting a little more for your money than the average walk-through museum.

See also? The Kilmainham Gaol (pronounced “jail”) and the Zoo are usually biggies on the tourist map. The Dublin Castle might be worth poking your head into, but it costs a bit and I’m not sure everybody gets their kicks in such places (loads of local history… and… not much else). Other things to stop by might be Trinity College or the National Museums and the famous churches (like St.Patrick’s).

Public transportation is really easy to figure out and it covers most of the town, but I don’t think we used it much: it is so easy to walk around.

One thing that I did when I visited previously: I took the hop-on-hop-off bus tour and saw pretty much everything worth seeing in the town in a single afternoon. It was so simple and I remember it being shockingly cheap back in 2008. When I looked at the prices this time, I was a little disappointed that it had jumped so high (in the €20 per person range). Such is the way of things…

Undeniably, the pub culture is alive and well. Pay attention to which tourist map you pick up because there is actually one that is the Nightlife Edition, marking every pub, nightclub, and bar in central Dublin. It doesn’t do much for you if that’s not your thing, but…

We stayed at the Fleet Street Hotel right there at the Temple Bar. Pretty solid hotel and there was no beating the location. Here’s the trick, though: the original purpose of staying outside of Dublin the first night was driven by the fact that I noticed that Friday night or Saturday night hotel bookings in the city were astronomical. Serious sticker shock. It turned out this was entirely driven by One Direction masses. And the hotels made bank.

“It couldn’t have been that much of a difference…” you say? Oh…

Here’s an example: I (unscientifically) found the average Friday and Saturday night bookings in a central Dublin hotel costing around €200-€250 per night. On Sunday night, the exact same hotel dropped to €80. By Monday: €65. For one night, it would have cost us more than what we spent for our whole two night stay (since we stayed Sunday night through Tuesday morning).

I mean, I don’t blame them. If screaming fans are going to pay ridiculous prices to see this year’s fad pop band, they’re also going to fork out the cash for the hotel in which to swoon in post-ecstatic fervor. But, we’re also not going to pay that. Pay attention, travelers, to who or what is going on in town.

The return trip was a bit exhausting, by the way. I’m sure they have their reasons, but our only option on the return (at this price category) was to be up all night. The travel consisted of the ferry trip across the Irish Sea to Holyhead, a lengthy wee-hour vigil in the Holyhead train station, and then the last little jaunt back into London. We arrived at Euston during the eight o’clock hour, just in time for a little nap and Lynn getting to work at noon.

No biggie. As intense as sitting up in a train station from 2am-4:45am might sound, it really is about par for the course when traveling… pretty much anywhere. Yes, it is fully possible to treat travel just like a trip to Disney World complete with normal waking hours and almost luxurious accommodations. Traveling like that requires, believe it or not, vast amounts of money. The rail, airlines, and hotels know this. Just like they know people will fork our thousands of $/€/£ for a weekend at a concert, the prices reflect this. On the other hand, there are times and routes that don’t require a huge pocketbook because, at the same time that the travel companies jack up the prices when it is obvious they corner the market, the same companies will have wildly lower-cost travel options, too. Which means it is fully possible to travel on a budget, you just have to realize that there are sacrifices to be made in the name of comfort.

Basically that’s all it is: comfort. You’ll still get there, but you might have to stand part of the way. You’ll still get there, but you might have to stay up late at night. You’ll still get there, but you’ll have to take just a little bit longer to get there. And, you’ll also have somewhere to stay, whether you have to make your own bed up and bathe in a community shower, that’s part of the trade-off for cheapness.

If I make a concession, I usually err on the side of a little more money for accommodations. Travel from place to place doesn’t need to be that comfortable and I can stay up late. But I kinda like my own space, moderate privacy, and know that my stuff isn’t going to be stolen when I leave it in the room to see the sights.

So there… Dublin.

The day the Sky set Paris on fire…

By Noah D.

The day the Sky set Paris on fire began like any other.

And just like any other, most people forgot about the Sky.

They went about their lives thinking that it was their own creations that rule the world: man-made towers of industry and commerce, that make the streets dark at noon and change the course of history. After all, they control the night! “It is not the moon’s rays that illuminate our stone canyons. Our light dominates the night!”

So, only a few noticed at first. Perhaps just the old men who work at thinking, or perhaps the girls with boys that bored them.

But in the evening, the Sky decided to remind all those below and sent his army of clouds encroaching from the west. Many feared Rain and cursed the Sky after such an otherwise beautiful day under the blue. Their important plans they made to sit in the terrace outside the cafes might be interrupted and they would have to move inside their secure walls instead.

“The Sky wouldn’t dare…” said they.

The gargoyles and the pigeons talked amongst themselves. They had not seen such from the Sky since a long time ago and worried what it would mean.

They knew they might not be smart enough to figure it out, but, being just gargoyles and pigeons, they were fairly certain they would survive anything that would come their way. They always have.

The Cathedral saw it coming first (as it often does in times like this). Those who created cathedrals like her were wise in their decisions to always let them keep an eye on the wests. They knew that even though the trouble might come from the easts, the Big Circle on which we live grows smaller each year: someday the west will be as close as the east.

The River, usually the last to know such things, could even feel the change and sent word downstream to ask the Sky what was going on; the River received no answer in time.

Expectation was everywhere while the people paraded by. None saw it. Or perhaps none cared.

And then it happened…

The Sky opened his mind.

The people stopped and watched. Even the cold and the uncaring stopped and were warmed.

The burning brought out the population as if the ship was sinking. Even the buildings were ashamed of their pride and breathed the Sky.

And for a moment, the Earth was still. All who lived could see that the canyons of darkness were diminished…

…and the most important things of life remained.

In the end, the Sky sighed and moved on. Not even he can withstand the passage of Time.

Night fell.

The canyons remained…

…and became illuminated once more.

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NOTE: This post originally appeared here on the day it was photographed.

Better take a walk…

By Noah D.

Beautiful days in London are best spent outside. Though we completely on the other side of town, on this rather pleasant day, I decided to take a walk around Surrey Quays.

It is one of the few places in the city that you are guaranteed to be around sailboats. For being a city on a major navigable river, sailboats are restricted to this side of the London Bridge, the next bridge up stream from the Tower Bridge. And most don’t bother with the Tower Bridge because it is a drawbridge that only opens at certain times.

There are quite a few little marinas in the area–including South Dock Marina, Limehouse, St.Katharines, etc–but this one is my favorite. Many of these little waterfront areas were once heavily industrial docklands and the remnants can be seen everywhere, even though these areas are now converted into nice residential developments. The rails and big machines still sit, all painted solid and obscure.

I think the best part of these formerly industrial docklands is the fact that, although it has been years since heavy ropes were pulled by even heavier men, the smell of oiled metal and riveted iron is everywhere.

These areas, like the South Dock and Greenland, are largely residential. And, not just on the land side, the boats did not seem left there to rot and many seem to be well-lived and well-tended.

Anyways, just a shame to not spent a pretty day near water. Some of the best ones tend to be.

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A perfect sailboat… [Part 2]

By Noah

In the last post, I discussed things we are hunting in the interior of our sailing home. None of these are necessarily deal-breakers, but–as I mentioned last time–we are trying to decide what would we miss if we didn’t have it or had to deal with it not being there.

For this episode, we get to the serious parts of a sailboat. Not that a galley isn’t “serious” but you can sail without a galley… you can’t sail without things like sails.

Line leading is a bit underrated.

All sailing craft have sails. Somehow those sails are run aloft. And somehow those sails, once up there, are controlled. Some sailboats are a mess of ropes in the cockpit while others are spread around the boat strategically.

The mess of ropes cluttering the cockpit is usually a side-effect of all lines running aft. All lines running aft (at least somewhat) assumes shorthanded sailing. Honestly, I’m kind of okay with it. Maybe after 10,000 miles I’ll think differently, but for now, I’m really okay with it. In fact, I redesigned my little old boat that I rebuilt to have all the lines running to the cockpit. Primarily it was because the boat was small and didn’t have stanchions; but secondarily, it was because I was going to be doing a lot of shorthanded sailing with a tiller and no autopilot: I needed everything within reach.

Granted, that sort of boat has only a few lines and a 40 foot boat will have a dozen, but…

Sails.

The brand probably doesn’t make a huge amount of difference to me… but their layout does. Cutter rigs are going to be a real selling point for me. If for some reason we find a good ketch, I don’t really mind as long as it has those double headsails.

Why? My understanding of the physics of offshore sailboats is that it is a highly desirable feature to be able to quickly drop your surface area down in a gale. Roll up the genoa and leave the staysail. Another feature is that much heavier boats need a bit less wind with cutters. I’m not certain how much that is physical fact or fiction, but it can’t hurt.

A great topside.

This includes everything that can be walked on. As much as I love the idea of a nice wooden teak boat, I’m not really going to be distraught if I never have to do all that maintenance. I’m really not. However, I think it is only reasonable to expect the topsides to be usable. We’ve got to be able to walk around on the deck without feeling like I’m walking on a tightrope. And… places to hold on. Some of these boats have beautiful, clean-looking topsides, but if the boat was heeled a few degrees, there’s no place to hold on.

Secondly, but not secondary, is a good cockpit.

But, more important that a covered cockpit (that is really only usable when the boat isn’t underway) is a comfortable cockpit. Reading all manner of literature, it seems that having a cockpit that you actually enjoy spending time in makes spending required time (like long night watches) less painful.

That said, I think a dodger and/or spray hood is going to be needed. Since we will be living aboard, I’ve also found a few boats (Hunters, primarily) that have a really nice cockpit tent. I consider that a pretty good extension of the interior. Lynn and I are from the American south and we like our “outdoor” space… even in the winter we will use a porch. A cockpit tent sorta gives us that porch-y area.

Navigation, radar, and electronics.

I see practically no boats these days without some semblance of GPS or chart plotter. Also standards are things like radar, depth sounders, VHF, windspeed and direction, autopilot, etc. One that I’d really feel good about adding (if it wasn’t already there) is the AIS. We live in the North Sea and the English Channel, one of the most busy shipping lanes in the world. It would be insane not to have as much capability to be seen by these freight ships that are hundreds of meters long.

Another little fun piece of equipment is the depth finder. Fishermen would use them back on the lake that I grew up on to find fish. I don’t really care about the fish as much as seeing the bottom more than just numbers. That is really useful.

All of these I would feel pretty good having them readable from the navigation station. I’ve seen a boat or two in the past that had its only depth sounder out on the wheel binnacle. I guess it is more of a convenience than anything, but having multiple places to view important information just seems intelligent. I’m actually not a fan of those huge digital displays being outside. Putting such expensive technology outside–I know, I know, it is technically made for it–just seems like asking for things to last not quite as long as it would have inside.

An anchor.

Yeah, for real. A good one. Enough rode to circle the earth wouldn’t hurt, but anchor holding is more about technique and planning than anything. A good number of the horror stories I’ve heard from people who sail extreme distances are attributed to the ground tackle having some problem.

A usable tender.

A side-effect of the inability to get close to shore (because… keel) is a need for a good tender. I rode in a dinghy not too long ago with five people in it. Simple, tiny zodiac hauled nearly 1000lbs of people and a bit of gear a hundred meters or so. Now, the allure of too-good-to-be-true foldable boats (like Porta-Botes) just seem… too good to be true. It might take some trial and error…

Ready for heresy?

Things that don’t matter (to us).

Waterline. No matter what is said on the internet about hull shape and waterline/length ratios, there doesn’t seem to be a clear consensus. Anywhere. And I think it comes down to people comparing apples and oranges and trying to come up with a conclusion based on widely varying sea states, wind conditions, boat design, sailor skill levels, and a probably a host of other things.

Keel or bulb or wing or dagger. All I want to be sure of is that the ballast doesn’t fall off. We may do some shallow-water cruising someday, but I sincerely don’t feel as if one foot of difference will prevent anything. The weights and performance issues? I feel as though much of this, again, comes down to personal preference. I get it if you’re racing in the America’s Cup, but…

Hull material. Yeah… don’t care. Wood, fiberglass, aluminum, steel… everything has to be worked on eventually. Modern boat manufacturing has equalized the playing field. We may do some high-latitude cruising someday (higher than 51ºN, I mean) and I might eat my words; however, I’m seeing loads of people cruising in ice fields with 30-year-old Catalina, so I don’t really know what to think. For now? Meh.

-Noah D.

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GEAR: The MSR Hubba Hubba… one year later.

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By Noah

Twenty-four hours after this pair of photographs were taken, I experienced the most difficult night of my life. And, though that might sound like an inflated statement, here’s a little of the circumstances surrounding this photograph:

My friend, Philip, and I–both photojournalists–were working on a project with the shepherds in the southeastern Caucasus. This particular evening in Georgia, we were in the lowlands awaiting our hosts: shepherds of the arid Samoukhi region in the far southeast tip of Georgia. This beautiful location (exactly here) is final staging ground for shepherds who will make the hard push up and over the Abano Pass into the summer grazing grounds.

This particular night of relative comfort–due to the tent–was followed by hiking approximately 20 miles from 1500ft to 9500ft the next day… at which point we were in conditions too bad and too urgent for the tent, so we “slept” in every piece of clothing we owned (including our coats)… inside a sleeping bag… under our rain cloaks… surrounded by all our gear… rolled in a blue tarpaulin.

Now, that wouldn’t be so bad, except the fact that outside our little blue burritos were about 6000 sheep, goats, cows, and horses. At this point, none of us–not even the shepherds–had eaten much other than vodka-soaked bread and some canned tuna (I think it was?) and half-way wild onions for the last 36 hours. This was the danger of this trek at this time of year: all the livestock are pushed hard because there is nothing to eat above the tree-line.

I mention the hunger issue not to make you pity us, but pity the sheep and the fact that I was nibbled and stepped on countless times during the night. Somewhere around 3am, I was nibbled on and whatever-it-was pinched the skin of my shoulder… so, I punched it through the many layers. The satisfaction of clocking a random animal in the middle of the night was short-lived…

The conditions were complete misery. For the few minutes of sleep I might have gotten, I spent most of the time shivering and soaking wet. It had been “raining” lightly as we lay down; however, I think it was just pervasive clouds. And to tell you how pervasive was the water… everything–literally everything–was wet. Every layer of the 5 or 6 that I had on was wet. Even under my back, which was inside the sleeping bag all night. The only thing that was not wet was the contents of a $10 oversized dry bag that my cameras and notebooks were inside and I had been very careful not to open it.

What a strange way to start a review of a tent: a night in the most miserable conditions I’ve ever experienced and I didn’t even put up the tent! I give you this little anecdote because that is the situations in which I have no problem taking this tent. Even though the situation did not allow for it to be set up this time, it would have handled it, I have no doubt.

Rewind one year to the first time I ever used the tent for an extended period of time:

I rather consider it a shakedown cruise of my equipment and myself. For eight days, I bicycled from Nashville, Tennessee, to Natchez, Mississippi: the entire length of the Natchez Trace. For 444 miles over eight days I lived on a Jamis Aurora Elite expedition bike and lived in the MSR Hubba Hubba NX Tent.

The 2014 version of this tent has been redesigned, but my copy–the 2013 version–I actually slightly prefer due entirely because it is green. (Though it is a tough find these days.) I wouldn’t have thought much of this until I saw it in action. One hazard of wild camping–especially certain places in the world–is being bothered by people. The tent, though kind of lime green, blends in well with the environment. The new version, however, is all red and grey… certainly a little more stylish, but a bit less natural colors.

One thing that I do recommend with this tent is the proper MSR Tent Footprint that is built for it.

Now, why is discussing a tent relevant for a sailing site? One of the coolest things I’ve seen people do while sailing routes like the Great Loop is to actually get out of the boat and camp along the way.

Notable things to mention…?

This tent can put up with some of the most ridiculous conditions I’ve thrown at it. But don’t think that means it is difficult to set up or break down. It literally sets up in 7 or 8 minutes and, from the experience of the morning after the top photo was taken, it can be broken down in perhaps 60 seconds. Most importantly, footprint, structure, and rain fly packs down to the size of an American football (maybe a fraction larger) and weighs much less. I can pack it into luggage for international assignments and I don’t have to sacrifice too much else.

The tent is also spectacularly designed. Having spent weeks and weeks worth of time in this tent, I’ve never felt a drip on the inside that I didn’t inadvertently bring in. The design extends to the rope-free set-up. The tent pegs are really perfectly designed to hold each corner and the rainfly without fuss. I’ve been in a few storms with (Force 3-4) wind and I haven’t worried about it at all.

Don’t expect it to keep you too warm, but shockingly, the interior of the tent says warmer than I expected considering how breathable the material actually is.

Complaints?

The Hubba Hubba (two Hubba’s) version says “2-person.” Yeah, that is true. But you probably need to be quite good friends with them. I used it as a 1-person tent while on the Natchez Trace and kept all my equipment inside. With two people, the only space you have is for lying down. The rainfly extension becomes the gear shed, which the footprint does not extend to… meaning, if it rains, water will be running under your gear… or shoes.

It also has only a very small little pocket on either end for storage. It really might not matter very much to some people, but I could see how this Gear Loft could be a nice addition.

Conclusion

Would I buy it again? Absolutely. It is not the biggest tent in the world (far from it) but it is perfect for extended living in rough conditions. MSR (Cascade Designs) have constructed a serious tent and not wasted anything while not stripping it down too far.

Is it a perfect tent to keep aboard a boat? Yes. Put it in a little out-of-the-way compartment. And when you need to take it to shore in your tender, you won’t even know it is on the boat.

A monetizing mention:

Though my comments and opinions about the tent itself are entirely my own and generated from real-world use, the links I post that open to Amazon are actually part of an Amazon Associates program. If you are in the market for these products, please click through and purchase them by my referral. It costs you nothing extra and I get a percentage of the sale cost:

MSR Hubba Hubba NX Tent
MSR Hubba Hubba Tent Footprint
MSR Universal Gear Loft

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A perfect sailboat… [Part 1]

By Noah

A house is a deeply personal thing. And a car, really, but for different reasons. So the purchasing of a boat that is intended to be a home mixes the two: lifestyle and personality.

I think one way to deal with it is to ask impossible questions: What will you miss about a house when you move away or have to sell it? Would it be the yard? The porch? The kitchen? I guess, perhaps, someone somewhere might miss a glorious bathroom with an enormous tub and heated towel rack and comfy toilet seats.

And when it comes to thinking about what you’ll miss, then think about the other stuff that you always complain about. Is the shower like bathing in an upright casket? Does the countertops (or lack thereof) drive you to distraction? Is it drafty, moldy, or in a bad part of town?

Now overlay the good with the bad.

Can you deal with wildly fluctuating hot water when it is in such a sexy neighborhood? Or is that porch as great as you think it is when you can only open one pizza box at a time on the countertop? All things in life require a certain degree of flexibility. That flexibility is reached by maintaining an ability to compromise. Still, dealing with idiosyncrasies and enduring hardship are two different things.

Larger live-aboard boats and sailboats compound these little idiosyncrasies and roll them up in a nice compact tube that can be taken almost anywhere in the world. Still, add those idiosyncrasies up too much and you might start seeing them as hardships (which is one step away from misery).

The only thing that makes the peculiarity of living aboard sailboats different from other land-based is that most of their parts and structures are similar. In a similar way that cars all have seats, steering wheels, and windows, a sailboat–though at first visually similar–are as different as a Ferrari is from an Aston Martin: to the discerning driver, they are not even in the same category of car. Flipping through SailBoatData.com floorplans, there doesn’t seem to be much variation: some 2-cabin, some 3-cabin, etc, and some the kitchen is there and the bathroom is there, or vice versa.

It is the nuance in design that makes such a difference. Some sailboats are like Aston Martin’s: sexy, fast, front-engine grand touring cars meant for sleek style and an all-around package. Some sailboats are like Ferrari’s: ridiculously powerful, high-performance, mid-engine super-cars that are designed to make a personal statement. And some sailboats are BMW’s: much cheaper than Ferrari’s and Aston Martin’s, but extremely reliable, ubiquitous, and safe (although relatively conservative).

Details are everything.

Here, in no particular order, are a few of those things that we take notice of browsing through the seemingly-endless numbers of boats on Yachtworld.com and proprietary broker sites.

An adequate master stateroom.

For the first month after Lynn followed me to London, we lived in an extremely small flat with only a single bed. We are in no hurry to return to that. Not only did it have practically no storage, there was nowhere to sit and had one window that looked out onto a solid wall. Woe to us, right?

This is our opportunity to chose something that is seriously livable. Somewhere to put clothes and such is great (I mean, we live in a city) but also just somewhere for Lynn to sit to get ready in the morning would be an improvement over anything we’ve experienced since living in London.

We’ve found that some larger production boats designed for ocean passages tend to possess this sort of larger aft stateroom or larger-than-V-berth forward stateroom. Those hidey-hole berths in the back are great while actually sailing, but they are a bit of a pain to live day after day. We’d like to sit up and read at night, not slide into it like a catacomb.

Decent climate control.

Living well north of 51ºN is a fact of life in London. The North American equivalent is almost 200 miles north of the US/Canadian border. It gets dark at 4:30pm in the winter and doesn’t get truly dark until 10:15pm in the summer, but it really isn’t as bad as people think when it comes to precipitation… but warm, it is not. Many Northern European boats I’m seeing come with Webasto (or other brand) heating systems. More than just a convenience, I think it is only realistic to expect to need a certain amount of heat throughout the boat. There are some creature comforts that we may be doing without while living on a boat, but uncontrolled shivering at night isn’t reasonable.

A good galley.

It might be hard to believe, but any galley on almost any boat larger than 35ft will have a kitchen larger than our current one. The studio apartment we have now in London has a single space approximately one meter wide on which to prepare things, store things like our hot water kettle (ubiquitous in London). However, when it comes to keeping a microwave…? Not a chance. It sits on the floor plugged into a power strip when it is needed and then gets put back on a storage shelf when done.

More important in a galley on a boat, though, is the usability of the galley. A big open galley with miles of countertops is great in a marina–it feels like a house, right!–but is the galley actually usable at sea? I’m becoming a fan of U-shaped or C-shaped galleys: everything seems so accessible. However, boats like the Beneteau Oceanis 411 has a layout in which the galley is pushed back down one side of the companionway and cockpit overhead so that there is a wall directly behind while the galley remains straight.

Sailboats must be a strange thing to design: they’re one of the only things I can think of (besides perhaps space-bound vehicles) that force the designer to think, “What happens when everything is pitched to the left or right 30º?”

A suitable head.

For those unaccustomed to bathrooms on boats, they may seem to come in more flavors than you can imagine. I mean, how different can a toilet be, right? But there are two main differences: powered and unpowered toilets. “The toilet is powered!?” you ask. Well, without getting too graphic, most land potties work by gravity. The water is held in a reservoir and “flushing” is merely letting the water fall into the toilet, emptying the waste and reloading the bowl for next time.

Well, sailboats don’t work quite like this. Most sit dry before and after use. It takes a pump to prime the toilet (read: let a little water in before use) and it takes a pump to flush the toilet and re-empty the bowl afterward. Sailboats possess a manual or electric pump to do all this. And some have a manual override (just in case there is no battery power for some reason).

Pumps invariably break, fail, lose suction, get old, burn out, etc. Which do we want to deal with whenever that time comes? Or do we want to be all earthy and get a composting head? I’ve heard amazing things (one being that it saves an enormous amount of space because you can practically get rid of the holding tank). Still… jury is out on that one.

Again, anything is likely going to be an improvement over our current flat. If Lynn and I need to use it at the same time…? Too bad. One must come out before the other goes in. To have two bathrooms (like most 40+ foot boats do) kinda makes us giddy.

Range-extending systems.

Speaking nothing of things like radar or GPS, we are interested in a few particulars when it comes to making our home a self-contained unit.

Lynn is a life-long diver and she intends to continue doing this on board whatever boat we have. An air compressor would be nearly a necessity. Now, it might not be reasonable to expect the boat to come pre-installed with such a compressor; however, it is important that the boat has the capability of handling it and the necessary other dive equipment.

Another important system is a water-maker. Even if we are going to be at a Thames dock for a while, it would become laborious to drag the hose out to fill up every time. Not to mention the fact that most marinas nickel-and-dime things like that. Flip on the water-maker, problem solved.

Self-contained power systems will become a practical necessity. I’ve liked watching the evolution of the wind turbines. Being in the northern latitudes, sun is around much less than wind. I mean, have you seen the windmill farms out in the English Channel and the mouth of the Thames!? It is insanely impressive. Power independence will not only be handy offshore, but simply living in a windy city and not having to pay much of a power bill? Sexy.

Interior decoration.

Okay, not quite my thing. Whenever I show Lynn a few boats, if the boat has god-awful upholstery or weird wood color, she nixes it quite quickly. Now, before you roll your eyes or think she’s being too “girly” I actually tend to agree with her. Boats don’t really have much variety when it comes to color variation. Exterior colors tend to be white, blue, or red. Interior colors tend to be lacquered wood and a “nautical” color like… blue, white, or red. Occasionally dark green sneaks in there. Or something with wide stripes (also nautical).

Maybe we’re taking this thing a little too far, but… yes, I know, we live on a boat. Our life will look like a Tommy Hilfiger or Ralph Lauren advertisement anyway. Now, why would we want to decorate the interior of a nautical thing… nautically? Stripes, knots, fish, boats, brass things…? We will, of course, make it “our own” after purchase, but things like settee upholstery is a little tougher and more expensive to deal with.

Stay tuned for the next episode. Many of these have been interior considerations: up next, exterior.

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