Video Tour of my Boat & THE GREAT ACCOUNT OF THE VOYAGE of 2009!!!

[Antioch]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTnJY4HWZTU

The Account of the Voyage from Portland to Portsmouth
From the Logs of the s/v William Bligh, transcribed by Robin Scott Johnson, BN.

Vessel: s/v William Bligh: 1971 Paceship East Wind (Hull #227)built in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia by the Industrial Shipping Company Ltd.

Crew: Skipper: Robin Scott Johnson (b. 1976 United Kingdom) with help of Brian Call (b. 1971 Arizona). Lavapai "Lava" Martin, a large black tom cat (b. 2003 Arizona).  

The Beginning...

26 May 2009

   The large round headlamps on my silver Japanese four-wheel drive, the one that looked as though it would be more at home in the jungle than parked on pavement at a boatyard, met the morning seemingly saluting the presence of the red bottomed full keeled sloop that stood on a cradle next to it in the early morning Portland fog.  The vessel was s/v William Bligh, and today, she would finally sail from Maine on what I would call "her ultimate emancipation from dry-dock bondage."
   Dawn was breaking, and already the Sun was endeavoring to burn a hole through the sticky fog of the eastern horizon like a welding torch through butter. It was going to be a hot one—well, hot for Maine.  

   I shook the shackles of my repose and pulled a shirt on before climbing out of the Bligh's small salon, out into the cockpit, and carefully braving the ladder down to the cement, seven feet or so below.  The very act of using a ladder still brought me tremendous fear, after breaking my right leg when a ladder broke on me, several months and thousands of miles away in a poopy corner of Washington State. It was now June, ten months or so later, and although I was ninety percent recovered, but I still broke out in a cold sweat.  In retrospect, I suppose, it was a good thing, as I embarked on a strict diet after the accident, and have lost a tremendous amount of weight.  My feet touched the ground and I glanced back up to the decks before striding towards the 4x4, where I leashed my cat faithful sea-cat Lava and took him for a walk to the restrooms.  He'd been sleeping in the car for several days since leaving Nebraska, and was not happy about his situation, as it was bitterly cold at night, and humid and hot during the day, the walk would do him some good and help his morale.
   
   Two long hours later the office had opened and had told me that they'd have my boat in the water at high tide, which was around 1300, if I recall.  I drove my vehicle up to Falmouth and bought some additional drinks and supplies at Shaws, a local grocer, including a handy stainless steel flask and bottle of Jim Beam bourbon for my friend Brian, who had done an unfair amount of work readying the vessel for sea.  As a responsible boater, I discourage imbibing for imbibings-sake while on the water, however, there would be some very long nights on Brian's watch, which was 2100-0300, and I knew he wouldn't take more than a few small swigs of the stuff for a morale boost.  Recently I'd quit drinking, as it hadn't been conducive to weight loss, but I bought myself a flask and a small bottle of Captain Morgan's, although I didn't expect to drink any, but it would be there if I was so inclined.
   
   At 1300, the pretty and classic lines of s/v Bligh slipped into the inky blue water at Portland Yacht Services and was skillfully towed around to the wharf where she was tied up while Brian and I finished loading her with supplies and I warmed up and tested the Honda and burned off some of the year-old fuel in her tanks.  
   At 1615 shoved off, motor on, letting Brian stay at the helm to keep us on course while I raised the sails.  I first hoisted the headsail, a yankee cut jib, with ease, and tied the halyard to the starboard mast cleat, then I moved to the mainsail, which I knew would be a bit tougher with the wind hitting us from the south.  I told Brian to turn a bit more into the wind so we were nearly in irons, and cranked the halyard around the mast winch, which I found would only take a pitiful amount of stress before slipping on its gears... the damned thing was stripped!  How had I not caught this before now? Well, probably because this was the first time I'd used the halyard winch, as the only other time I'd sailed the Paceship was a year ago in very light winds.  Brian came up to the mast and we both were able to tug the halyard enough to raise the main.  Mark one for the first thing I've got to replace on this old boat.
   
   We sailed swiftly out of Portland Harbour between Cushing Island and the mainland, it was all very beautiful and clichéshly Mainey: The old forts to port, the light houses, the smell of the sea, rustic houses on the tops of jagged horrific cliffs with the ocean crashing down below. Even after killing the motor we were making 6.3 knots, and I felt we could be in Boston by the following day... at least that was the plan.

   Having resumed the helm, I continued to sail ESE for nine miles, even as I noticed the winds were going to be a problem,, as they blew from the south.  Tacking to the SW the seas became rougher, with four foot swells, and the occasional six foot wave on top of them, with several hitting us on the bow's port side sending water high over the boat and into the cockpit.  Brian and I changed into our foul weather gear, even though it was clear, and resumed our fight south, which had slowed to 4.2 knots as the waves and wind all beat north.  
   Brian soon found that his garage sale foul weather was not as waterproof as it should have been, in fact he described it was sitting inside a sieve, and was soon soaked to the bone and very cold.  The temperature began dropping, into the high forties, and I decided we'd find a cove to anchor in for the night.  I knew there was a jetty of something connecting Richmond Island to the mainland, and it looked on the charts like this might be protected with a south wind.  
   The small , shallow cove behind Richmond Island is dangerous without charts, especially at low tide, and with light fading fast and while trying to watch the depth sounder and look for shoals, and a place to anchor, it was stressful.  Obviously I couldn't keep checking my charts and sailing in the dark with the plentiful shoals, so I aimed the vessel towards some commercial fishing boats which I saw to the north east side of the little cove.  I had to steer around some rocks and some submarine shoals, but I then saw to my dismay that hey weren't anchored, but moored.  I decided to check out the mooring field, and we dropped the sails, and motored in.  Then I noticed one old mooring with no rope or chain tied to it, that was covered in slime and sea creatures, it obviously looked as though it hadn't been used or serviced in a long time.  I told Brian to grab the boat hook and try and grab the shackle on top of it. It took three times before Brian exclaimed back to me that the shackle was rusted in the down position, and he couldn't hook it, although this further assured me that we wouldn't be bothered on the mooring.  I made one more slow pass, killing the motor forty yards downwind of the can, and scullying up to the thing, which Brian failed to grab on to, but which was able to snag as it came by the cockpit on the starboard side.  Brian came back to the cockpit, bringing with him a bow line, which he tied to the mooring, before adjusting the slack to about six feet. I snapped a picture of him doing this.

Down below I sat on the quarterberth, condensation dripping down on my head, comforting my seasick cat. Brian climbed up into the v-berth to find it was very wet.  I gave him a 6X8 tarp to cover it with, so he wouldn't have to sleep on cold, moist cushions.  Before going to sleep I set the drag alarm just in case to 8'.  

1240AM.  The anchor drag alarm beeped quietly and I awoke with a start. We were too close to the rocks for us to be set adrift in the cove, and wind was against the shore, so we'd be smashed on the rocks of our line broke or the mooring was dragging.  I was so tired though.  I yelled for Brian to check it. He replied that he thought we were fine... but I persisted, reminding him that he was on watch until 0300, and to please go up above and check out the situation.  He didn't protest and did so, but I felt a little bad, perhaps I should have done it myself, although if he'd refused on this occasion I would have done just that.  Still, a watch is a watch, whether we're in port or not, and I think I handled the situation calmly, politely, and with the proper level of assertiveness and authority (barring that, as I said, I would have checked if he'd declined and found some friendly way of discussing the skipper/crew relationship the following day.)  You know, we had agreed to the watch schedule on the way to Maine, and he hadn't brought up any issues with it, so I assume he was just half asleep... regardless, he hasn't brought up the matter again.


5/27: 0545: I awoke and immediately checked the mooring and our position.  The anchor alarm had sounded four or five more times in the night, and looking at our track, it had seemed we had gone up and down with the tide, which was now low, and changed position greater than eight feet due to the current changing.  Obviously this was to be expected in the North Atlantic, so it was an important lesson learned, although I do think that it's still important to check the mooring and your position if the alarm sounds.

Fisherman were starting up their boats around us, some of them had already left the cove. Some waved sleepily at me as I listened to the coffee percolate in the kettle and Lava ate out of his bowl in the cockpit. Brian slept for anther hour, while I checked the boat.  Most of the sail ties were lost, having been blown overboard in their bag.  Searching around, I still had enough, albeit, the bare minimum, I'd have to order some more when I got to shore.  I watched the Sun rise and I woke Brian, as it was time to leave, and I wanted to beat the tide.

0645: Brian hoisted the sails, and with the Honda motor running, we departed back to the east to circle around Richmond Island, Maine, setting a course for ESE for several miles so as to allow us to tack more conservatory into the wind, which one again was from the south.... Bugger.
Just to the east of Richmond Island, I decided we'd spend a half an hour trying to fix the Raymarine ST1000+ Autotiller, which is a fairly sophisticated autopilot designed to be used, as the name would imply, on sailing vessels with a tiller.  She was a little light for a boat like Bligh, but I knew she would work unless it got rough, the problem was, that since 2005, she'd been stuck on 258 degrees, my last course into Newport Beach, California, some four years as of this day.  We circled around, I tried different programming techniques on it, trying to reset it, but it resused to calibrate.  I took it up and slammed it down, but even that didn't work, so it's a write off.. and it meant that Brian and I would have to remain at the helm almost constantly.

The weather on the 27th was unpredictable from the start. It began partly cloudly, but soon the wind picked up nicely, and large fluffy clouds merged all it once and it began to rain.  It rained and rained, and rained some more, and the wind began shifting a bit from the south east.  The glass was dropping and I could tell that we were approaching a low of some kind.  Still it rained, and the wind continued to shift all up until afternoon when we got a slight break.

I noticed a few large cans floating a mile or so off shore. Upon closer inspection they said, "SECURITY ZONE."  I looked ashore and saw several large mansions, one of which, I assume was the former President George HW Bush's summer retreat.  I am almost confident of this.