Syzygy Sailing

Bought a boat, fixed a boat, sailed to Australia, sold the boat.

Category: victories

best of Syzygy

  • Getting our hands dirty

    Let’s start with some basics: Like most sailboats, Syzygy has a whole bunch of holes in her hull below the waterline. Syzygy has 8 of ’em. Two of em hold instruments that measure depth and speed. One of ’em lets exhaust out of the engine. The remaining five have seacocks (aka valves) on them, so that we can let water in or out of certain pipes and go about our lives like normal civilized people. One lets water into the galley sink. One lets water out of the galley sink. One lets water (as coolant) into the engine. One lets water into the toilet (so we can flush it). And then there’s the last one, the most glorious seacock. It lets shit out of the holding tank.

    So our first task, here in San Carlos, was cleaning and, for lack of a better term, “servicing” the seacocks. It’s a task you can only do when the boats on land, and it’s a task we wanted to do before putting Syzygy in real water, since you’re essentially screwed if the seacocks leak or don’t properly close. It’s also a chore. The seacocks are big old bronze things, with short stubby arms that rotate 90 degrees. Let me be more precise: if they’re in good shape the arms smoothly rotate 90 degrees. If they’re old and corroded and full of caked-on, calcified shit, they rotate most of the way there, with a lot of force.

    So Jon and I rolled in to San Carlos after midnight Sunday night (Matt’s flying/bussing in tomorrow), and slept on the beach, which turned out to be much frostier than we expected. We slept well after 15 hours of driving, and woke at first light, eager to finally start getting our hands dirty with all kinds of satisfying repair jobs. After quick breakfast burritos, we headed over to the marina office, arranged to have Syzygy moved to the work yard, and immediately set to removing the seacocks. Three hours later, at 2pm, the marina closed, since it was Christmas eve. Jon and I had only removed 3 of them.

    The next morning — marina still closed on account of Christmas — Jon and I got to work cleaning the seacocks on the beach. We discovered that sand + rags + muscle = kinda-like-sandpaper, and polished up two of the seacocks pretty good, greasing up the open/close mechanisms until they were smooth.

    The shit-laden seacock was another matter. Its inside looked like a giant clogged artery, and it took an arm and a leg to close it all the way. We scrubbed and scrubbed with bronze wool and a couple of bronze brushes, but to little avail. Then we improvised. We poured hot water into a cut-open milk jug (Jon brought a propane camping stove), dropped the seacock in, and scrubbed the inside with pieces of coat-hangers. Voila: if you’re looking for a gallon of piping hot shit broth with a full-bodied shitty aroma, there’s no better way to go. And, lucky for us, if you’re looking to take 10 years off the life of a seacock, our method’s not so bad either.

    So here it is: the priceless shot of Jon, getting his hands dirty, making memories that dreams are made of.

  • Bought and Paid For

    We bought the boat, and I am pleased to be in the happy excited phase of ownership. It feels really good to be able to tell people that we bought a boat. It gives legitimacy to our plan. I don’t get those infuriatingly skeptical looks anymore, and people actually pay attention when I tell them we’re going to sail around the world.

    The boat is a 1978 Valiant 40, hull number 201. The Valiant 40 is one of the most solid blue water production boats ever designed. Valiant 40’s are heavy and solidly built and can survive anything, yet they are respected for their sailing ability as well (a rare combination).

    We are naming the boat Syzygy (she was Sunshine before we bought her). Syzygy is an astronomy term referring to the alignment of three or more celestial bodies. There are three of us, aligning our plans and aspirations to make this happen, and our circumnavigation will be a once-in-a-lifetime event, so the name seems to fit.

    Syzygy is currently on the hard in San Carlos, Mexico, waiting for us to return this christmas and start fixing her up. We’re going to replace the standing rigging and much of the bilge/scupper hoses so that we will feel confident about sailing her up to San Francisco sometime this spring. We’re damn excited to work on the boat. Let’s just hope we get our first order of supplies before we have to leave!

  • the search for a yellow waterbottle

    So two weeks ago, when we were down in San Carlos, taking Syzygy for a little spin, we got ourselves into a funny little situation.

    We’d just returned from the sea trial, and had put Syzygy in a slip at the marina. The then-owners and broker had gone about their day, leaving us to poke around the boat more, measuring and tinkering and such. With the sun out, Matt, Jon and I put our feet up, congratulated each other, and had a few nibbles of lunch: some prepackaged Mexican cookies and swigs of bottled water (you can tell that I did the shopping that morning.) Then, as typically happens after lunch, the urge to piss arose.

    Thing is, the toilet on the boat was out of commission, on account of broken/leaky hoses. And we couldn’t just pee in the bushes, because there were none, or into the water, because it was a really nice, fancy marina. So Jon went up on deck and asked our neighbor if the marina had a bathroom. The guy explained that the bathroom was just 50 yards behind us, but then traced a wide arc with his hand, and further explained that getting there would require walking about a mile around the peninsula, unless we were willing to swim.

    So Jon did what any climber-turned-sailor would do: he went back below deck, grabbed one of those plastic water bottles, and pissed into it. Matt did the same thing. So did I.

    Hours later, the broker returned. Matt and Jon packed up their stuff, grabbed a bag of trash, and jumped in the broker’s car. 10 minutes later, back at the office, we were signing important papers, to the tune of I-hereby-agree-to-pay-$60,000-for-that-there-sailboat type of papers. So we sorta forgot about the contents of that trash bag. Actually, Jon remembered, but thought it inappropriate to deposit our piss-bottles in our broker’s trash can. He’s got class, Jon does.

    So we signed the papers. We rejoiced over a can of cheap beer. Then we left, trash bag in tow, and walked around the corner, to a coffee shop, to let the feeling sink in some more. It should be noted here that Jon speaks terrible Spanish. Or rather, he mumbles some stuff in Spanglish and then looks at me, knowing that I will correctly translate what has just been not-actually-said. So I heard Jon say the word “basura,” in an interrogative kind-of-way, as in, “do you have a trash can?” The barrista nodded, then extended her hand. Jon passed her our bag of trash. She took it, and disappeared into the kitchen. That seemed to be that.

    We had some coffee, then went upstairs, to get online. An hour later, after writing some excited emails, we were eager to get some tacos. Matt and I were packing up our stuff when we heard Jon say, “Shit. I can’t find my Nalgene.” We poked around under the table, in case the bottle had fallen or rolled away. It wasn’t there. So Jon did what any normal person would do: he asked the bartender if he’d seen a yellow water bottle. (His nalgene is made of yellow plastic.) Of course, Jon didn’t get all of that syntax in there, given his Spanish skills. What he actually said is, “water? yellow?? where???”

    Now I wasn’t there to actually witness the culmination of this piss-in-a-bottle-in-the-trash story (I had run off to call a taxi for later that night), but here’s what happened, according to Matt. The bartender ran downstairs to search. 3 minutes later, he ran back upstairs, shouting something like, “we found it!” (lo hemos encontrado!) Jon smiled. He ran downstairs. He approached the counter. Halfway there, he probably realized that there had been a grave misunderstanding. The barrista handed him our piss bottles, and did not smile as she did so. Not having any other recourse, Jon accepted the piss bottles. Not knowing how to say, “I am sorry, for this is not actually the yellow Nalgene I was seeking, nor is this a situation that I intended to create, and now I am embarrassed, and you are most likely angry, and for good reason,” he just hung his head low. No translation was needed. He made a beeline for the door.

    I caught up with Jon and Matt 5 minutes later, at the taco place. By the time the first round of beers arrived, I think Jon had pretty much given up on the search for his lost Nalgene. Jon looked relieved, having just deposited the piss bottles in a bigger, better trash can.