Joan Baez, Paul Simon and myself apparently have at least one thing in common. We all concur that the greatest R & B song of all time was “Pledging my Love", by the late great Johnny Ace..recorded I think back around 1954. If Elvis was around, I have a feeling perhaps, he might agree.
In picture one, "no not the picture of Heidi on top", that's me, El Capitan, El marinero sometimes known as Tomas, taken with my digital on a 10 second timer..My crew can be seen in picture number 2...My wheel man...Ace...Johnny Ace....for the first two days at sea when I was running low on high cards..I was holding one ace..my helmsman, who kept it together drifting on a two knot current, in the right direction .. keeping me off a lee shore, buying me time to rest in the heat and from the battering I was physically taking, from a beam sea, dealing with fuel problems down below..What was a milk run from San Andres to Panama, started out as unexpected pure hell.
Coincidentally in picture number one, taken, when things were back in good order, sails up and trimmed for any kind of breeze, by then out of the Trade winds, and preparing to go below to throw a fillet mignon on the grill, 100 miles north of Panama, under sail and power, you might note I am wearing ear phones. This from my eclectic MP-3 collection, to my mind, playing the best songs of all time while listening to the song which if your speakers are tuned,you hear now..It was then I decided to change the name of my newly reborn autopilot, the real hero of this link from Ace to Johnny Ace..
For those purists,and rightfully so, who would suggest that I should be flying the National Ensign, not the Yacht Ensign. I would painfully agree. I might add as a suggestion that any distant cruiser load up on flags, mine got pretty chewed up coming from Mexico, and it would be in poor taste to be flying that flag verging on tatters.; besides, It has extraordinary spiritual value, to me personally, well earned.
The same day that I pulled into Providencia, there was a Garcia 46, about 500 yards abeam of me that pulled in about the same time. We yelled over and exchanged a few kind words about clearance procedures..I decided to dive off my boat, now safely on the hook and swam over to unwind, get some exercise and feel the warm water embracing my body after 5 hard days at sea from Mexico.
Gaston and Gloria are delightful, interesting people, really seasoned blue water sailors.. Gaston, introduced me to Patagon Congreho, a dish I mentioned on my epicurean section associated with my Providencia link. Both quite fluent in Spanish. In the course of conversation on Cuba, and my short stay at Marina Hemingway on the outskirts of Havana. Gaston mentioned that as a young medical student from a prominent Cuban family, he was forced to leave Cuba. I told him about one of my college friends who did same, way back then now I think a Bishop in Rome last heard. Gaston, a firery adventurer, a retired Cardiologist, Canadian citizenship, his wife a retired operating nurse, were hitting the high seas and have been for some time. I thought it strange that Gaston was smoking and asked him about that. He told me that long after, he returned and visited Cuba, on a familiar street in Havana, he saw a Cuban cigar maker. The nostalgic presence was so overwhelming, that he decided to buy one and light up...and could never again get back to non-smoking..As an ex-drinker, many years myself, I could sense a deep sense of regret, not so much over the surface issue of smoking but the deeper spiritual issue of the near history of his native land....He turned to me, knowing I was freshly there, and said, that “the only thing Fidel Castro did was make Cuba into the world's largest whore house.”.the perception was dead on; nevertheless, I was aware that the younger generation will eventually bring about change. I realized then and there, that I was one of the very few Americans at this point in time, not by contrivance, but strict maritime protocol who flew the Stars & Stripes alongside the Cuban flag in friendship.. both these fags now have a deep spiritual significance to me and that my shattered National Ensign deserves a better place than to sail in tatters off my transom. and that's the reason the American Yacht Ensign is flying. LOL..I guess they could technically lock me up for going into Cuba, and maybe the same over the Yacht Ensign. As a Federally documented American vessel, with an American home port, I'm mandated by law to fly the Stars & Stripes. “but they got to catch me first”..LOL.
From my photos of the beaches of San Andres.. it is pretty much where I hung out while waiting for the cargo ship that runs once a week from Miami to arrive with the electronic parts in order for me to fix my autopilot.. a two thousand dollar gamble, betting that it would intergrate with the existing hydraulic drive system,
the experience, was far from painful. The people are warm and friendly...It's a getaway for Columbian tourists...who seem to like to party all night long..after hitting the beach during the day.
San Andres is part of Columbia...Columbia of course...the home of Juan Valdez, is famous as we all know for its coffee. Gabriel, who manages the marina, is making me a cafe latte....a morning ritual, while I dinghy in under the slime wire, to take a shower. Starbucks could take lessons..The slime wire, as I call it, separates the yachtsman' s dinghy's from the local fisherman's small sea craft areas that can be graphically seen in one of the pictures. The charges are three dollars a day which includes use of the shower and water. Very secure I might add, so when one went to town no worries. Nor did I worry about my boat in the harbor..
The marina itself, the only game in town for visiting yachts, can only accommodate a few boats on a Mediterranean mooring system..These vessels are usually large Sport fisherman or pricey power cruising yachts who come to fuel up before moving on..The small patio area view is where most of us gather for a drink and exchange social and cruising information all in all a great atmosphere. The decor of course nautical, my addition, the old electronic panel of my Navico 8000 auto pilot system, enthusiastically accepted, it is currently hanging from the wall as well as an old Florida license plate and a logo T-shirt for the ceiling joining the many others who have used the facility while in San Andres.
I told my friend Allen in an accompanying photo to stand for a picture and I would put it on my website...He told me to call him “Mr Chica”...Sailing the Caribbean waters for more than 20 years on his '55 ft yacht, his wife of 41 years decides she does not want to sail anymore and moves to a Caribbean island...Allan without crew “temporarily.”.has no less than ten girls on his boat, it appears at any given time..The girls call him Mr Chica. Allen was extremely helpful to me having had the same autopilot experience and his advice saved me a lot of time and effort for what proved to be a successful installation.
Weighing anchor on a beautiful sunny day on the high side of a force 4 wind, I had a lot riding on the working of my Autopilot. It was 200 mile sail to Panama, and single handing the vessel, it would be an extremely difficult voyage without its proper functioning. The installation went very smoothly, a good sign, and I was rather pleased how easily Ray Marine designed the electronic panel for wiring. I held my breath as I powered up after the installation while at anchor..It passed the dockside test with flying colors. In the midst of these preliminaries, an Australian gal in a vessel anchored to my stern came by with an invite to have a drink with she and her husband..I took a rain check..A few days earlier a vessel pulled in with four young guys heading to Mexico...We swapped charts and I had the all important harbor chart to my next destination. Jill the Australian gal pin pointed the marina and anchorage, Bocas their last port before arriving in San Andres. So I knew exactly where I was going and there would not be any surprises.
The commissioning guide suggested open water to sea trial the system ; so, I waited to clear Cayo Cordoba on my eastern side terminating the North eastern reef. The sea buoy was near by. After clearing the western side of the Island, I expected calm waters but didn't get it...I was thinking about those astronauts..They spend years learning to push the right buttons to activate the all important ship systems..The exercise didn't get by me, and I was well versed on what buttons to push and when in order to run the sea trials..The trial didn't go quite as well as planned..but the system worked well and what I was interested in, as stated in the guide, was the all important “point and shoot” I.e...put her on course press automatic and if working..it should steer and maintain that course which to my relief was spot on. So I sat back perched in my favorite spot, like Al Bundy on the sofa, after a hard day at the shoe store...I had plenty of cold drinks, 4 fillet mignons in the freezer/ refrigerator..settling back, resting briefly before coming upwind to set sails..splendid sailing weather, my intention a 48 hour sail before taking arrival at Bocas del Toro sea buoy.. on a rhumbline course of 192. Directly on my line was Cayo Albuquerque dead head 25 miles. My plan was to run on a 180 to clear her 5 miles on the eastern side..giving me then an even better downwind angle to Bocas. I no sooner implemented this strategy when my engine came to a sputtering halt..
Impossible, this is a new engine..I thought the worse...even took an unthinking risky chance going overboard to check the prop. After getting over the initial shock, the problem became clear..fuel problem..My first reaction outrage, Doesn't anything EVER go smoothly on this scow. I was weary from the departure proceedings I.e..picking up and securing the outboard, then the dinghy itself, breaking it down and securing it piece by piece..then picking up 225 ft of anchor 5/16 triple B cable and a well buried 50 lb Bruce anchor..in the early tropical heat.. this coupled with the stress of the just completed sea trial.
My first thought get the mainsail up, get on course and get going...The seas were moderate running four to six feet but I was abeam getting my butt kicked in the trough..The vessel with no weigh couldn't come upwind..she was buried in the side sea...
I checked my course..The autopilot was running on a 180 with a speed of 1.2 knots..at least I was going in the right direction, elated that with not much speed the autopilot could maintain course..I figured on arrival next Christmas and decided to lay down rest, clear my mind..I didn't have the energy to fix whatever needed to be fixed, and take a physical beating from the beam sea at the same time....An hour went by..still on a 180 but my concern was on my course made good 194...At our current speed that would bring me dangerously close to Cayos Albuquerque. But that was 6 hours away. The battering was like being in a washing machine...you could not stand in place for 2 seconds without being tossed about. If you didn't have a firm grip to a stationary object you would be launched to the nearest hard object and bounce off with varying degrees of pain. It made disassembling the joinery to get at the engine a potentially dangerous endeavor..It needed t be done very slowly and deliberately coupled with a little luck..What I had going for me was the fact that I tore it apart a million times accessing the engine. A dockside 5 minute job took a half hour and again drained all my energy..I hadn't had anything to eat, and if I did force myself, it would no doubt be a short term rental in those circumstances; nevertheless, I forced down a banana. To compound all this frustration, I needed to check the compass and autopilot. Since the joinery was disassembled, this required me to vault up the hatch 6 feet using my arms to lift me over in mid air on to the main deck. adding to the chaos
The problem became clear there was water in the fuel..I recently put 40 gallons of fuel in and figured it was from a good source.. a bit reassuring..at least the whole tank wasn't corrupted..The next step therefore was to get a new fuel filter put it on and hope for the best...Perhaps I'm coming down with Alzheimer's disease but for the life of me couldn't find the fuel filters..I knew I had a least one..That was of course a great opportunity to berate myself for not keeping any lists of where things were located or relocated. That brief exercise did nothing only adding to the chaos. The late afternoon tropical heat was boring down through the hatch. Contending with the washing machine treatment along with a steam bath made it impossible to do what needed to be done..so I figured I'd knock off for the day, the wheel in the able hands of the autopilot.. I realized then how much I depended on my autopilot...I wanted to consider all my options...but that would come when it was cooler and I was better hydrated...I vaulted back on deck about 6 PM. Two points off the starboard bow in a distant haze I could make out the outline of Cayos Albuquerque an island I wished would just disappear.. My original intention was to clear it 5 miles to the east then come directly back on course on a downwind run directly to Bocas del Toro..At five and a half 6 knots an excellent strategy.. but at one and a half knots drifting...barely under command thanks to the great job my autopilot was doing..like Johnny Ace I was playing Russian roulette. The odds were in my favor that I would clear it...but they write poems and ballads of ships fighting against a lee shore..It was dusk the island no longer in sight, only an interrupted white navigation light..To the west the sun was replaced with a shining crescent moon..My immediate reaction..are you crazy..change course..That's when my autopilot got its name Ace..Hey Ace..just follow the moon..The current wasn't strong to the west but coupled thankfully with the seas..Ace could maintain a 270 and I was far enough north to stay out of trouble..I felt quite a relief when I saw that Island light off my port beam probably about 7 or 8 miles..and would worry about the Nicaraguan coast in the morning..I was grateful my battery power quite high; nevertheless, with no traffic around I'd keep the navigation lights off..The only thing Ace demanded was a few amps and volts to get by on..and that became a priority. In spite of no engine or sails, I slept soundly and enjoyed sweet dreams. I checked my position at first light. I was past any immediate danger but I couldn't continue on that course, I had no information whatsoever on the coast of Nicaragua and again that represented a potentially dangerous lee shore..I tried in the early morning lull to bring her upwind to set the main but the swell was too strong she just wouldn't come around. I thought I would try a downwind set..I reminisced when I was a top fore deck man years ago on racing boats and seemed to work magic..but then again I had comrades who were top sailors, their assistance needed if I was to pull it off alone..
The sail is big and heavy at 874 sq feet...What made it damn near impossible was keeping the halyards from tangling downwind..The slack in the hoist was flailing all over the place..To compound the problem..The halyard is led aft through deck fair leads, so when I needed to be close to the mast to fend off halyard wrap..I needed to be on the winch to hoist..I acted quickly but it was no use..the sail started to hoist but the first baton was pressing against a lower stay caused by the wind catching and pushing against the sail..The sail was billowing all over the deck the halyards as if ridiculing my wishful thinking looked like the twists on a red barber pole..I gathered the sail back on the boom and resided to contend with the engine.
Well at least I found the filter wrench..The Racor filter came off easily. When I checked its contents..it looked like what had come up from my digestive system the night before when there was little left but black bile. That's a start...I then replaced the filter and used the priming ball between my fuel tank and the primary filter..I squeezed new fuel in...took the filter back off and drained it..The bowl was full with black water..I did this several more times..finally got what appeared to be good fuel..I re-bled the air out of the system and she started right up.
I had enough experience not to get too elated..A diesel will start but I bled enough systems to know that even after a half hour running she would just cut out..needing to be re-bled.. She seemed to run ok on low revs but over 1100 RPM..she would sputter and die..Probably the engine filter clogged..I not only didn't have a fuel filter for the engine., I didn't even have the wrench. I paid $20,000 for a new engine and exhaust system and didn't even have a filter wrench..I blissfully thought I 'd take care of that when I had 250 hrs on the engine and time to change out...
I tried to get it off with channel locks..It started to turn but the tool was chewing up the body of the filter and I recognized that I couldn't afford to break the filter..besides there is at least flow in the low RPM range.
I needed to turn attention again to where I was in relation to the western coast..Ace was unfailing on his course keeping..I needed to go due south..couldn't afford direct western movement so I was back on a butt beating beam sea. The tropical heat and sea were getting to me..It seemed like anytime I poured some liquids into my body it would just turn to stem as it egressed from my sweat glands.
I figured I'd rest awhile and formulate a new strategy. I thought about in the old days how much I took for granted..the quick sail changes..The speed and precision that would take only minutes..Now I had to develop a strategy just to get the main up..I couldn't remember the last time I had any food in me..I found a 1000 gram bag of liquid strawberry yogurt.. found a pair of scissors to cut the top..Trying to pour it into a jug proved to be a messy operation in the beam sea..but when most of the usable contents were in the jug I devoured it like an errant bear in a campground..I got some rest and developed a new strategy..
After an hour forgetting about all the bruises and the fact that I was covered with diesel fuel from bleeding the system, It took me about 40 minutes to unwrap all the tangles and twists in the halyards. I figured if I could buy a half hours time on the engine, even at low rpm's , it would be enough to get her upwind..and get the main up.
I then went back down below, I considered taking a short cut..just to get the engine started to give me the needed time to come upwind..but an inner voice told me to go through the entire procedure again..So I took off the Racor and drained it again., Getting rid of the contents was a major problem..I either had to pour it into the bilge or vault again 6 ft back up on deck..pull up the tied off bucket and empty it. Leaving the bucket stationary down below would mean the lower deck within two minutes would be covered with oil..My point even the seemingly most humble of tasks are difficult and must be well thought out..I dumped and vaulted back down below..The priming ball is situated in a way that every time I had it bled it, ie.. take all the air out of the fuel system, The spirting flow was all over my left arm ..my face and in my mouth..."when the air bubbles are gone you have done the job"...at least I had the good sense to close my eyes while pumping..Again, one more time I opened the bleeder on the engine fuel filter and primed the system. When I felt that I accomplished everything that I could, I started her up..I wasted no time putting her in gear. Ace just loved the added push she got..I had prepared the main for an instant set..I was excited, felt like the old days when I'd be on the bow ready for a take down of the Jenny rounding the mark for a downwind jibe and a spinnaker set..the timing needed to be perfect..I could feel the wind on my face in those days, a sense mechanism indicating precise timing .. I said to Ace..I'm taking you back off auto buddy going to standby, I'll come around up wind...Just keep her somewhere between 80 and 90 degrees and I'll do the rest partner, I was at 1000 rpm's..trying to move now fast..I had to go forward with the halyard hoist...keep tension on the tail from wrapping and hoist..Man it was hot..I grabbed the Lewmar winch handle quickly where I carefully put it in the plan and quickly started to hoist...she was going up..but even in second gear the hoist is difficult, the Lewmar 40 a bit over powered..and me not having my Wheaties that morning; but, I knew eventually she would set, and even if the engine went out i'd still be making three and a half four knots wherever I wanted to go..or tell Ace where to go..When she was up and trimmed I felt we would take arrival Saturday not next Christmas...I put Ace back on standby, came around to a 180 put him back on auto and said "you got it sailor"..
The fatigue lifted, adrenaline was pumping and the sun was going down..and so was the seas and the wind..It seemed like all the work went for naught on first realization that I lost the Trade winds...The seas had died and the wind now variable. I was still well over a hundred miles from Panama but I was in a new weather pattern.
The engine sounded subtlely a bit different, smoother.. Just maybe my last effort had paid off..She was on without interruption for more than an hour..If she would keep going at a thousand RPM's for the next 125 miles with the main up..it would be a piece of cake.. With the helm in able hands..My batteries and the ships batteries getting recharged, taking advantage of the calm seas, all the joinery was quickly restored and everything put back the way it was.
I got the bucket dragged it in the water, got the salt water soap Bodie Crowninshield, an old top sailing amigo gave me 2 years ago in Marblehead, at my brother's memorial at the Boston Yacht Club, took all my clothes off and took a bath. Everything had changed..It seemed like I had entered heaven via the depths of hell..I sat back in my favorite spot..I had about an hour's daylight left..I took the first two pictures you see, just before going down below to throw a Fillet Mignon on the grill. With no land around the stars were brilliant only slightly diminished from my navigation lights..
I hadn't seen any traffic in two days, wasn't worried about it..so in the able hands of my chief mate Ace, I went down below for a sound sleep. I conservatively had the sails trimmed for a light variable wind.
Late the next morning I was 40 miles from my arrival point. I spotted a vessel heading north and hailed him..we chatted awhile. I told him the only problem I had was the 3 fillet mignons in my freezer..That if I didn't get in they would go bad. Cut em up grill em in a little oil,..so I added onion and cheese..why didn't I think of that?..It tasted like rubbish, but it was nutritious and I'm the type who has learned to eat anything...I should have drained the liquid from the onions, before melting the cheese... expensive cheese at that wasted..”well that's sailing..Live and learn”
The first commandment of sailing is never to make landfall at night..I took arrival at dusk at the sea buoy..I thought that's not the Good Lord's commandment..just a few other sailors..besides I had the harbor chart..practically memorized it..and with it's deep water approaches..I could pilot the Queen Mary in.
Well at least I had the confidence, after all that's what I once did professionally..I was on my marks and found my way to the anchorage ..no problem..due south on a 180..to 192 then at the 9 degree 20 minute mark turn west on a 270.. keep going and the chart and good information given to me put me right on the anchorage..
But I'm a converted advocate now of that first commandment philosophy, particularly single handing it..The harbor buoys were surrounded by plenty of water, but they zig zaged like a slalom course..and it was difficult to pick up the near or next light..A broken lens will change the candle power perception of a light..I missed two greens by about 20 yards..in other words I was out of the channel..didn't affect me then because I knew I had deep water ..but the point well taken..couldn't tend the wheel and just rely on my night vision, in a first time approach
That's the story of my Autopilot, Johnny Ace, and how he got his name. The song by Joan Baez "in case you forgot", and the video?...The late great Johnny Ace, Rock N Roll's first legend, died on Christmas day playing Russian Roulette 1954.
Before Playing video, Hit the stop button on Music Player on Bottom of Page
Rock-On
Godspeed
Goodsailing