Cold morning. Brrr. Warming up to 20 or so with no wind. We finally got our shore power going and that is a game changer. Hot water, unlimited power, Induction hob, and unlimited charging of all the electronics. Yay. Batteries at 130 v again. It is a big relief. The 110 v inverter made a loud startling noise when the house battery dropped below 9 volts and startled me. It was just a low voltage alarm.
So we were sitting there in the salon chatting and all of a sudden a gushing sound erupted. Water was flowing and we had a WTF moment. I traced the water from the bilge to the apparent leak and was able to shut off the water pump on the breaker and pump out the bilge. All seemed lost from there. Jeff took the flashlight and dug a little deeper and found that a hose under the sink had worked its way off and was gushing water. He was able to work it back on and reinstall the pipe clamp.
The only damage was, well there was no damage except our potable water seems to be empty. While the previous owner was showing me around the boat he turned on a tap and it gurgle out. He said that it was because of an empty tank, which he filled before we accepted the boat (see previous about how valuable a fabulous seller can be). And Jeff and I proved a method to follow from the symptom (running water) to the problem (faulty hose) to a fix. We haven’t gotten spare hose clamps, o-rings, screws, fuses, and the like yet. Jeff had a far better diagnostic skill than I did.
We didn’t sail today but there was no wind so no fault of ours.
The diesel tank is half full and the water empty and no idea about the black water so we will have to go do the filling and emptying tomorrow if the wind isn’t too high.
It rained all day yesterday, so we went shopping for electronics stuff and stayed in the boat. Jeff achieved 4 big goals; moving the outboard motor stand from the starboard side to the port side aft, permanently mounting the wifi extender, fixing the Weems and Plath clock and tide clock, and stopped the halyards from clacking in the wind. But we have consistent wifi despite the marina’s poor wifi.
All the fire extinguishers are charged. At the time of the survey one of them was discharged and the previous owner, Al must have charged it between the survey and the turnover of the boat to me. There are many signs that he worked hard and smart to pass over a great boat to me and every time we see another it reminds me that this is a great boat coming from a great previous owner.
Just an anecdote: I read the Cambio logs online which were written by Al’s wife Linda, before buying the boat and one sentence stood out. “ I make dinner and Al tries to relax on the park bench but everyone wants to talk to him about our boat. I think he is enjoying it and of course is very proud of it and us.” In all the “how to buy a sailboat” articles I read, nowhere does it say to check out the character of the seller. But there it is in one sentence written by the side of an Oswego lock without intent to sell that lets you know that this seller cared about his boat.
Out in Lake Ontario off Port Dalhousie with Rob Deak and Jeff Cheevers. Wind gusting to 16kn and top speed 7.1 kn
Broke Topping lift shackle lost a pin. Used spin halyard to replace it temporarily after docking. Mainsail cover front zipper broke. Needs to be sewn and repaired.
Out in Lake Ontario off Port Dalhousie with Rob Deak and Jeff Cheevers. Wind gusting to 16kn and top speed 7.1 kn
Broke Topping lift shackle lost a pin. Used spin halyard to replace it temporarily after docking. Mainsail cover front zipper broke. Needs to be sewn and repaired.
I was looking at the table wine grapes being harvested now in Niagara and wondered whether to hazard a guess at what the Icewine harvest might be like when January, or February comes. Then I thought about how wrong we would all have been to take early guesses at the Niagara table wine harvest.
Niagara had a lot of rain this summer, and then 25 days of straight sunshine in September, which were almost perfect conditions for a wonderful grape harvest. But then it started to rain. It rained through October. Then it got cold last week. The farmers had taken a lot of the white grapes off, but with a lot of the reds still hanging on the vine, an early frost hit overnight. A crop that promised lots of quality and quantity still has the quantity. However, the stellar quality is now less than stellar, but certainly not as bad as ‘bad’.
However, it has the local media in an uproar reporting a massive (in Niagara, 12,000 tonnes is ‘massive’) surplus of grapes that will make farmers go bankrupt, and so on. News media makes their money on bad news.
I asked a couple of my suppliers if they were affected by this glut of less than ideal quality grapes. They didn’t seem concerned because they had commitments for all of their grapes.
One said, “Sure, the guys who are trying to grow 10 tonnes per acre have too much crop and the brix and flavour just isn’t going to be as concentrated as it should be so of course it will be hard to sell. I grow two to three tonnes per acre and they are all sold.”
Farmers can control how large a harvest will be by pruning the fruit in early season. By pruning back many of the grapes early, the remaining grapes will have better quality because the vine will focus on feeding less fruit with more goodness. This is as much art as science. Farmers who don’t prune or prune very little are making far more grapes, but they will be of a lesser brix or flavour and the crop, while bigger, will be less valuable, and harder to sell.
“What about the frost damage?” I asked another family winemaker who grows his own grapes. When the frost kills the leaves, development of the grape ceases. If a farmer doesn’t have wind machines to protect his vineyards from frost, his crop runs the risk of fungus, rot, and damage, and the grapes will have ceased to develop normally.
“Some farmers will be claiming crop insurance. I’m happy that the frost has killed off the canopy. The grapes are finished growing, and now I’m going to let them desiccate on the vine a little bit, concentrate the sugars, and then pick them. It’s kind of a mini-amarone thing happening right on the vine.”
I like this kind of innovation. In an industry where one doesn’t expect so much innovation, a little frost allowed this grower to make use of weather that couldn’t be expected to improve some of his grapes, and he had a plan that he had thought forward through fermentation and probably right to his shop shelves.
Innovation is good. Almost 200 years ago German farmers had their grapes frozen by an early winter and invented Eiswine, which was adapted to become Icewine, Niagara’s, and Canada’s signature wine.
Another farmer will be grafting Malbec buds onto 30 year old roots and protecting them against the frost. He’ll have something close to an old vines Malbec crop to take off next year and since as a winemaker, he lives and breaths his reds, I can’t wait to see what Malbec comes out of that winery. Malbec is a rare variety in Niagara.
At Pillitteri, they have just released another sparkling Icewine. This time it is a sparkling Cabernet Franc. Pillitteri is the leader in bringing different varieties to market. They are still celebrating that they have been able to keep the sangiovese vines alive through the winter so we may see another vintage of Icewines reminiscent of Chianti. Pillitteri is also plotting to make a ripasso style wine, but beyond that, those in the know won’t share the secrets until it is in the bottle. They already make a winning sur lies Chardonnay, so Pillitteri is not afraid of a little innovation with secondary fermentation
Over at Reif Winery, Klaus Reif was walking around his tasting room offering customers samples of his first batch of raisins. He’s adopted an as yet, still secret technology from another branch of agriculture and dried out a few tonnes of Coronation table grapes, virtually inventing a new foodstuff, the Niagara raisin.
The Niagara Region is developing culinary and innovative local ingredients like Klaus’s help make the experience truly local. If a Niagara raisin is on the menu next time I’m out dining, I’m ordering it!
Again, no Icewine connection, other than this is in the heart of Canadian Icewine country!
This is a tip of the hat to the over 65 boats and crews that will be attending the 50th Shark Class Sailboat World Championships here in Niagara on the Lake this coming week. Crews will be from at least five countries, three in Europe and it is going to be special.
I’m not competing. From my previous posting you might think that I kind of lost my boat, “Humbly, the Magnificent Champion of the Universe, but no, that happened quite a while ago and my boat is fine. I’m just helping with the organizing until they notice that it’s really helping with the disorganizing!
If you are local, the event is open to the public, although the races will take place out all week out on Lake Ontario.
Many years ago, before I got involved with Icewine or even fine wines, I did other foolish things.
Today, my friend Sue asked me if I could swim because her young son was playing at the waters edge near us. I said yes, but then this whole story came flooding back into my memory.
I sailed out past the breakwater to begin a long downwind ride across Lake Ontario. All morning, the weather stations had been reporting West winds at 30 to 40 knots and up to 3 meter waves. This was playtime for Humbly, my 24′ Shark sailboat. We had been out many times in these conditions and Humbly always surfed along downwind under main and storm jib at exhilarating speeds ahead of the crests.
For about an hour Humbly went faster that she had ever gone before. She surfed down 3 meter waves, and in the gusts the pressures turned into humming in the hull and vibration on the tiller. There was tremendous pressure on the mast and rigging. The rudder was kicking up a rooster tail.
At about 4:00 we were between 6 and 8 miles from the South shore.
The mother of all waves picked Humbly up, turned her sideways and heeled her almost 90 degrees. It bumped the bottom of the boat and boosted me off balance off of the seat. I felt like a volleyball set up for a spike. The wave broke over the cockpit and slammed me over the leeward coaming. Somewhere in the tremendous rush of water I took my left hand off the tiller and the next thing I remember is hanging in the water on the port side reaching up and over the transom grasping the tiller with my right hand.
Then the boat tilted to windward and I lot my grip and went underwater.
When I came back to the surface the boat had righted herself and rounded up into the wind with her stern about six feet away. I swam for it and lunged for the motor but missed it by just six inches and went under water again. I had missed my only chance.
Rage waved over me and I screamed, “You dumb country fuck!” The rage passed almost immediately. Humbly sailed away towards the South shore.
I started to think. I was alone. I was wearing a farmer John wetsuit bottoms and a Mustang floater coat. Inside the left sleeve pocket were three small aerial flares. There was a whistle, two small flashlights, and $2.75 in change in the side pockets. I was barefoot.
The floater coat and wetsuit kept me buoyant so I thought that my biggest danger was hypothermia and I hooked up the beavertail attached to the floater coat to try to reduce heat loss from my crotch
I could see the far shore when the larger waves lifted me and even though the boat was still only a few hundred feet away I started cheering her on. Humbly was headed south on her drunken course. I imagined that when she hit the rocks along the shoreline there would be a movie style explosion with flame and smoke that would attract attention and help.
Until then, my choices were to either curl up and float to conserve heat, or to swim towards shore.
I decided to swim. I still had two flares. My fragile game plan was to swim towards the shore. When Humbly’s sails disappeared I would know that Humbly had hit the shore. The search would start and then I could fire off the last two flares and then rescuers would come out and get me. Simple!
First I had to learn now to swim. Other than swimming back to my windsurfer after a fall, I had not been swimming for over twenty years. The floater coat kept my head above water but would not allow a normal swim stroke, and the neoprene wetsuit bottoms kept trying to flip my legs up and put my face in the water. I found that the best compromise was in a combination of breast stroke and pedal kick which kept me moving forward very slowly and somewhat upright.
I stroked slowly and watched my boat get smaller. I tried to remember more on survival. I don’t think I’ve ever thought so much about anything.
The next couple of hours became a series of stroke, stroke, watch Humbly stagger towards shore, stroke, try and remember anything to do with survival, stroke, sputter, and stroke. The boat moved further away but the shoreline did not seem any closer. I was drifting East in mountainous waves and swimming South.
After about an hour I noticed a seagull floating effortlessly above me. It struck me that this was not fair and I yelled to the gull, “Hey, gull! Go and tell them where I am and I’ll give you a fish.” He floated there for a minute and then wafted away. I told myself that he could see that I had no fish.
The sun sank lower to the West and I realized for the first time that I would be out there after dark. I could still see Humbly in the distance and it was alarming how far the boat was going and how small the sails were getting while the shore didn’t seem to be getting any closer.
The sun went down and I started getting cold.
Every little while I had the urge to speed up and a couple of times I tried to swim faster but this never lasted when I realized that slower was better. This was difficult. I have always had trouble pacing myself in anything I have ever done but this time there was no choice. Now that it was completely dark waves were sneaking up from behind and clobbering me, leaving me sputtering and indignant.
A blue flashing light caught my eye off to the left. I waited for the next wave to pick me up for another look and saw the light on top of a large yellow vessel with a black hull floating about a hundred yards away to the southeast. I saw it again and reached for the flares in the sleeve pocket of my floater coat. It seemed to take forever to very carefully get the flares out of the pocket and out of the plastic bag, put one back in the bag, replace the bag in the sleeve pocket, unscrew the end of the flare, point the business end up, and pull the chain. I had never fired flares before and was scared witless that I might drop either one. The flare arced up, over and doused downwind. I was both disappointed at how quickly the light show was over. I waited a few long seconds.
Suddenly the boat accelerated to the West. They had not seen me! As fast as I could I pulled out the other flare and fired it in an arc in front of the boat. It did not reach the boat, but it did arc nicely and doused off its starboard quarter. I kept watching the boat’s direction. No change…no change…no change. The boat kept on going and disappeared to the West. I yelled; I screamed; I called it names and cursed its wake.
When I calmed down I realized that I was upset that I now had a long way to swim. I decided that I was still going to make it swimming, but I didn’t want to. I wanted a ride. “OK self, you have no more flares and there is a blind madman in a forty foot rescue boat driving up and down the shoreline at high speed. Just my luck he’ll come back and nail me in the head.”
I settled down into a slow routine of stroking and started to daydream.
Strokes. More strokes. More strokes. More strokes.
I tried body surfing and caught a few waves that turned into exciting and long rides, but I realized that they were not free rides because they took so much energy.
Things were going well enough. “What can possibly go wrong?” I could hit a cold patch in the lake. I could run into a current where a stream empties into the lake just in front of me. I could get hit by a bugs-in-teeth rescue boat driver. I worried about getting ashore. I didn’t want to be bashed against the rocks along the shore by these huge waves.
More slow strokes. I was getting close!
I was about twenty yards from the breakwater when the panic set in. I was now close enough to the rocks to use them as reference points and I didn’t seem to be getting any closer. How could I come this far to get pushed away from the rocks by a current! I ran out of breath and rested, collected my wits, and went back to the slow stroke, stroke, game plan that had been successful for so long. A few minutes later a wave picked me up and deposited me gently on a large flat rock.
Washed Off My Sailboat! Survival becomes pretty damned important. I wrote this up mostly to share the story and help other sailors survive.
Before I got Cambio, I sailed Sharks for about 30 years. This is an account of my first adventure on my Shark, Humbly the Magnificent Champion of the Universe.
Today, my friend Sue asked me if I could swim because her young son was playing at the waters edge near us. I said yes, but then this whole story came flooding back into my memory.
I sailed out past the breakwater to begin a long downwind ride across Lake Ontario. All morning, the weather stations had been reporting West winds at 30 to 40 knots and up to 3 meter waves. This was playtime for Humbly, my 24′ Shark sailboat. We had been out many times in these conditions and Humbly always surfed along downwind under main and storm jib at exhilarating speeds ahead of the crests.
For about an hour Humbly went faster that she had ever gone before. She surfed down 3 meter waves, and in the gusts the pressures turned into humming in the hull and vibration on the tiller. There was tremendous pressure on the mast and rigging. The rudder was kicking up a rooster tail.
At about 4:00 we were between 6 and 8 miles from the South shore.
Humbly beat me into shore by a few hours
The mother of all waves picked Humbly up, turned her sideways and heeled her almost 90 degrees. It bumped the bottom of the boat and boosted me off balance off of the seat. I felt like a volleyball set up for a spike. The wave broke over the cockpit and slammed me over the leeward coaming. Somewhere in the tremendous rush of water I took my left hand off the tiller and the next thing I remember is hanging in the water on the port side reaching up and over the transom grasping the tiller with my right hand.
Then the boat tilted to windward and I lot my grip and went underwater.
When I came back to the surface the boat had righted herself and rounded up into the wind with her stern about six feet away. I swam for it and lunged for the motor but missed it by just six inches and went under water again. I had missed my only chance.
Rage waved over me and I screamed, “You dumb country fuck!” The rage passed almost immediately. Humbly sailed away towards the South shore.
I started to think. I was alone. I was wearing a farmer John wetsuit bottoms and a Mustang floater coat. Inside the left sleeve pocket were three small aerial flares. There was a whistle, two small flashlights, and $2.75 in change in the side pockets. I was barefoot.
The floater coat and wetsuit kept me buoyant so I thought that my biggest danger was hypothermia and I hooked up the beavertail attached to the floater coat to try to reduce heat loss from my crotch
I could see the far shore when the larger waves lifted me and even though the boat was still only a few hundred feet away I started cheering her on. Humbly was headed south on her drunken course. I imagined that when she hit the rocks along the shoreline there would be a movie style explosion with flame and smoke that would attract attention and help.
Until then, my choices were to either curl up and float to conserve heat, or to swim towards shore.
I decided to swim. I still had two flares. My fragile game plan was to swim towards the shore. When Humbly’s sails disappeared I would know that Humbly had hit the shore. The search would start and then I could fire off the last two flares and then rescuers would come out and get me. Simple!
First I had to learn now to swim. Other than swimming back to my windsurfer after a fall, I had not been swimming for over twenty years. The floater coat kept my head above water but would not allow a normal swim stroke, and the neoprene wetsuit bottoms kept trying to flip my legs up and put my face in the water. I found that the best compromise was in a combination of breast stroke and pedal kick which kept me moving forward very slowly and somewhat upright.
I stroked slowly and watched my boat get smaller. I tried to remember more on survival. I don’t think I’ve ever thought so much about anything.
The next couple of hours became a series of stroke, stroke, watch Humbly stagger towards shore, stroke, try and remember anything to do with survival, stroke, sputter, and stroke. The boat moved further away but the shoreline did not seem any closer. I was drifting East in mountainous waves and swimming South.
After about an hour I noticed a seagull floating effortlessly above me. It struck me that this was not fair and I yelled to the gull, “Hey, gull! Go and tell them where I am and I’ll give you a fish.” He floated there for a minute and then wafted away. I told myself that he could see that I had no fish.
The only damage to Humbly were some scratches on the topsides and keel.
The sun sank lower to the West and I realized for the first time that I would be out there after dark. I could still see Humbly in the distance and it was alarming how far the boat was going and how small the sails were getting while the shore didn’t seem to be getting any closer.
The sun went down and I started getting cold.
Every little while I had the urge to speed up and a couple of times I tried to swim faster but this never lasted when I realized that slower was better. This was difficult. I have always had trouble pacing myself in anything I have ever done but this time there was no choice. Now that it was completely dark waves were sneaking up from behind and clobbering me, leaving me sputtering and indignant.
A blue flashing light caught my eye off to the left. I waited for the next wave to pick me up for another look and saw the light on top of a large yellow vessel with a black hull floating about a hundred yards away to the southeast. I saw it again and reached for the flares in the sleeve pocket of my floater coat. It seemed to take forever to very carefully get the flares out of the pocket and out of the plastic bag, put one back in the bag, replace the bag in the sleeve pocket, unscrew the end of the flare, point the business end up, and pull the chain. I had never fired flares before and was scared witless that I might drop either one. The flare arced up, over and doused downwind. I was both disappointed at how quickly the light show was over. I waited a few long seconds.
Suddenly the boat accelerated to the West. They had not seen me! As fast as I could I pulled out the other flare and fired it in an arc in front of the boat. It did not reach the boat, but it did arc nicely and doused off its starboard quarter. I kept watching the boat’s direction. No change…no change…no change. The boat kept on going and disappeared to the West. I yelled; I screamed; I called it names and cursed its wake.
When I calmed down I realized that I was upset that I now had a long way to swim. I decided that I was still going to make it swimming, but I didn’t want to. I wanted a ride. “OK self, you have no more flares and there is a blind madman in a forty foot rescue boat driving up and down the shoreline at high speed. Just my luck he’ll come back and nail me in the head.”
I settled down into a slow routine of stroking and started to daydream.
Strokes. More strokes. More strokes. More strokes.
I tried body surfing and caught a few waves that turned into exciting and long rides, but I realized that they were not free rides because they took so much energy.
Where do you put a boat after you use a crane to pull it out of the water? The ditch of course!
Things were going well enough. “What can possibly go wrong?” I could hit a cold patch in the lake. I could run into a current where a stream empties into the lake just in front of me. I could get hit by a bugs-in-teeth rescue boat driver. I worried about getting ashore. I didn’t want to be bashed against the rocks along the shore by these huge waves.
More slow strokes. I was getting close!
I was about twenty yards from the breakwater when the panic set in. I was now close enough to the rocks to use them as reference points and I didn’t seem to be getting any closer. How could I come this far to get pushed away from the rocks by a current! I ran out of breath and rested, collected my wits, and went back to the slow stroke, stroke, game plan that had been successful for so long. A few minutes later a wave picked me up and deposited me gently on a large flat rock.
