“Were you ever scared?” people often asked. “No.” I said. I was stressed a lot, but never scared. I always knew I had enough food to wait out a long stretch, weeks if necessary. I knew also that Shangri-La was sea worthy in the extreme. Her stability was apparent to anyone who boarded her. “No Mickey Mouse shit,” most would say.
Scared would imply that I felt unsafe. I never did. So, stressed is the word I use. Have I thought of everything? Will I be prepared? Those are the questions that stress you. And whenever I was meeting friends at a port the most stressful question was, “will I get there in time?”
Meeting Dan and Joey was very stressful. As I described in the last log, a powerful north wind delivered a beating to me and my sails. I was 3 days later than expected arriving in Florianopolis. My good friend Dan McGuire was there to help me regroup. Instead of moving north, we cleaned up the boat and repaired what we could of my sails and rigging until Joey arrived a few days later. These guys had families and demanding jobs. I wanted to show up in better time and more importantly I wanted to take them for a sail up the coast and deliver them on time to a port from which they could make there way to the airport in Sao Paulo and home.
As soon as I saw Dan I stopped worrying. Before he married a close family friend of mine, he had traveled extensively. In earlier days he had worked as a contractor for six months and traveled the globe when his feet got the itch. He knew how to do it. By the time I arrived in Florianopolis, he had discovered all the best places to go for food, surfing, and what we’ll call “people watching.”
Joey was a different story. I’ve known Joey for many years. I haven’t seen much of him lately, he has a wife and two kids and works long hours as a building contractor in the Poconoes of Pennsylvania. Business is booming. Because of this I was surprised when Dan told me he convinced Joey to make the trip to Brazil. I wondered if Joey had a passport. He didn’t. He had to go to Harrisburg to get one and then make a trip into Manhattan to get a travel visa at the Brazilian consulate. This guy was committed. And when he arrived, he made it clear he was committed to seeing what he called “Brazilian craziness.” I was happy to join him for that.
Altogether now, we set out to find some good food. That first night we asked Patrick, the 6’8”, Brazilian Tae Kwon Do champ, Security Guard for a recommendation. He took us to his favorite Churascaria and sat with us. Who was going to tell him otherwise? I think he thought we invited him. Regardless, we had fun.
The next day we provisioned the boat including plenty of beer and snacks. As we began stowing the goods, Dan was surprised at the amount of dry and canned goods already aboard. He had insisted on certain items from the market out of fear that we would not have enough food on our sail. I tried to convince him we had more than enough in the extreme, but in the end gave in to his request to put him at ease. As a captain I wanted a happy and secure crew. All Joey cared about was enough beer and cigarettes. That was five cases of Skol, the local Brew, and 3 cartons of Marlboro no filters from duty free. And it was just enough.
The night before we set out we met with a friend, Hans Keeling. A great guy, he was a classmate of my girlfriend Elvia in college. After practicing law in Rio for a few years, he has moved to Florianopolis with friends to start a surf charter business, nexussurf.com. He brought us to Lago Concesao, a part of Florianopolis where the craziness lives. (I highly recommend Hans’s company for anyone looking for a great surf vacation.)
The next day we went over our charts with the yacht club officer. He gave us many assurances that I questioned, but in the end steered us correctly. One such assurance was that my mast would clear under the Santa Catarina bridge with “plenty of room to spare.” So we filled out tanks with gas and water and pushed off. We had only been there a few short days and we had made many friends. Hans, Patrick, Luigi, Christian, and all the mechanics at the club were there to wave goodbye. Overall, I think we were good PR for the U.S. We cleared the bridge by what looked like an inch. Within a few hours, we had had many beers and dolphins crossing our bow guiding us out to sea.
The sea was calm and the wind calm, but steady. We made our way North East away from land and by nightfall were offshore. We could no longer see any lights from shore. I can’t remember what we had for dinner, but I do remember some doubts followed by complaints.
So here is how it went. I was unable to get a necessary part anywhere in Brazil to fix the main Genoa headsail. We had to rely on the much smaller Stay sail. It made for slow going. Not only was the larger sail good for speed, but it helped the boat point better. Physics doesn’t allow you to sail directly into the wind, so you tack back and forth across the wind. Pointing is your angle into the wind. If you can’t point, you can’t make much progress into the wind. To make matters worse the wind shifted direction slightly. It was a tease. If we tacked east the wind shifted forcing us east/southeast, so we tacked and headed north/northwest. Then the wind shifted back and forced us to tack again. I didn’t tell the guys, but in 24 hours we sailed 110 miles and made no net progress toward our destination. In sailing, it happens. And it sucks as bad as it sounds.
I couldn’t tell Dan. He was green with sea sickness. I finally did tell Joey. He smiled, cracked a beer and said, “This is cool.” I quit fighting the wind and altered course to Santos instead of Rio. The change of plan put them closer to Sao Paulo and their airport and perhaps gave us more time to hang out on land.
Like always, altered plans turned out better. Santos is the port city of Sao Paulo and the biggest port in South America. The yacht facilities were plentiful as were the cultural experiences. One priceless experience was sailing into a foreign port among so many tankers, all 1000 feet long and 10 stories high. Joey went to sleep. I manned the radio trying to contact the port captain. We could count 30 tankers lined up to enter the port channel. I directed Dan to take our place in line directly in front of “the Caribbean Treasure.” Its big blue bow towered above us as we hovered waiting for radio instruction. Very stressful. Dan yelled at me and Joey slept. I might have been a little scared, but mostly stressed.
The trip had taken three nights and four days. We sailed a bit, motored a bit, caught some great mahi mahi that I cooked well with no complaint, and swam in the ocean beyond sight of land. We didn’t make Rio, and the sailing wasn’t great, but we had a blast.
By early afternoon we were tucked safely into the Pier 26 marina, a place the boat would stay for the next 2 months.
The three of us checked into a decent hotel and grabbed some showers. While we had fun, it was clear these guys were land lubbers and proud of it. They went shopping for gifts to bring home and I made my way to about 10 municipal buildings trying to comply with the necessary regulations. Customs, health inspectors, federal police, port control, immigration, et al. Unlike my other South American experiences, these offices all had computers. However, much like my other South American experiences, they conducted every transaction on paper in triplicate. I first got my passport stamped by immigration who said I needed my boat checked in first, but stamped me anyway. Then I went to port control who stamped my boat papers without question both because I didn’t speak Portuguese and I wasn’t a tanker. I skipped the other formalities when I was not aloud entry to the customs building because I was wearing shorts. The officer prohibiting my entrance was wearing a dirty white t-shirt with an iron on badge. I repeat the largest port in South America. My boat and I had gained entrance to this beautiful country. I would play dumb to anything else.
Back with the guys we grabbed some food. The restaurant owner cooked our food personally and like others we had met sat invited himself to eat with us. His name was Vander and he volunteered as our host recommending bars, clubs, hotels and restaurants.
One of the recommendations was a club we checked out. I can’t remember the name of it or much that happened, but it was sharp. He gave us a name to ask for so we wouldn’t wait in line. We didn’t. Once inside we enjoyed four bands throughout the night. Joey was a dancing machine. He wore my African knit Rasta cap and said “ciao” to anyone who approached him. Before long girls were leading him to the dance floor and guys were cheering on “el Pirota,” the pirate. (No question we were gentleman pirates, ladies.) It was classic. It was basically the white man overbite shuffle, but Joey was brought it to a whole new level. It’s not Brazilian craziness, it’s just Brazilian.
A day later Dan and Joey made their way to the airport in Sao Paulo 40 minutes away. I would go back to the boat to haul her out and clean her bottom. It was late November and I planned to leave her there while I made a trip home for needed hardware and the holidays. I was still feeling the effects of that eight day solo before picking up Dan and Joey. I thought a trip up the coast would be fun. I envisioned it being a cruise with great weather and tranquil beaches. So far it wasn’t. The heat was becoming unbearable. While changing the oil I thought it prudent to have someone check on me. The heat in the engine compartment was so great that I felt I would pass out. Best to let someone know I was in there. For the next 1000 miles North the winds promised to be against me. After that I could expect the doldrums.
Part of me relished the challenge. Another part of me was done. The next month at home would bring many things to light. In my time at home I came to many conclusions about the future. There are things I need out of life and they are no longer to be found at sea. The cruising life with no schedule is not for me. I know which way the wind is blowing and to fight against it is a rough ride with little progress. There are many decisions left to make and they are stressful, but I am anything but scared.
Dan With The Biggest fish
F…ing Joey
Joey has a smaller fish
Dan with Hans and friends