Wrenching decisions, or torquing about a revolution

The phenomenon of tool lust is a side-effect of boat restoration.

Now that I've got your attention, it's important to acknowledge that I went about 35 years with only a small collection of multi-head screwdrivers, a hammer and a crescent wrench to show my manlier side outside of the actual bedroom. I didn't have a particularly handy father, despite his early years in a hands-on trade, and I didn't take more than one year of what used to be called "Industrial Arts" and now is called "Advanced Tweeting for Do You Want Fries with That".

Then I bought an old house.

Then I bought an old boat.

Clearly, I needed to step up my game. I got old books describing the function and non-maiming use of the various classes of tool, the sort of books with the words "Home Handyman", "Mechanics' Institute" and "Reader's Digest" on the spines. I slowly expanded my collection of tools, fasteners, and many, many bits and pieces. I learned to braze copper pipe, to rivet, to solder, to bed and to scarf. My efforts are rarely beautiful, but considering I've been seriously using tools for more than "just fix it until the man (or occasionally, the woman) can come and do it properly", which was the case some 15 years back, my "fixes" usually remain intact.

Tools have been acquired through inheritance, Craigslist, and sales at Canadian Tire. The wooden boxes of hand tools once the pride of dead grandfathers, including very rugged near-museum pieces, have been sourced for a pittance at yard sales.  Strategic chunks of cash have been laid out for "proper" contractor-grade power tools, as I have learned the hard way that while you can pay very little several times, if reliably long service is the goal, paying more just once is the best policy.

It's probably been because of my self-consciousness at having no formal handyman/boat restorer skills that I try to be careful and methodical. My hands bear evidence of moments lacking in attentional rigour, but generally, it's been a stepwise progression.

Everyone these days owns a diesel, but it turns out that if you motor for 10 minutes and go head-to-wind, a reliable gas engine makes more sense. But sailboats aren't about sense, usually.

A couple of years ago, I was asked to diagnose a problem with an Atomic 4 inboard. I freely admit I blew up, figuratively speaking, my first one in 1999, but the resulting time fixing my novice mistakes gave me some useful tips. So now I try to pay it forward with said tips, particularly as there are still a lot of boats with these venerable 1940s-looking motors in them, including Valiente. Now, Atomic 4s were, from approximately the 1950s to the early 1980s, the sailboat engine of choice in the 27-35 foot range. In fact, they were so very nearly ubiquitous, that one can buy a new one, or at least a new cast block, just as you can buy a new Twin Otter if you wish.

Back from the dead, or the 1960s, if you prefer.

Some things, despite the age and often because of the simplicity of their design, endure. This includes hand tools, of which I now possess an inordinate number, if "three more or less complete sets" may be considered inordinate. These are distributed as follows: 1) Old house, 2) Old boat, and 3) Less old boat, and the locus of the more specialized objects of toolish desire.

Torque, torque, torque...CLICK. Good.

This is a torque wrench. I did not, until the weekend past manifested a Canadian Tire sale awaited with the sorts of patience a vulture shows an impala with an infected hoof, possess such a purposeful tool. I did have a beam torque wrench, which looks like this and was sufficient for dogging down the head bolts on my Atomic 4 (to 35 ft/lbs., if anyone's still reading), but during the installation of the AquaDrive last year, buddy Capt. Matt of S/V Creeation fame whipped his out and I admired the Teutonic precision of the dialled-in torquing values.

The beam-style torque wrench, as favoured by mechanics with cataracts, evidently.

The fact that it's considered "idiot-proof" is just a bonus, although I suspect I'm supposed to be insulted. No such luck!

A "breaker bar". Why it isn't just a "really big non-racheting wrench thing" remains a mystery.

I also have picked up at deep discount such related items as fully unmetered breaker bars. These use leverage to "unseize" lug nuts (or engine mounts) sufficiently to switch to racheting wrenches, which might suffer damage to their racheting internals if one, say, steps on them to "get that nut loose". Oh, the places you'll go! Anyway, I like it as it is a Serious Tool.

What a thrill/'Tis to drill/And make fresh perforations...

Another tool of little humour that I have wanted for some time, but the cost of which I have not been able to justify, is a smallish drill press. I've grown accustomed to using my boat club's one (we have a fairly nicely equipped workshop), but I can see a lot of use for it aboard, particularly in the context of welding, die-cutting and forming backing plates and the like out of metal "stock". A drill press is usually slower-moving (and therefore more controllable and easier to clean out as it cuts) and clamps and the moving work plate (the circular thingie with the perforations) allow a lot of fine movements, unlike a hand drill. I was fortunate to have a friend who is selling his house and going condo; he has neither room nor need for his, and I'm giving it a new home...and maybe taking it on a long sea voyage. We'll see.

Yes, I will clean the topsides...at some point.

Enough tool talk: the point of tools is repair, and this was the scene this morning (cool, foofy wind, high cloud), a repaired and charged Valiente ready (two weeks after I last had the time and co-operative weather) for her 41st season.

Grubby, but functional.

I was gratified (particularly as I was alone once the boat was splashed) that the Atomic 4 engine I dote upon started "at first crank", and that the oil pressure and water throughput and the quality of the now-elderly gasoline I stabilized last fall were sufficient to get me the 20-minute putt-putt to my "other" dock at Marina Quay West. Which is, to mention in passing, so bereft of boats in docks that I have to wonder if the winter we've had actually killed some sailors as well as delaying myriad launches. I consider May 5 to be appallingly deferred a date to start the season, but the boatyard in which Valiente overwintered was still about 85% full, and some of the boats were still "buttoned down" with shrinkwrap and tarps, as if they have yet to have been visited by their frost-struck owners.

Coiled for your pleasure.

So after a mercifully uneventful transit, I met up with dock neighbour and good friend Jeff, and he and If went for a first sail in his new-to-him early 2000s Dufour 36 Classic, which is a very civilized ride and which I suspect will provide Jeff many years of happy sailing. The wind was light and cool and didn't want to come down to the water, and some of the strings and pulleys were so logical as to prove confusing, but it's a sweet boat and one of the cleanest and newest-looking used sailboats I've ever seen. So it's a good day when you can safely launch and then go for a boat ride on a deserted Lake Ontario.

The moor, the merrier

As I've mentioned before, I'm on our club's Mooring Committee, for which I would prefer to do more, or maybe moor, but as I'm not retired, I can't do more than I can. But it gets done, regardless.

This is Malcolm. Sticking his hands in 3C water doesn't seem to bother him.

A Canadian boat club, with some rare exceptions, must defend its physical assets from the several months of winter we endure enjoy each year. This means hauling out those parts of the dock that would otherwise suffer from winds, waves and the never-gentle actions of ice.

These plastic, Lego-like dock blocks only work when secured by chains left in over the winter.

So while the main wooden and steel cylinder and beam docks are handled by contractors, the dinghy docks and the moorings in the mooring field (as seen behind that breakwall "island" in the photo above) are maintained by the Mooring Committee. It's manly stuff, I tell you.

And like many manly things, one man works while three or four give helpful advice. Photo (c) C. Lahmer.

Because members of the Mooring Committee value thrift, we tend to opt for the rough-hewn fix over the buffed manufactured product. This is a removable vise and "tire hook" that can be mounted on the door of the work boat, Storm King. It makes it easier to secure a length of mooring chain to replace or mouse or tag a shackle, and keeps the actual "hands in freezing water" time a touch more manageable.

Keeping hands out of the water is key to keeping volunteers on the Mooring Committee, studies have concluded.

It's all in a day's work, as was yesterday's 2014 Club Boat Launch. Always a mixture of excitement (the sailing season is starting!) and dread (will it float? Will it start? Will it plummet off the slings and end up on YouTube?), a boat club's launch and haulout weekends can run the gamut of emotions, lapsed safety procedures and very marginal weather.

Last year's "Horrible Haulout" argued for a relocation of the "sling marks". Yr humble skipper did that prior to the Big Lift.

Well, it was mercifully merely chilly, and only fractionally rainy and windy, and my driving of a safety boat for the half of the club that gets launched onto the south side (as dictated by the reach of the cranes) went off relatively smoothly, being only spottily damp and hardly breezy, although our low profile may have helped us here.

Your correspondent and the redoubtable Malcolm, allegedly on duty to pull your clumsy corpse dues-paying body from the murky waters. Photo (c) Don Williams

After a brief not-lunch, Mrs. Alchemy (who had been daubing last-minute anti-fouling on the hull and herself) found ourselves rather suddently at the front of the launch line.

Somewhere down here, there is just enough of a gap to push a sling through.

Due to the inexplicable absence of "sling notes" from the previous episode of steel boat suspension, there was a minor amount of futzing about to locate the right space through which to pass the aft sling. Mrs. Alchemy, being younger and considerably more compact than your correspondent, was a good fit for the dirty work.

Like threading a needle with thread that can support 25 tonnes.

We've reflected before on how relatively small shifts in onboard equipment or stores can change the sling points fairly significantly. Both slings are about 30 cm. forward from before the new engine went in.

The old fenders didn't look so grubby until I got the God Balls.

It's also occasionally necessary, as the roster of volunteers in charge of slinging changes from year-to-year, that it's prudent on full keel hulls to rig "cinch belts" to keep the slings from shifting.

If this happens at sea, reduce sail. Note the cinch belt just above the staboard rail.

Several people not entirely in shot make this crane posture possible. The lines off bow and stern are used to rotate and move incrementally the boat while airborne, and there's half a dozen "pushers" at the sea wall with three-metre lengths of lumber fitted with carpet-covered pads at one end to keep the boat from scraping against the wall.

Like many a fine lady, some might say her stern is her best side.

Given the number of fenders I deploy, this isn't likely, but the crane operator can't always see how closely the boat is to the edge as the boat is slowly lowered, although if the drop is too close, there's usually a lot of incoherent yelling and gesticulation.

Oh, there are some pushers. I always look for unexpected bubbles at this stage. None observed.

And...we splash. It's arguable (and was pointed out by a helpful bystander) that a couple of shackles to lengthen the aft sling would allow a more level hoist. Something to remember for Haulout.

Nothing says "WORKING VESSEL" like a green plastic deck chair, I think. Photo (c) C. Lahmer.

The still shiny club workboat, Storm King, was then hailed for a tow, as I did not finish the engine revival in a timely fashion. It was this noble and still-on-warranty vessel that hauled us last fall, and the new driver was a touch nervous as Alchemy was the most massive of his tow jobs to that point. We took it slowly and made a nice touchdown on our customary slip, thanks to the kindly "line catchers". I think any transit of Alchemy possesses a sort of morbid fascination to people, because I am conscious of being observed when underway in a way that just doesn't happen when I'm noodling about in the far lower-to-the-water 33 footer.

Is it time to retire the very grubby "lucky mermaid"? Maybe to the interior of the boat, perhaps.

And so to bed, or dock. Reconstruction resumes shortly, and, if I can get a weather window, one remaining launch!

Oil and painting

As with Valiente, much of the waterline and topside cleaning will be done post launch

Today was a good day to paint, being both clement, if cool, and a day during which my long-suffering missus wasn't off repairing some wayward creature. The wear and tear from last year's "didn't move" time at dock meant only spot anti-fouling, zinc daubing and barrier coating was necessary, with only a bit to finish tomorrow if I can get paying work done tonight.

Mrs. Alchemy does the happy dance to appease the gods of two-part epoxy.

Meanwhile, I deployed our usual mooring lines and coiled down the "sling lines" so that the good ship Alchemy, once slung and aloft this Saturday, can be more or less (depending on the wind) maneuvered by line pullers on the ground. It's alarming and fascinating and often raining.

I'm getting a sense of remoteness here.

This is the latest fix in the Drive to Drive, '14. Before you is the freshly installed Remote Oil Filter Kit (engine end). For some reason unknown to the unmechanical such as myself, oil filters are usually spun on to threaded barbs which are bolted sideways into engine oil sumps (basically the pan in the bottom from where the oil is pumped, circulated and does its lubing and cooling thing).

Yes, like that. Thing is, if you spin off a filter in order to change it, about half the oil IN the filter will reliably pour OUT of the filter and into your bilges. Surprisingly, this doesn't service the pumps as well as one might think, although even a cup of oil can leave a kilometre-long slick in the water.

The length of the screws required meant I had to angle in the outboard ones. I try to have explanations for what appear to be mistakes.

The solution is to remove the filter from the engine and its problematic horizontal orientation, and to  make it "remote" by mounting it vertically on the nearby bulkhead. Those wires and hoses will be tidied up a little later.

If I need to change a filter, I can do so without emptying the engine or spilling oil.

The total hose runs are about 28 inches, and the total "lift" required is about 12-13 inches. At the typical 50-75 psi diesel oil circuit pressure, this shouldn't be an issue, and yet the "top" of the oil circuit is still below the top of the engine itself.

If there is any spillage, it will tend to fall just to the right of that engine stringer, an area easily swabbed.

Onto other stuff tomorrow. The T-fitting for the dual exhaust hose setup is ordered.

Christmas in April

Now with glow-in-the-dark properties!

Due to the vagaries of international trade and, presumably, becayse I desire only the finest and least often ordered in boating gear, the Plastimo handheld compass I asked for as a Christmas present was picked up today. It's called an Iris 50, I was impressed with it in use during last November's RYA course in Brittany. I didn't think it was roughly as hard to obtain as a no-fault divorce.

When told to "get lost", I like a challenge

The other thing I asked for as a prezzie was the equally RYA-centric Portland Course Plotter (I already have a lovely pair of brass dividers). So chartwork can proceed apace this season, even if chartwork seems to some like nodding off in a scriptorium.

Freshly anti-fouled. Much needed topside cleaning to come when I fix the gaskets on the powerwasher.

Oh, well. I cling as did the whale's lunch Job to his faith in a capricious and possibly psychotic Yahweh to my continuing honing of my traditional navigation skills, and there's fingernail marks in the chart table to prove it. Sailing may be going digital, but there's something very analog about bending on a main on a cradled boat in 25 knot breezes. Alchemy launches on Saturday, and Valiente early next week.

When is a skipper a captain?

"Arr, matey, I be parallel parking this scurvy scow!"

Clearly, despite the eclipsing in most senses of the Age of Sail, the allure of the rank of Captain remains culturally intact, if at times nautically dubious. Now, as a title, it's never gone out of style as a military rank in various armed forces, nor is the usage of Captain a thing of the past for the commander of commercial, merchant vessels. But those uses are essentially professional in nature.

Slicker, peaked cap, spoked wheel and manly facial hair: Most male cruising sailors are using "old salt" as a style guide.

Is the skipper of a private yacht in any sense a captain? I've been called that, usually by someone trying to sell me something boat-related, but also occasionally by marine police or Coast Guard officials by way of inquiry. But despite a plethora of nautically themed headgear that imply a sort of braid-accessorized naval authority, I am unsure whether anyone in a sailboat (or powerboat, for that matter) is, unless such an individual is an actual current or former professional mariner or ex-Navy member, a "captain".

So, Captain Douchebagge, we meet again.

Certainly, as has been seen with the sad and disappointing cases of the captain of the cruise ship Costa Concordia and the recent sinking of the South Korean ferry, expectations are quite high and seem to include that "the captain stays with the ship" ...or at least isn't on the first boat off. Whether they are legally obliged to linger until they themselves are in danger of drowning is another question. Being captain is a job, not a holy office, despite what centuries of naval literature have suggested. Nonetheless, it's a rare job that has some real power when actually at sea. Not to mention a nice hat.

So the bumboat boys know who to pester

I've encountered holders of Royal Yachting Association (RYA) Yachtmaster qualifications who don't object if you call them "Captain"...but that's not quite the case, is it? "Yachtmaster" sounds a bit kinky when shouted across the deck, and yet that's most accurate. Harder to fit on a hat, though.

I see the YM course as a qualification, but not as a licence like a "ticket" from a marine school or institute. Some sailors obtain either through youthful employment or via military service or working on tall ships or coastal boats, certifications like a "60-tonne Master Limited". But generally, this pro or semi-pro level of mariner education is not pursued by those who wish to just sail their own boats, or, at best, run a rather limited sort of charter operation, 

But the lure of the title remains: The "ticket", leading to the stepwise attainment of the rank of Captain, is a sort of guild distinction. In the British Merchant Navy it's like being in a trade (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merchant_Navy_%28United_Kingdom%29); you have to take both shoreside courses and "work study" aboard vessels if you want to get to second mate.

A Captain able to find rum before it's gone and all the occult treasure and seamonster one could wish. Docking, not so much.

Similarly, I don't think the licences the MCA issues are equivalant to RYA certifications in the sense that the person successfully completing the course is a licensed mariner. None of my research on RYA courses, despite a lot of informational crossover, lead me to consider them STCW qualifications.

I think the equivalency might be "private Cessna jockey" versus "commercial airline pilot", or private car driver versus the tractor-trailer driver of road freight. If I fly a Cessna for fun, it doesn't qualify me to fly a DC-3 for money, although if the DC-3 pilot has a heart attack, the Cessna pilot is probably the best option for experiencing a flame-deficient landing. The YM Offshore, which a good sailing friend of mine has recently achieved and is happily using on his sailing adventures, isn't a commercial or a professional certification, whereas a Captain is a sort of trade description, as well as a title or rank. Interestingly, until the mid-18th century, a naval Captain could be any titled lubber, Court hanger-on or Army guy, and was the person who made "naval" decisions based on the advice of the ship's master, the non-dilettante career sailor actually responsible for the sailing-not-sinking part. It took a series of reforms to professionalize the Royal Navy and to get the "place-men" reduced, although advancement still favoured the well-connected and the aristocratic.

If this is your charter captain, switch to a walking tour.

Anyway, while it's harmless to call yourself "Captain", I find it imprecise and allusive to professional attainments in an area other than pleasure craft operation. I would allow that the owner and skipper of any given vessel is its Master, but one doesn't need the RYA or the CPS to tell one that. Any warm body with a PCOC is an "operator" in front of the water cops, and a "master" in Admiralty law. I can claim salvage as a master of a sailing vessel, should I wander across something not under command or 'clearly adrift', although this is a very nuanced topic in law, and there are many who would suggest that the line between righteous salvage and vile theft is permeable. Skippers or captain, beware.

I have seen a documenton official RYA stationary in which the "am I now a Captain" question was answered with "we take no stance" is an attempt to say "call yourself Captain, because it doesn't matter".  If people think they are captains, or even armchair admirals, it's going to have some sort of persuasive effect on RYA course-taking, even though that is *never stated* in the literature; it's sold as "the opportunity to improve one's seamanship skills" (which it is, of course), or the opportunity to evaluate one's existing skills (which it also is, as in the case of professional mariners who can "challenge" the higher YM exams and basically get passed into them for the purposes of post-career mucking about in boats.  

Another fictional old salt, only this one is just "Skipper". Note the cardboard signage on "S.S Minnow". Good grief.

So while I'm happy with "Skipper", I'll leave "Captain" to the pros. The simple fact is that there are different expectations that are bundled up with "Captain", and if you screw up, as one does, it seems worse surrounded by braid than when one is just "Skipper". And as for the hat, I'll bow to my pasty Celtic ancestry and just go with something that keeps the melanoma at bay.

Also good for garden work, I would imagine. Gold braid and anchor badge optional.

 

The whirlpool of controversy churns

The ship's wheel being handed over to rescuers prior to the scuttling of S/V Rebel Heart. One of the sadder photos at sea that I can recall.

It's a funny feeling only possible in the last 20 years or so: the sense of vague familiarity that fleeting contact on the Internet renders possible between otherwise complete strangers. My first contact with Eric and Charlotte Kaufman, the American owners of a Hans Christian 36, was through, mainly, Eric's posts under the handle "Rebel Heart" on the Cruisers' Forum website.

S/V Rebel Heart as seen from a U.S. Navy helicoptern 900NM off Mexico

It's led to much debate and soul searching, not only about the very few facts known about the rescue of the crew of S/V Rebel Heart and her abandonment/scuttling, but about the nature of the armchair admirals and veteran sailors alike who have posted some pretty hateful things (in the guise of constructive crticism, naturally) online, most of which are based in the implied idiocy of taking young children offshore. The sailing writer and delivery skipper Charlie Doane, who himself was rescued from a busted catamaran in January, thinks that children might buy sympathy, as he didn't get much himself.

Now, there are some who feel that calling for help is inviting regulation of the cruising lifestyle; sailors are supposed to be self-reliant and to only seek aid in the most dire of circumstances. And yes, it's easy enough to come up with episodes where squadrons of SAR resources have been dispatched for what many would derisively consider trivial reasons.

But we aren't all alike in our capacity for managing trouble aboard. Maybe we should be more so. I'm trying to gather experience and training to that end because of incidents I've heard of where accidents could have been avoided...or not required rescue...had the crew been a little less unknowing. Or more lucky, one can also conclude.

Reefed down to keep the motion kinder, I suspect.

The reason the Kaufmans hit the big red button on the EPIRB is still not entirely clear to me, but a series of rough weather episodes, and a cascade of no-doubt-related equipment failures, was tipped over into the "rescue us" category by the youngest (one year old) Kaufman daughter exhibiting a persistent fever. Of course, being some 900 NM offshore, rescue was not instantaneous; my understanding is that it took three days before a ship with Zodiac-style tenders and the right sort of SAR personnel could arrive at Rebel Heart's location to take the crew off, and to "cut the hoses" and deliberately sink the Kaufman's vessel as it was far too distant from shore to be reasonably salvageable, and because an uncrewed 36 foot yacht is a significant hazard to navigation. It's therefore customary, if abandoning ship, to sink it by cutting below WL hoses or opening seacocks or even punching a hole in the hull.

Rebel Heart was a Hans Christian 36. Also known as a "Union 36", you'd need a big chisel to punch a hole in this hull. It was made of fibreglass, but weighed only about three tons less than does Alchemy, a larger and steel boat. It was a reasonable, if not particularly swift, choice for conservative cruising.

Rebel Heart's skipper Eric Kaufman has some sort of U.S. Coast Guard qualifications and is a former submariner; he would have known this. All else aside, the deliberate and necessary sinking of one's seaborne home is an occasion of deep sympathy for any sailor.

Probably because of the three-day window before a ship could reach them, and very probably because very young children, ages 1 and 3, were involved, this story "broke big" and became, briefly in the ever-advancing news cycle, big news. I first read about it on a comedic news aggregator website, and was shocked to realize "hey, I know of these people". The news site's members, not in the main being sailors and taking their cue from the press, were predictably scathing. Today's easily outraged online commenter does not hesitate to call for the authorities to remove children from their parents' custody, or to advocate "making them pay" for their own rescue.

The general public's feeling on learning that small children may, at times, cross oceans in Bob Perry-designed boats.

Less obvious was the criticism found on various sailing forums, particularly the one where Eric and occasionally Charlotte posted their plans for several years. Some of it, despite our own somewhat different circumstances, hit home with me. Eric and Charlotte, whatever the quality of their seamanship and their choices, were quite typical of younger cruisers in their commitment to blogging and documenting their preparation and thoughts on cruising. They had so much to say, in fact, that they split their "boat blog" into two sections: one for the dad and one for the mum. Both are pretty good writers, but while Eric's blog is a fair bit like mine, Charlotte's is more wide-ranging and covers a lot of mothering issues and deals with her child-prep and children's clothing. There's even a link to her Etsy shop. There's even (as seems sadly inevitable in these cases) stories of "I told you so" coming from "concerned family members". Hmm.

A sobering shot.

While such "mommy" musings are clearly not unusual, they seem to have drifted into "oversharing" waters, raising the ire of many. Other sailors have been quick to dredge up Eric's criticism of the preparations or skill set (as he perceived them to be) of other sailors who've required saving. What's clear (and not much is) from this online palaver is that things said online are virtually forever, and that everyone, whether lubberly or skipperly, is a self-appointed critic of anyone else who dares to list their plans when it comes to getting the topsides wet. I have even read some very cynical (and I usually consider myself to be more than typically cynical) theories concerns the near-complete silence of the Kaufmans since their safe rescue: that they are going to write a book and that they are soliciting donations.

Well, can you blame them if they kept silent? Why open oneself up to attacks like this?

Charming, as is the case with humanity at one remove. Image (c) therebelheart.com

This couple are likely homeless, or perhaps couch-surfing for some time, and the home they've worked on for nearly a decade is at the bottom of the sea. They've also just survived a situation that might easily have killed their kid 20 years ago, before EPIRBs were generally in use on small sailboats. So given these things, I would be surprised if they engaged their critics on any level beyond a dimissive expletive.

So, as I still don't feel I've heard Eric and Charlotte's analysis of "what went wrong", I will withhold my opinions on their actions, not that they would really be helpful, except in a forensic sense that would perhaps serve our own endeavours. It's a truism of the shipboard life, however, that at sea, the skipper(s) make the call: they must have that autonomy and the preservation of the crew must take precedence. That's pretty well the end of it, for me. I wasn't aboard, and don't know the details, and further speculation must remain empty.

I am quite interested, however, because we are planning much the same sort of trip, but with some differences. The main ones for me are as follows (and are to this point):

1) We have one son, currently 12 1/2, and the same size now as my wife. He's been sailing since he was seven and is taking further advanced courses this summer.
2) My wife and I have done two saltwater deliveries each (and separately) since 2007.
3) I've taken an RYA course and will take more. So will the missus.
4) We both know our pilotage, diesel repair, CN, and first aid and have taken courses (and fixed things while underway) to that end.
5) We've done most of our own refitting. That's why we haven't left yet! Refitting/re-engining a mid-size offshore-capable boat is like apprenticing in four or five different trades, or so it seems. Whatever else can be said for this, if something breaks, you will usually know what broke, where it is, where the spare is, or how to fashion a fix...if you installed it in the first place.
6) We've each experienced, on different boats, sustained gales of 40-50 knots and squalls past 65 knots. We know what that sounds like and how to heave to, deploy drogues or reduce sail to kerchiefs. We know of the necessity of giving ourselves a rest and respite, something very young children are unlikely to grasp or endure.
7) This might be the most important part: We plan to leave Toronto for a summer's cruising in Nova Scotia, and then to haul out for winter in Halifax prior to a following spring Atlantic crossing of the British Isles.

Our "shakedown cruise" will therefore be in waters tidal, oceanic and yet domestic. The Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Atlantic in front of Nova Scotia is the real deal, and yet is well-supplied if things break. And things always break. S/V Rebel Heart, by contrast, made their first offshore cruise one of the longest one can make: between Mexico and Polynesia. 

I wonder, however, if my own blog posts and forum musings will come back to haunt us, should we experience difficulties, from the Hun-like hordes of those who, from the comfort of their keyboards, know better how to sail and "wouldn't have gotten into this mess". 

Maybe we should cast off, and then "go dark". I know of a few cruisers who purposefully delay their posts for some weeks for reasons of security (why tell the world, which of course includes pirates and theives, where you are or where you anticipate going?). In light of recent events, I have a fresh appreciation for this tactic.

It's too close to spring launch for me to read Rebel Heart's blogs or even do more than sample the largely useless speculative threads on various sailing forums, but I would suggest that our plans and preparations may serve us better in the long run than did theirs, if only because ours are deliberately incremental, and because our son will be a near-adult and will be capable of being a real crew. Toddlers are, by contrast, incontinent cargo. I'm sure they have other charms, but even though we took our son sailing in a bundle and then a car seat from a very young age, we did not choose to go out of VHF range or in particularly tough conditions. Now we do: he's a good swimmer and lives in a PFD. I look forward to further progress.

The First Mate at five days of age, September, 2001. I cannot say that I haven't taken an infant sailing.

I would still like to hear the Kaufmans' side of their story if they choose to relate it.

One interesting response to the tidal wave of criticism (and I've been there and done that) is accounts from "former boat kids" who relate the very positive effects of growing up on a cruising boat. There have been balanced accounts supportive of the Kaufmans from sailing parents who didn't come ashore after having children while cruising, and even nuanced pieces which acknowledge (or, at least, this was my takeaway) that cruisers incur envy from those stuck on a treadmill, even if they would never choose the cruising lifestyle. As a recently posted Practical Sailor article indicates, the reality is that it is a series of little things, such as health problems getting worse far from shore, that can end a voyage sooner than that big wave or that howling wind. Here's hoping that the Kaufmans don't give up their dream, and if their prep was sound, they can work on having better luck next time.

Alive, if boatless, the Kaufmans and their rescuers in California

UPDATE: 2014.05.06: I found a post by someone named "Weavis" on the Cruisers' Forum website that is very apt and is applicable to all who venture an opinion on those who go down to the sea in ships, or Hans Christian 36s, for that matter:

Originally Posted by weavis 

As a young physician in training, I was filled with a burning desire to change the world. 5 years on, and having worked with wiser experienced men and women, I came to understand a few immutable principles for living a life. And as an older physician now, the principles hold good.

• Every single person is entitled to respect. This means, as a friend, a parent, a spouse and as a stranger. We have to respect every one enough to let them live their own life. To make their own path, and to let them succeed or fail on their own terms.
• We need to be in FULL possession of ALL the facts before we can assess ANY situation.
• When an event happens, and its not a good outcome, we need to ask ourself, "Is it my job to fix this?"
• We need to see what help, if any, can be rendered in practical terms for people, if required to ensure they have lots of space to recover and regroup and regain heath or balance.
• We need to ask ourselves a number of questions privately, "What can I learn from this episode if I am faced with a similar situation?"
• "Would I have taken the route that was taken to arrive at the situation before me now?"
• Am I allowing personal, religious or that inner set of rules (that we all have), or the outcome itself to influence my analysis of the situation?

There appears to be a lot of rancour regarding this situation. It would appear some C.F'ers have issue with the personality of the man. Some have issue with decisions made regarding his wife and children, and some have issues with post scenario handling of money.

Life law: We need to be in FULL possession of ALL the facts before we can assess ANY situation.

Even without all the facts, we are faced with the other life Principles to consider:

The journey is over, the vessel is no more, and life has forever changed for this family.

It is not our job to fix this.

Ours is to reflect on the situation and decide for ourselves whether we would have, firstly undertaken the journey, and secondly, what bits we would have done differently. We have the unique perspective of being observers and learning without the pain of experiencing results of choices and circumstances.

Reality is that there is NOTHING we can do. President Kennedy was shot. World wars happened, our parents died, the Titanic sank, and Rebel Hearts journey concluded when it did in the manner it did as a culmination of all things that led to it.

We cannot change a thing. It happened.

Eric cant change what happened, because he would if he could. And all the people irritated or morally outraged that he took his children with him, cant change a thing. All the people aggravated at his personality and attitude who feel a sense of karma in this, well thats ok too, he that lives by the sword dies by the sword, but......... thats a different issue to the CHOICE you would have made in preparing for this trip, and that is all that matters.

We get one go at this life thing. Some of us approach it quietly and some announce it on the Radio.

We are owed nothing by Rebel Heart.

The C.F. community, comprises of all sorts of people who write for a variety of reasons, and if they trumpet and blow, and then the quiet descends, well that is all there is. We are not Erics Mom or Pop or someone owed money, we are just associates, we are not even real friends REGARDLESS of what you think. He has other things to work out and needs to find the best path to live with himself and continue this life.

There is also the 50-50-90 rule: anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there's a 90% probability you'll get it wrong. There is no starting over, you just have to live with the mistakes you have made, and that what you consider mistakes are not what others might.

It would be nice if at some stage, the crew of Rebel Heart tell their story. But you know what? It wont matter to some people. There will be no change in their view or positional stance. It will only inflame them more to convince the world that they are correct in their assessment of everything that happened. And truth is, they might have parts of it right, maybe all of it, and it doesn’t change a thing to what has happened. It can only change what we do in our lives.

Well said, sir.