You are a “Monkey”!

Proboscis
The big nose winner.

    At Kwajalein Atoll, Marshall Islands, one day I was talking to an American cargo ship officer. He was telling me about an incident which happened to him on his very first day of work as a deck officer on a large container ship. We initially got into the discussion as we were commenting on how many Philippinos work on ships around the world. In this situation, he had to jump in the middle of two squabbling Philippino deck hands who just pulled knives on each other. The source of the argument? One called the other a “monkey”! We had a good laugh over that. But now that Rebecca and I have spent months in the Philippines, 7 months in Indonesia and 4 months in Malaysia, we have seen what nasty little animals monkeys can be and that in these countries, to call a person a “monkey”, is derogatory enough to start a fight.

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Macaque monkey   They are cute but have sharp teeth!

We visited scores of well managed national parks in Malaysia and had the privilege to see all kinds of monkeys. Macaque monkeys are everywhere. They are cute, especially the small ones, but in some areas they have developed little fear of the placid tourists, and this is where the monkeys can become aggressive. They are stealthy animals moving in as a casual group then quickly raiding the tables at the dining area of a park headquarters cafeteria. Most tourists just back off and let the little peeing, shitting, animals take what they want. There are only a few tourists who will swing a plastic chair at the teeth baring, snarling, animals to drive them away and save their lunch for themselves. But the raid and being ripped off by monkeys gives the tourists some fun stories to tell and makes for unique souvenir pictures.

The unusual proboscis monkey, with a very long nose, lives only on the island of Borneo. Their numbers are far fewer than the macaque making them very difficult to find and photograph. But still, rather than tramping all day on park trails, I got my best pictures of a proboscis, sitting in the late day shade, high on a tree branch, at the park headquarters. At 3:30 in the afternoon, it seems so many animals wake up from the forest and head to the central location as though it is some sort of scheduled feeding time. Every tourist is warned though, not to feed the animals. Even the hefty “bearded pigs” ramble in, single file, then spread out to see what might have been dropped on the ground. As the pigs wander through, the macaque monkeys move out of the way like parting waters.

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There is great strength behind the skinny!

Some of the most dangerous “monkeys” are actually the ape, orangutan . There is no “g” on the end, nor should it be pronounced with a “g” on the end. Orang means “person” and hutan means “wood” or “forest” but in the spelling and pronunciation the “h” is eliminated. Monkeys have tails, apes have no tail. To call someone an “ape” does not seem to have the impact of “monkey” but to further that experiment, I will leave for others. Orangutans only live in a few places on the large island of Borneo and on the Indonesian island of Sumatera. Their numbers have been greatly reduced due to hunting and human overpopulation. Males can grow to hundreds of pounds. But even small Orangutans are incredibly strong and need to be kept at a distance. At one park/orangutan rehab center, where there are twice daily feedings of the apes which come out of the forest. A bulletin board at the park headquarters displays pictures of tourists who were the mauled victims of an out of control orangutan. The orangutans trigger? No one knows for sure. There might have been food in the victims backpack or the orang might just have been in a bad mood that day. These animals have learned that humans are docile and nothing to fear. Those mauled tourists have permanent scars from deep teeth bites in their legs and arms and handicaps including missing fingers. But no one should carry food when there are monkeys or apes around. These animals will do what they can to steal it. But contrary to this, there are a few public parks in Indonesia where macaque monkeys are numerous and rely on tourists buying bananas and peanuts to feed to the monkeys. In these locations, there are numerous park employees who keep a close eye on the tourists to make sure they do not become too comfortable with these wild animals and might mistakenly treat them as a docile pet to touch.

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Crocs are everywhere.

In the Malaysian rain forest, there are all kinds of animals like deer, civet, bear cats (a small black bear), porcupine, clouded leopard, crocodiles, tigers and all sorts of snakes and colorful birds. The problem with hiking park trails, at the end of the day, you usually see only a lot of trees and some very nice waterfalls to cool off in. We visit the local zoos to see what we miss in the woods.

Hiking up and down the mountain trails, in the protected parks we visit, are some of the most impressive trees imaginable. The loggers would love to move into some of these areas. It is not unusual to see trees 5 feet, and more, in diameter and hundreds of feet straight up, like the mast on a large ship. Only near the top does it finally branch out into a bushy crown. There is no relative to these trees in North America but they do remind me of the cowry tree in New Zealand. The lumber from some of the species can easily be described as “iron wood” and is so incredibly dense it sinks as quickly as steel. Nails cannot be driven into the wood without first predrilling the holes. Of course this is a valuable wood so the forests, outside of established parks, of Borneo are quickly disappearing.

Since the tropical rain forest is near the equator, there are two seasons, rainy season and not so rainy season. The annual hot temperature varies little. The number of daylight hours is the same year round. Because of this, it is difficult to tell how old a large tree is. Since it grows at the same rate all year, there are no annual growth rings like trees in North America. But still, it has been determined some of the larger trees are easily a thousand years old.

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Rafflesia is the largest and most rare flower. This is the only one for hundreds of miles that anyone knew of.

The conditions must be exactly right for the most rare flower in the world to bloom, as a parasite on the tetrastigma vine. The largest Rafflesia can be over 3′ across and weigh 22 pounds. The flower can stink like a dead animal and has the spongy texture like a mushroom. We had to go to several national parks where these flowers are known to bloom before we found one.

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The bite of this pit viper is far worse than any monkey bite!
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Rebecca’s newest best friend, a 5 year old “sun bear”.

About the Crew

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Crew: Patrick and Rebecca Childress
Hailing Port: Middletown, RI USA
Home Page: http://www.whereisbrickhouse.com
Patrick completed a solo-circumnavigation on Juggernaut, a Catalina 27 in his younger days. He has been published in most U.S. and many foreign sailing magazines, for both his writing and photography. He co-authored a book titled “The Cruising Guide to Narragansett Bay and the South Coast of Massachusetts”.

He holds his 500 Ton Masters Captains License, and is an active delivery captain and instructor. His Ham license is a General.

Patrick owned a home improvement business in Newport, RI but retired in June 2007 to cruise a second time around the world on Brick House.

He is also, most importantly, Captain of Brick House, AND married to Rebecca! (July 4, 2007)

Rebecca Childress (formerly Rebecca Taft) is an accomplished sailor as well. She has owned many boats ranging from a 17′ MacGregor, a Catalina 27′ and a 36′ Catalina, and now the Valiant 40 that she purchased a few years before meeting Patrick. (Lucky Patrick hah?)

Before they head out on their circumnavigation, she had completed numerous blue water passages between Rhode Island and the Caribbean and passages across the Gulf of Mexico. Cruising has included the Bahama Islands, New England, Nova Scotia, the Florida coast and the BVIs, all in preparation for the day she could circumnavigate.

Rebecca holds her 50 Ton Masters Captains License with towing and sailing endorsements. She is also a General Licensed Ham Radio Operator.

She met Patrick on her first NARC Rally from Newport to Bermuda. She had always dreamed of sailing around the world, and knew that a passage to Bermuda in November would teach her more about heavy weather sailing since it is usually rough that time of year.

Several years later when Patrick and Rebecca got together, they set their sites on earning enough money to cruise around the world together! Three years later, they had saved their money and were ready to move aboard!

Rebecca was a very successful Realtor in Newport, RI, and has an extensive list of Computer Certifications and experience as well.

After almost 7 years of exploring the Globe, they decided to add another crew member to Brick House. This was while in the island nation of Palau. We got Lily, a 7 week old practically wild little tiger kitten from a local apartment building. She has grown up on Brick House, learning how to sail ( the first time a freighter passed and stirred up a wake, she vomited at the wight of it. She hasnt beeen sick sine, even in 40 knots of wind!) She has learned how to fish, lets us know when people approach the boat, and has learned how to swim too.  With almost 5000 miles and 5 countries under her belt, she is a well travelled cat. When she gets to a marina, she decides its time for her too to see the world! I guess she takes after us!

Together, we make a great team taking our home around the world!

Vessel Make/Model: Valiant 40 #134 built in 1976
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Brick House Dismasted in Kiribati, the middle of the Pacific!

This post recounts the moments following the dismasting disaster about the dismasting of our Bluewater sailboat, a Valiant 40, ‘Brick House’, in 2011, while sailing in the remote atolls of Kiribati, enroute to Vanuatu in the South Pacific

DISMASTED
Again my head slammed into the bent and mangled mast. What had appeared a rolly anchorage amongst coral reefs was a Twirl-A-Ride at the top of our broken mast stump. The other mast half was folded over the side of the boat, dipping in the water.

Tethered 20 feet above the deck the words of Bill Seifert in his book Offshore Sailing were being bounced out of my memory. “Cotter pins should not be bent open more than 10 degrees.” Cotter pins which were bent open at a small angle, holding dangling rigging, were easy to slip free from the clevis. The pins bent into a curlicue were taking all my effort, strength and patience to bend straight with pliers and small screwdrivers. They were becoming a real headache, in every form.

The day before, when sailing south in sunshine and gentle breeze, the squall had come on us suddenly. Rebecca, and I were below as the wind slammed. But it was only 30 knots; wind this boat can easily handle although I would have preferred to shorten sail. As I moved to the wheel to turn downwind to ease the pressure, I heard a pop and watched the top of the mast along with reefed mainsail and genoa, fold gracefully to starboard; the mast creasing just below the spreaders. Situations I had read and heard about in wild weather in terrible latitudes were now upon my wife and me. The big difference was that we were dressed in shorts and T-shirts 95 miles south of the equator and 307 miles west of the International Date Line, near the southern stretch of the Kirabati atolls.

With the wind dropping and rain slowing, Rebecca stood eagerly on deck asking what she could do to help. But where do you start to pick up a disaster when everything broken is high overhead or in the water out of reach? I too was at a loss, responding “Tell ME what to do!”
Then the mast section sticking up from the deck jerked sharply to starboard as though it could be twisted out of shape. That marked the starting point. We had already turned downwind to ease the rolling but the jib furler and genoa dragging in the water were still attached to the top of the mast which was also scraping the ocean with each roll of the boat. The sail, having opened like a baleen’s mouth, transferred tremendous pressure, torquing what remained of the unsupported rig. It became obvious that the immediate job was to dive into the ocean and cut the genoa halyard free of the dragging and plunging mast tip and pull the toggle pin to free the head stay and genoa furler. But the boat could leave me behind creating an additional unpleasant situation. We looked over the sides and pulled what wet sails and lines we could find inside of the lifelines before starting the engine. Shifting into reverse at idle, the tortured genoa wallowed and collapsed its load of ocean and sat there undulating like a large Dacron jellyfish.Although Brick House was no longer moving, I wore a life jacket and rope tether for my initial time in the ocean. If I were injured or the boat began to move again, this would give Rebecca a lifeline to me. Later, swim fins without a lifejacket gave me the mobility needed to complete the work.With the ocean and mast moving in syncopated directions, the work was dangerous and difficult, limiting me to intermittent attempts at freeing the sail hanging from the upside-down mast. The biggest threat was being punched in the head or shoulders by the mast slamming then pulling back from the ocean. I was watchful, but with one plunge I was unable to move quick enough. In nanoseconds, I had the frightening feeling of terrible injury as growing pressure seemed intent to pierce my thigh; but the offending VHF antenna bent like a child’s sword leaving me only with a feeling of good luck. As soon as the genoa was freed from the mast, Rebecca stopped the engine and together we hauled the sail and furling gear on board.

It was the failure of the port upper shroud chainplate that caused the mast to fold. In the fall, the upper shroud wrapped over the top of the stump pulling with it, 4 feet into the air, a 5 gallon jug of outboard gasoline. The gas spilled a slippery, smelly slick on the port side deck which added to our difficulties. The other shrouds lay in a mass of stiff spaghetti snaking around the deck.

We did not want to pull pins or cut cables and heave equipment overboard. We needed to save and rebuild everything we could. Besides, with a keel stepped mast, there is no way to jettison a bent and toppled mast without first cutting it through at deck level.

It took hours to regain order and secure supports to the dragging mast head. We hardly noticed the sun disappearing till we could see no more. But now we could not risk starting the engine for a second time without first entering the dark ocean and verify fully nothing would tangle in the propeller.

Our underwater light was invaluable this evening. Normally I plunge the reefs in daylight looking for sizable fish to pursue. Tonight I entered the black ocean slowly, the narrow beam of light searching for the profile and glinting eyes of large pursuers. But in the glow, the keel of Brick House and I were the only things swimming. Everything below the waterline looked tranquil except for the boarding ladder which rolled and bubbled deep in white foam then rose again. We could start the engine and be on our way. Click,click,click. How could this be? The only time in four years, when I most need the engine to start, and it won’t turn over even though the battery is fully charged! Click, click, click. Unbelievable. I am always in the engine room checking, cleaning, changing. Click, click. I had visions of now jury rig sailing southwest, 960 miles to Vanuatu. Rebecca put the battery selector to “Both”. The engine dragged slowly then revved and purred. At no time after this did the engine ever falter to start!

The north end of Tabiteuea is not an atoll but a long, low coconut island open to the west. It was the least bumpy anchorage we could reach in our situation. We had all night to pass the 25 miles to get there. Only when the sun was high did we slowly wind through the uncharted labyrinth of coral till our way was fully blocked, two miles from shore.

In the light of a new day, Rebecca was incredibly despondent looking at our broken home. I reminded her about the quote; “The difference between adversity and adventure is attitude.” I asked, “Isn’t this an adventure?!” Her eyes reddened and watered, “We are ruined…this is nothing but a disaster!!!” In reality our situation could have been worse. At least we had our rudder and plenty of diesel fuel. But she pointed out, “If we had only known to change the chain plate we would be on our way to Vanuatu or Rotuma.”

In my diligence to shine our stainless steel, I had been polishing away the evidence. At the top of the chainplate, a second layer of steel had been welded to add thickness for the clevis pin to pull against. Moisture had been seeping between the two metals at the clevis pin hole. That chainplate was going to break and with luck it failed where an anchorage was not far away. I should have inspected the chainplates with a magnifying glass and crack exposing dye or, better yet, replaced them on a scheduled basis like we do the wire stays.

In our bumpy anchorage the first task was to save the main sail. When the mast folded, the main sail slides did the splits; one group stayed on the vertical mast stump and the remaining were stuck in the fallen section. The stress stopped at a point which allowed the sail to spread but not enough to tear it apart. The first order was to reach the uppermost slide on the stump and cut the tabbing or pull the pin on the slide to relieve the pressure. Using the halyard brakes for steps, just enough of a toe hold allowed the proper reach. With that release of pressure the remaining slides on one side of the sail slid off the bent mast into the ocean. The other slides were released from the mast at the gooseneck. The mainsail was then flaked onto the boom and covered with the sail cover.

The next problem was to figure out how to get to the top of the stump. From there I could then release more dangling wires, secure rope stays all around and set blocks for halyards. Lacking the native skills to climb coconut palms, we decided to first get a messenger line over the mast to which a stronger line would follow.

The one firearm we have on board is a high powered slingshot. It seemed reasonably simple to shoot a projectile with kite string attached over the mast. The problem was, no matter how carefully the string was flaked in preparation for the shot, the run would snag on the slightest resistance and pull itself into a tangle. Far more time was spent untangling cats cradles than slinging out the projectile. We pulled out the heavy artillery. The monkey’s fist is a hardball of zinc artfully wrapped in rope and tied to 3/16″ line. Although cushioned by the wounds of line, the fist can smash solar panels and split deck hatches. As I was gearing up for my aerial bombardment, Rebecca scrambled to spread a bed of cushions.

Throw after throw of the monkey’s fist went high, low, and into left field. Several times the fist draped over a hard spot and doubled back to wind around its trailing line like a tether ball. With great fortune, like a tether ball, it always unwound itself rather than spinning into a knot high out of reach.

I always had a better chance tossing a wringer with my eyes closed. After 18 throws, my tosses became less calculating and more menacing as my eyes squinted tighter. But then, as persistence and luck would have it, the fist sailed in a perfect arch gracefully laying its trailing line over the mast top at just the right angle. This messenger line pulled the 7/16″ diameter line over the mast and was secured to a cleat. To that line was attached the Top Climber.

The Top Climber is similar to what rock climbers or giant Sequoia tree ascenders use. The method is to stand in the foot straps then slide the hand gripper up the line to bring up the seat straps. Sitting in the seat straps, the foot straps are then slid up the line. It is progress which enables the user to easily identify with the mechanics of an inchworm. The system may be slow but it works for unassisted elevating. In a rolly anchorage, a helmet would be useful to ease the battering.

 

If the Top Climber system had not worked, there are two other ways to get to the top of the mast. The same 7/16″ line could pull up a block and tackle to which a bosuns chair is attached. A person in the chair can hoist himself and secure the line to the chair at the proper elevation. Any 50ish man who has used this system says it will tend to cramp the hands and certainly is not as easy to use as it once was. However, a person on deck could assist with the pulling and then secure the line to a deck cleat. The last option is to use the natives of the Pacific as inspiration and simply shinny the mast as it were a coconut palm while wearing a harness. At the top, the tether attached to the harness would be wrapped over the top of the mast and quickly made fast. Hanging there, the lines and pulley necessary for a bosuns chair could be secured before making a decent. This latter method is made even more difficult as hanging in mid air, ones own body weight gradually crushes deeper against the harness straps making movement and breathing difficult. Safe working time is short. While I was aloft on the Top Climber, Rebecca did what she could to steady lines to keep me from swinging and banging so hard against the rigging.

With access to the mast top, I was able only then to see a single bolt head from the running pole slide was all that the rope was truly resting on. A slip off that finger hold and I would have to grab something quickly as my support line would slide down the broken stay, over the spreader and into the ocean. There was little alternative but to stay focused and keep working while keeping constant pressure on the support line. I continued to drop all unnecessary wire stays and salvable electrical fitting from the mast to Rebecca’s waiting hands below. Spare lines from the cockpit locker were wrapped, woven and tied around the stump top to form head stays and back stays and shrouds. From three separate looped lines, 3 blocks were shackled and halyard lines rove. My work aloft, for this rocking anchorage anyway, was complete and I inched my way down with a headache and a several red scrapes and dings.

The first item to be raised on a halyard was the emergency Single Side Band antenna. Ours is a 1/8″ stainless steel wire, insulated on each end with plastic thimbles and tied with lines to the stern and bow pulpit. Plastic water hose was slid to the middle so when raised, the wire would be insulated from contact with the mast. The minimum length for an emergency antenna is 23 feet, the longer the better. Originally intended to go up a masthead halyard, our antenna is 46′ long. GTO-15 wire is the most prescribed wire for connecting the antenna to the antenna tuner but in our case the largest core wire we had on the boat was used. Our emergency antenna worked equally, if not better than the antenna which came down with the rigging. Over the weeks ahead, we would keep in touch with cruisers nets and to begin organizing the repairs of our boat.

There were so many problems for us to solve, we had to discipline ourselves not to race ahead but to complete the most immediate job. When that task was complete then we could advance to the next item on the list. Now that our decks were cleared and organized and the dragging mast section was well supported, we could decide where we should sail for repairs. We could not sever and lower the bent mast to the deck till we reached a calmer anchorage. In the Tabiteuea anchorage it took 3 days to clear the rigging and get order to our decks. As we prepared to leave, we gained a renewed attitude and fortitude to rebuild our bricks.

Mast dragging

An off the wind radius had us looking for possibilities in Vanuautu and as far away as Australia and points north. What we needed most was fast mail and frequent cargo shipping from the U.S., a place to lay out a mast and a crane to lift it. 620 miles northwest lay Majuro, Marshall Islands. That U.S. associated island fit our repair requirements. But the seasonal winds were shifting to north of east which could make it a difficult, if not impossible target. We were racing the seasons with a slow, broken boat. Our first stop would be Tarawa, 225 miles to the northwest.

It must have been that seasonal shift which, for the only time in months, brought settled winds of less than 12 knots and at times a push from abaft the beam. Our odd looking sails assisted the diesel engine gliding us along at the most fuel efficient 1800 RPMs. Two days later we dropped the anchor in Tarawa off the town of Betio.

We found shelter in the middle of the perfectly calm but tiny inner harbor. Working from a bosuns chair, the sawing began where the mast was bent over. It took 3 fully charged batteries for our 18 volt Ryobi cordless reciprocating saw to work its way through most of the metal. This was one time Rebecca appreciated not carrying out her threat to empty my tool locker and refill it with a bicycle or sewing machine.
It was delicate work to guide the saw blade around halyards pinched inside the mast but slicing through the expensive bundle of electrical wires could not be avoided. An arm powered hacksaw blade made the final slices to drop the full weight of the mast section onto two halyards. With help from the crew of SV Summer Sky, it was surprisingly easy slackening one halyard while the safety of the other halyard supported the 150 pound weight of the mast. Near the deck, one halyard was repositioned at the balance point and the spar was rotated to the side deck where it was set on a cushion of fenders. The weight of that mast section was stowed on the starboard which would be the windward side of our next passage.

With a stubby rig that looked like something Shackleton would use to escape his Antarctic adventure, we worked our way north. As we sailed past other atolls we kept to their sheltered west shores and made comfortable progress in unseasonably tranquil conditions. Our bucket of luck was heavily tapped on this 390 mile passage. The customary 18 knot winds and large waves returned only as we picked up a mooring in the safety of Majuro.

At our destination, the tedious work of ordering materials and the wait for them to arrive would begin. Brick House had been cracked but soon it will sail with titanium chainplates and a rig to take us safely to whatever latitude we choose.

Are we insured? Find out How we choose to Insure this old boat!

A Tour of our Valiant 40. The Bluewater Sailboat. What do we like about it? What would we change?

               

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