Sunday, December 18, 2011

Muscle Cars of Venezuela

At about half a cent per litre for the price of petrol, Venezuela is the cheapest place on Earth  to  fill  your tank.  Even if the country is going to the dogs in terms of the economy, jobs and violent crime, in the land of Hugo Chavez,  gasoline is basically free.   They don't bother advertizing the price at the pump. The parallels for having old American cars in a socialist state are obvious although what separates Cuba from Venezuela is a time span of more or less 25 years.





What my friend Brahm and I found interesting during our short trip there, was that most of  these older cars were all 'souped up' as the old school saying goes;  jacked up rear ends, wide tires and mags on the wheels and usually patched up body work.  Walking in the streets felt as if we were on the set of a 70s Starsky and Hutch T.V. show.   In regional cities and towns these behemoths are the taxis.  Even in Caracas you see them around,  although in smaller numbers.   They are still desirable, not only because no one thinks twice about the amount of fuel a 440  8 cylinder  engine guzzles,  but because the price to buy a new car, say a Toyota or Ford, has sky-rocketed in the past few years.








Sitting in the huge rear seat of these cabs and looking at the dashboard gave me a flash back to my high school days, when cruising with some friends who had these same muscle cars, or with my father's own Pontiac or Oldsmobile family car.   Even these automobile names brought back memories of another time;  the Ford Limited,  Chevy Malibu, Dodge Dart;  the Gran Torino,  the Nova, the Maverick  or the long forgotten Javelin.






















Wednesday, October 12, 2011

s/v Manta Ray

I have often thought that if I really wanted to learn how to sail,  I would have to get my own boat.   I do know the basics, having raced a dozen times on other peoples' boats as well as going out on small lasers.  Five months on a sailboat in the South Pacific also taught me a few things.  However, having your own boat would really be the only way to truly learn all the intricacies of sailing. Last spring, checking Craigslist once again, I found and bought a 26 foot sailboat for a good price.  She's a Thunderbird, fiberglass on plywood, a classic, fast boat from the Northwest coast. See this for a brief history and description: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thunderbird_26  I was somewhat familiar with the boat as friends had one for a while. 



The previous owner had her moored at a dock in Coal Harbour for the past year.  There were obviously parts that needed some TLC but the hull was apparently sound and the rigging looked good.  There were also several extra sails that came with the boat.   They say that the happiest time relating to sailboats is the day you buy one... and the day you sell it!   They do require lots of time and $$... "an expensive toy" as a friend had put it.  

According to sailor lore, it's bad luck to change the name of a boat.  The owner had changed the name though and could not remember the original name from the man whom he had bought her from.  I figured then no harm in changing the name once again. I came up with Manta Ray,  those graceful flying creatures of the sea that I had seen several times snorkelling in the South Pacific. 

As I do not have moorage (waiting lists and too expensive in Vancouver) I would be anchoring my boat back and forth between Kits Point and False Creek.  The latter is a protected inlet of water that is, unfortunately, regulated by the city of Vancouver. You can only anchor there for two weeks at a time out of 30 day period.  The former is out in English Bay, open to the sometimes nasty North Westerly winds coming from the Georgia Straight.  I had to get a good anchor, chain and some anchoring line.  The spending started at Popeye's, a 2nd hand Marine store in North Van, a  place I would be going back to several times.  A friend of a friend hooked me up with an 8 hp 4-stroke Honda motor that just fit the motor well of the T-bird.  The next step was to get her hauled  out of the water at the Granville island boat yard to power wash the the hull and to apply a new coat of anti-fowling paint. I had her out for a few days and also did some repairs on the rudder and transom.  






After buying a second hand dinghy and borrowing Erik's old Johnson Sea Horse motor, I was finally able to go for the maiden sail after having sorted out some of the lines and halyards.  It took a few outings to get comfortable sailing with both the genoa and main sails. Thunderbirds have a fractional rig (or Marconi rig as they are often called) which means that the foresail does not go up the entire length of the mast but only 3/4 way up.  The main sail area is quite large for the size of the boat as is the height of the mast.  Still learning what exactly it all means as well as some of the terminology and characteristics of the different types of sails.   

My friends were of course happy for me that I had this boat and I got several different small groups together to go out.  Even though almost all of them do not know how to sail, the basics would be explained as we went, sometimes with anxious shouting if say a tack went wrong.  I will need to practice sailing alone though, with both sails out. 





It does not take long to get to know the community of boat owners anchoring in False Creek.  Through my friends Erik and Naomi, who up until recently had their boat there,  I met a few of them.  One day, after anchoring in the Creek next to Albert, who lives on his boat, he asked me if he could check out my T-Bird.  As he went inside the cabin, he asked me if I had a knife or screwdriver.  Poking away, he then informed me that there were several rotten pieces in my cabin, one that was of crucial importance.  I knew there were some problems but did not realize that one particular piece of wood was a block that supported one of the mast's stays.  In other words, if the three screws that held together the chain plate attached to the stay were to rip off that rotten wood they were screwed in, while sailing, the mast could fall down ripping the cabin and deck of the boat.  That would be the end of the boat.  Albert offered to help me fix up my boat.  What would transpire would be 3+ weeks of ripping out pieces of the cabin and deck, fiber-glassing and painting...   It would have been preferable to do all this work with the boat on land, but that was not possible.  Therefore much time was spent going from boat - dinghy - car - Home Depot - car - dinghy - boat...  Another friend, Simon, let me use his generator, essential for all the power tools we used.  I now understand why people like a grinder so much. The weather was perfect for working.   There were a lot of man hours put in and I am grateful to Al for helping me out.  I learned a lot about fixing things. There is another saying about boats... "whatever time you plan to work on a boat,  multiply it by 3 then double it".  A bit of an exaggeration,  but yes, it does take a lot of time to get things done. 











Once we got through the major repairs and after having cleaned out the cockpit and cabin of sawdust, fiberglass, scrap plywood and tools, we were able to go sailing.  Albert has sailed all his life, so apart from being an excellent teacher for repairing sailboats,  it was good to watch him go about sailing as well. There were still quite a few things to do on the boat but at this point they were mostly cosmetic.  Removing several coats of marine paint on the coaming of the cockpit revealed the beautiful grain of teak wood, of which my boat,  being built in the 60's, has a lot of.  We also put the anchor line and chain at the front of the bow, through a hatch.  While sailing, the anchor would now hang from the railing in the front.  Before, I was dropping the anchor from the stern, then walking the line to the bow, because there was nowhere to put the heavy chain and line on the deck at the front. 



















I sometimes wondered what I was getting into...  especially upon receiving some of my credit card statements.  However, with the wind in the sails and the sound of waves... the pleasure of learning and having fun...  it makes it all worthwhile.  I will be taking the Manta out of the water soon for the winter months.  Anchoring on and off in English Bay would be just too stressful with our many winter storms that roll in with the North West winds.  There will be a few more thing to do in the spring, like painting the entire deck. This of course  will be much easier with the boat on land.  I'm looking forward to sail for days at a time, exploring the many islands and inlets of Georgia Straight.









Saturday, September 10, 2011

Salmon fishing in kayaks

It took a while for the summer to finally arrive and when it did I asked my friend Chris, from Sweden whom I had met in Yukon in the spring, if he wanted to do a kayak trip.  As an avid fisherman he was eager to catch some salmon.  I took him out several times in my skin-on-frame kayaks so he would get used to them.   He had no problem and mastered the roll after just 15 minutes of practice
.




After picking up my friend Erik's touring kayak and some food we were off to Horseshoe Bay to catch the ferry to Nanaimo and arrived  just after sunset.  It's a five hour drive north to Telegraph Cove, so we stopped halfway, near Campbell River and just pulled over a roadside parking lot along the sea and slept in the Kaiser (my old Benz).   The beautiful sunrise announced a gorgeous day ahead.

We arrived at our destination a few hours later and we were in the water by noon.  Johnstone Straight was calm and a deep blue.  The salmon were jumping all around us.   We had bought a few extra buzz bombs, the favoured lure in this part of the world, and started casting toward wherever they jumped.  After a quick lunch of salami and cheese on bread, I caught a nice sized pink salmon.  He was a perfect size for a meal for two, so I kept him.  I then caught another one which I released.  Chris caught a few as well but they were really small and I could see he was a little envious of the fighting fish I had caught.


We stopped at a rocky beach to spend the night.  I told Chris to go back out fishing while I would set up the tent and get dinner ready.  The sunlight was golden and, as he was floating and casting fifty meters away from the beach, I heard the familiar "ppffffff" sound of a blow hole.  The orcas were fishing as well.  Several of them cruised by very close to shore between the two of us.  They were surfacing close to his kayak and I was glad he was able to have that awesome experience, one I have had several times before.   A few sea lions were also fishing a few meters from the beach, tossing salmon in the air with their powerful tails.  A lesser blow hole sound was that of porpoises,  joining in on the feeding frenzy and they were followed by several commercial fishing trawlers.











It was blue skies again the following morning. The water was calm so we crossed the Straight to Hansen island where we jigged our lures in deep water along some cliffs and quickly caught many rock fish, that we all released except for one that I figured would go well with the Indian curry we were having for dinner.  We had to wait a couple hours before going through a narrow channel since there were tidal rapids and a current going up to five knots.  Lunch on the rocks, bald eagles above and another blow hole blowing, this time a humpback whale who, at first was far in the distance but then appeared later some fifty meters from where we were paddling. Like a reef it surfaced and, thankfully, did not get too close.   Once again a pod of orcas cruised by as well.  The water was so clear, cold and full of life. 








Our next campsite was in a bay, with a long shallow entrance to a creek coming from the forest.  It's always a little challenging figuring out a good spot to land the kayaks as the water line of tides must be taken into consideration.  You may arrive at one spot that seems easy enough to get out along rocks or a pebbled beach, but what does it look like at low tide?  More than once I have been surprised by huge rocks full of seaweed that make it difficult, if not impossible, to re-load and launch your kayaks.  Having a tide table is essential.

We pitched the tent in the forest and cooked dinner on the rocks.  Another beautiful evening.  The coastal mountains were lit by the setting sun. A few old wooden trawlers motored by then a couple of floating hotels, the massive 10 storey cruise ships heading up the Inside Passage to Alaska.   We woke up to a foggy bay and set out on the water with a completely different feel; one of being suspended in nothingness, the horizon of water blurred with that of the sky. 






We started fishing once again, me catching the first salmon, Chris the next one but then his line broke. It was 3 - nil for me at that point.  Finally, he caught one, a Coho that was a good size and it gave a great fight, jumping out of the water several times.  He was very happy.  We decided that we would leave that evening so that meant we could keep up to four fish each, as we could put them on ice for the long ride back.  Once again, we had to wait for a strong tidal current that was going the same direction we were but was too strong take a chance riding through.   We kept on fishing but then we were slowly being sucked into the current even as we paddled further away.  This proved a little complicated when Chris caught another salmon.  It takes a good 10 minutes to land them to the kayak, before clobbering them on the head. On top of that,  we pissed off two sea lions that were also fishing and they were aggressively following us, popping their massive heads out of the water with what seemed like an angry snort only a few feet from our kayaks.   I got totally freaked when I saw one swim under water quickly next to my boat.  Think of a fast swimming bull under water that could easily knock you upside down.


The current subsided and we paddled through the channel.  The fog and clouds lifted as we crossed Johnstone Straight toward Vancouver island. The wind picked up and it was fun to paddle through waves with the sparkling diamonds of reflected sun light. A humpback was feeding ahead of us once again.  A few trawlers motored by with their bounty of salmon and us with our three good sized fish, before we arrived back at the small town that is Telegraph Cove. Another stellar trip of wildlife and natural beauty from the sea of Vancouver island.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Yukon paddling

It has been several years now that I have thought about and planned to canoe the Yukon river. However, it always fell through for various reasons until finally, this was the year to make it happen as I had two weeks vacation during the first half of June.  My friend Shinyi was able to take a couple of weeks off work on short notice, so it was a go.   It did not matter that she had only ever camped in car park campsites or had never been in a canoe, (she has paddled in Dragon boats though) she was eager for a wilderness experience up North.


A few years ago, as I was planning this same trip,  I struck up a conversation with Sue, a passenger on a Toronto - Vancouver flight.  Turns out she lived in the Yukon and had invited me to contact her and her husband Larry anytime when I would be in Whitehorse.  Well I looked in my little note book and found her e-mail address.  I fired off a "do you remember...?" email and she responded with an invitation to stay at their home!  True Northern hospitality.

After writing lists of stuff to bring and getting all the gear ready, we took the flight to Whitehorse where Larry picked us up.  We spent two nights with them with great food and conversation.  They lent us their truck to get our groceries and we picked up a rental canoe from one of the outfitter companies in town.  We were originally planning to put in the Yukon river which flows through Whitehorse, however there was an alternate river, the Teslin, which runs parallel 100 km to the east and joins the Yukon downstream a few days from Carmacks,  about 400km away and our final destination.  Larry was willing to drive us the 100 km to Johnson's Crossing,  a bridge on the Alaska highway that crosses the Teslin and the put in point for paddling that river.


The weather was cool, mixed cloud and sun, with the occasional downpour.  Shinyi got the hang of paddling pretty quickly.  The first few days on the Teslin, the current was not very fast but it picked up considerably as the days went by.    On our first night, we met another camper, a young man named Kris, from Sweden.  He was on a solo canoe trip for 50+ days and going all the way to Dawson city. An avid fisherman,  he would spend several days at one camp and fish most of the day (catch and release).  He had found a great spot across the river from the campsite, in a  shallow, swampy bay where the pike were biting big time.  He took me there the next morning and sure enough, on the first cast, bang! a 10 pounder.   I caught five of them, thanks in large part to his hand made floating lure that drove the fish crazy as it looked like a mouse in distress swimming on the surface of the water.  We ended up keeping one for dinner.  I thought of the  canoe trips of my youth, with the filets fried in crushed cornflakes and flour batter that my Mom would make and that I had brought a bag of.    It was that long ago too that I had last eaten Northern Pike, or "Jack" as we call them in Manitoba.
 



We kept on down the river, many sandy cut back banks,  forests of  black spruce and the occasional bluffs of alder.  There were several mountains on the horizon, traces of snow on their peaks, melting as the days went by and swelling up the river that was noticeably getting a higher water level. The map that we bought at the rental store was very detailed and showed the many streams coming into the river as well as topographical features such as "hoodoos" (see first photo) naturally sculpted towers of sand and clay caused  by erosion.  Included were sites of historical interest like the relics from the Klondike days, mostly ruined log cabins.  Campsites were also indicated.  Although you may think you are in total wilderness, which you are... there are still quite a few people that paddle these rivers, especially the Yukon, and most of them are Europeans.  There may only have been a day or two out of eight where we did not see or meet other paddlers and it was still early in the season.

  

There were many islands on the river and it was fun to paddle down narrow segments which made it feel like you were on a different, smaller river.  It also meant that you were closer to both banks and better to see wildlife which, we did see...  several moose with their calves, a couple of porcupines, beavers, many bald eagles, some osprey.  Unfortunately, we did not see any bears.  Not that I wanted to see them near the campsite, but from the canoe it would have been awesome.   At one camp, where there were many firefighters set up to battle a blaze further downstream, they had seen a grizzly  swim across the river and head up a steep bank. 

 




By late afternoon of the fifth day, we were to say farewell to the Teslin river as it joined the Yukon river.  This junction, called Hootalinqua, was a popular meeting and trading place between various first nations before the arrival of Europeans. It then became a village for miners working the area as well as a supply spot for those looking for gold during the Klondike.   The Yukon was quite wide here and it almost looked like a lake.  You could see the distinct two colours of each river, the Yukon being more blue than the darker Teslin.  We camped on the western shore where there was an established campsite with outhouses and picnic tables amongst some old log cabins.  As there was a large fire downstream that had already consumed 20 000 hectares on both sides of the river, there was a camp of about thirty firefighters.  A few choppers came in and out, dropping off supplies. They told us it was ok to paddle down as it had subsided quite a bit with the cool weather and rain, but to paddle in the middle of the river for the following 40 + km.  It was at this camp that I caught and ate my first Arctic Grayling, a small but very tasty fish. 


Leaving the next morning, we had to stop at an island where there was the remains of an enormous steam ship, the 'Evelyn Norcom', that ran up and down the river in the early 1900s.  It was like four barns long made out of similar wooden planks.  The boiler room was impressive. As it was a historical sight, the firefighters had set up hoses and spray stations just in case.



Downstream, we entered the forest fire zone and there was a lot of smoke in the air, with small burning fires here and there.  Some areas were charred, the relief of the shore and mountains completely visible.






We spent another three days paddling down the Yukon river, stopping at more historical sites, abandoned villages and a cemetery.  It was fascinating to think of those people, often from far away, who had tried to make a go of it finding gold in the wilderness and harsh climate of the North.   Each campsite we found was different than the next.  The routine was the same, set up the tent, start a fire, put up a tarp if it rained.  After cooking dinner, we had to put the sealed plastic barrel with the food between 50 to 100 meters away from the tent.   Trees are too small to hang food from as we do in BC.  Evenings,  I sat by the fire and enjoyed reading The People of the Deer  by Farley Mowatt,  a second hand book that I had picked up in Whitehorse.  A great story of his time spent with the last Inuit living off the land in the central Barrens of the Arctic in the late 40s.  Never did see the sunset as we crashed and slept at around 11 pm,  about an hour before it actually set.   There was no need for the headlamp that I had brought along as it never got dark in the tent. 




On the last day, about half an hour before arriving at the campsite in Carmacks where we were to leave the canoe behind, we got walloped by wind and rain.  We got drenched.  However, there was a warm dining hall for a restaurant to dry off and get organized while eating an excellent cheeseburger.  I gave the rest of our food to a German couple that were on a 4 month paddle of  the entire Yukon river, up to the delta in the Bering Sea.  We hitched a ride back to Whitehorse, in time for some local beer and the third period of game 5 of the Stanley cup finals,   then Larry picked us up for a last night in Whitehorse and in the land of the Midnight Sun.