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2011-2009: Three Years in the Canary Islands
Some water has passed under the bridge since completing a singlehandled atlantic
cross in august 2008.
After family visiting and tunning again to the
pace of life style in Spain, got my hands on in the search for a "land job".
Through my family, I got a job at the local airport offices as transport
coordinator for a german tour operator company.
While knowing right at the start this would not exactly be my "bread
and butter", was interesting enough to see how anyone can endure 8 hours
sitting on a desk.
Printing schedules, waiting for the peak hours (when 3 or more flights, full
of tourists from europe land at the same time) and then, rush madly all around
the arrival hall for 10 minutes, gathering the confussed tourists after landing
into a group and leading them to the buses. Then back to the seat.
Although the company and it´s crew was ok, that job really felt sort
of being a german sheppard dog. (At times I wanted to bit a leg, and bark
now and then to any tourist losing the herd and the bus). During this period,
I slept at my parents house, closer to the airport, while Pajaro waited in
the anchorage. I would go onboard almost daily after work to do maintenance
and balance the day. The weekends were spent sailing with family and friends
to Lobos or south of the Lanzarote island. Then sunday night anchors away
and sail back to get ready for the early monday shift at work.
After 2 very long months, I decided that if I really wanted some more excitement
out of my life, I had to move on and try to make an income on the two fields
that I felt were more of my interest; guitar and/or sailboats.
In December 2008, I reluctantly accepted a cruise line contract and in January 14 flew to Vancouver to embark the Island Princess ship for 4 months as a showband guitarist. I say reluctantly, since, accepting the easy way of the big ships money, would stop my search for a job of my taste on land. Also, while sharing a tiny cabin four months at a time on a cruise ship, is perfectly endurable, it lacks all the independence, intimacy and quietness wich living aboard my little boat provides.
This itinerary included Alaska, U.S. West Coast, and across Panama channel for the Caribbean. Even for the few hours at a time that the cruiship pace allows, I was fantastic to be back in Alaska and see snow showing up the trail in Mt. Roberts. The palpable contrast between the Lanzarote island, and the green, humid landscapes of Alaska, must be compared as stepping off the moon, to fall straight down in the middle of the jungle.
After this ships contract, with some money pushing down my troussers, I was really eager to be back living onboard Pájaro, this time indefinetely. With that in mind, and this time for a real shot, I would need to find a land job wherever I happened to sail, or sail wherever the job happened to be. No matter how much it would pay, it had to be a land job I could enjoy. If I ever had to, I would rather work for food, than being flushed with cash, but trapped on a monotony of 40 hours per week at a job I could not bear, (as many people seem to throw themselves, without much given thought.)
But in order to find this dream job, I resoluted sailing to one the bigger islands, just 150 miles away, where almost immediately found some "freelance" boat repair jobs.
The first job offered, was an Amphitrite 46, wich topsides I re-painted the
with two-part polyurethane, tip and rolling technique, after much sanding and primming.
Right after finishing, the owner of a rather rusty dutch schooner steel 60
footer approached me for a similar paint job at that same marina.
That gave me some good money for the initial months, paying my bills while
keeping my savings untouched. Ocassionally this very happily earned income
was topped when gigging my guitar at the few clubs with the local jazz scene
now and then. At times I recall entering the shower covered in fiber-glass dust, to exit
15 minutes after dressing on a tuxedo on my way for a 5 star hotel gig.
At last, land things were starting to roll.
During this time living in the south of Tenerife ocassionally I entered Pájaro in friendly local regattas, and she performed better than I would had expected given her long keel. On a 14 boat, two buoys race, Pajaro ranked in 4rth position, leaving many modern, faster and lighter displacement boats, behind her wake. Not too bad for a heavy plastic classic. As a very sad note, last year in one of this regattas, the sea took the live of a skipper, who got hit by the boom and pushed unconciously overboard. The body sank immediately, leaving her wife and friend completely blocked by fear on deck. Due to the currents, tides and heavy wind conditions in this area of acceleration, the body search lasted a full week by helicopter and diver teams, with no positive result in spite of the team efforts.
One afternoon, while doing some cooking on board Pájaro, I heard a voice from the pontoon asking me kindly in portuguese, if my boat would be available for a short excursion offshore. They were a lovely brazilian tourist couple, enjoying their honeymoon on the island. Not able to afford a real charter boat deal, decided to try with my little boat.
After recovering from my initial atonishment (since the girl under the bikini wasn´t precisely ugly..), I replied, that "Pájaro Charter Enterprises", would get their choice boat ( over a fleet of 1) ready, in less than half an hour for a two hour trip along the coast. Once out on the ocean, for the next windless two hours I mainly motor sailed while they took of pics of on the bow pulpit, kissing over the sunset, then bombing me with questions about boats and sailing. After a generous payment, they explained how this little sailing trip, was indeed a highlight in their holidays. Getting to enjoy this more than I ever thought, I said to myself, that this idillyc private tour would probably be the closest I would get to "chartering" imaginaria.
Weeks and months ( and heck..some romances in between) went by. When I thought that things could not get better than this ..."plaf!", in a finger snap I made my entry in the "REAL charter bussiness" when I got offered a contract as a full time fleet maintenance tech with a local charter company. This contract lasted almost two years and it came in as a dream job. The fleet was comprissed of mainly european made boats (Bavaria, Beneteau´s and a' Jeanneau), ranging from 30 to 54 feet LOA.
The lentils were earned messing on a non-stop wide array of tasks as, from scheduled diesel engine maintenance, fixing faulty pressure waterpumps, fixing cabin fixtures, rigging check, rebedding leaking ports and w.c.´s, take apart broken sails, more toilets, replacing deck hardware, some gel coat repair, tightening bolts all over, teak deck maintenance and dealing with the other million parts that a sailboat is composed with, wich can and do break or fail after a full week charter in the mighty accelerated trades. After sweating the t-shirt getting boats ready for the hiring departures, I´d took a fast shower put on the uniform and welcome the new customers onboard for the full inventory check in, with a smile.
The fact that the company switched bases to the mediterranean during the high season (Majorca), and because at times I was requested to skipper the boats (charter or deliveries), it offered me the advantage to fully explore by sail my med homebirth islands wich I hadn´t visited since my family migrated as a 12 year old lad to the Canaries.
One of the most outrageaus delivery trips was, when I got the mission to fly to the island of El Hierro to pick up an "abandoned" charter boat. The customers onboard had flew back to the UK a day ago. The problem was in the gear box, and only the stern drive would engage. I got "orders" to sail her back to Tenerife asap. Due to the lack of replacement parts,or diesel mechanics in the tiny island, the only way out was to "sail her back". The idea was to use the available wind, of course.
That "sail her back" was literal. Because of the complete lack of wind in the south of Gomera and the lack of wind in the channel between islands that particular night, the delivery was done motoring back, stern to the seas, while hand steering by during 10 long hours. Needless to say, the autopilot wasn´t of any help stern to the seas. To avoid confussion, I decided to exchanged the nav light covers from bow to stern. Must have been something to see a sailboat planning the seas at 6 knots stern-to.
Pleased with the views of the enchanting island of El Hierro, I promessed to be back with Pajaro in a near future, to explore her deeply. (More of this adventure below).
As a skipper, the most memorable trips, included sailing with two biologists to study the turtle and pilot whale density. Perhaps my favourite of all the skippered charters was, sailing around Ibiza, Cabrera, Formentera and Majorca on a brand new Beneteau 50 Oceanis with 3 families. Also memorable, a charter in the canaries with a group of four high elite, physicians (surgeon, a cancer specialist and lecturer among them) wich dialogues, featured some of the most evolved ideas, humor and existencial philosophy I´ve ever heard. Was like a paid week course in "mind bending".
SKIPPERING:
In these 2 years, I kept an aproximmate list of miles logged as a skipper while working at the charter company:
Bavaria 46' "Mojo Picon" Tenerife to Lanzarote (150 miles) (with crew of 1)
Benetau Oceanis 363 "Cilantro" Mogan (Las Palmas) to Sta. Cruz de Tenerife (70 miles aprox) (Singlehandled)
Bavaria 41' "Octopus" El Hierro to San Miguel (Tenerife) (150 miles aprox) (with a crew of 1)
Bavaria 41' "Octopus" San Miguel (Tenerife )to Sta. Cruz de Tenerife (70 miles) (Singlehandled)
Bavaria 38' "Tamajito" (1 week charter, Canary Islands) (500 miles aprox.)
Jeanneau Aquila 28' (Las Palmas - San Miguel) (80 miles aprox) (Delivery)
Bavaria 50' "Guanajo" San Miguel to Sta. Cruz de Tenerife (70 miles) (Singlehandled) (Delivery)
Bavaria 40 "Lulú" (1 week charter, Canary Islands) (500 miles aprox)
Beneteau Oceanis Family 50 "Victoriano" (Crewed 1 week charter, Balearics)
Beneteau Oceanis Family 50 "Victoriano" (Skipper for 1 week charter, Balearic)
Bavaria 41 "Octopus" (1 week charter, Canary Islands) (450 miles aprox)
Beneteau Oceanis 43 "Demonio Tasmania" (1 week charter, Canary Islands) (500 miles aprox)
Beneteau Oceanis 323 "Pato Lucas" (Regatta Skipper) (3 races)
If not just for the itinerary, simply for the guests themselves, each of the skippering
assigments were unforgettable. Nonetheless, just the break that this trips offered from the
daily maintenance routine, I found it to be enough of a pay. But to actually be paid
(and almost 3 times my wages), for doing something
as enjoyable as sailing the islands is, made me count myself as a very lucky one.
The second year back from the mediterranean after a week skippering, back
onboard, with some money weighting down my shorts, I performed a second full renovation for Pajaro (see Refits section.).
Since I had decided to remain in Tenerife for therest of the summer (instead
spending another full summer with the charters in Majorca), I filled a vacant
as a marina staff member, few meters from Pájaro shipyard. Since was a 8 hour
"run-shift", it allowed me to keep working my boat in the afternoons. The duties
being, mainly boat entries control, trips to the gas pontoon, and help with the lines
when docking. Compared to the non-stop rhythm of the charter bussiness, this
felt like a truly holiday period.
Happy as I was, I knew something was being delayed over and over. My sailing
plans were not happening. I had prepared the boat, finally saved some euros.
What was I waiting for? Unable to decide, I became idle for nearly two months.
The ties of love,(harder than titanium cables to cut off) and steady work were not helping my definitive decision. But then, the
work enviroment took the iniciative..
The plans I had observed before of keeping a nice secure job, where starting
to disipate as fog.
Thefs were being commited around the boats and marina, right after hiring "dodgy" new hands. Finding myself as one of the victims, it wasn´t anymore the dream job-place it was when I started.
In October I took myself a full month holidays with Pajaro in the small but surprisingly beautiful of El Hierro. In November, returned to Tenerife to start again another season with the charter. But on top of ugly robbery, less formidable work conditions were being offered for the year ahead, due to the enduring economic crisis I guess, and it was then I immediately knew, this was the time for leaving for good.
So there was: Pájaro´s ticket to ride again. And from a distance and for what I´m told, things are even worse now. Unsure then, looks like it was the best desition now.
So, this is how on December 2011 after Pajaro was make ship-shape, I sailied to the western islands of La Gomera and La Palma, to get some serious walking and exploring down prior to my next ocean crossing to South America, via Cape Verdes.
In short, these 3 year period could be synthesized as a time with lots of learning about newer boat maintenance & handling, and again lots of learning about human relations at it´s worst and best.
But to clear the mud of it all, lots of sailing, and spray on the bow!
2011 Hierro: Scape the Meridian Island
October 2011, El Hierro island, was a table with a reservation for me and Pajaro. My first serious holiday of the year, had to be at the most remote territory of the canary islands
The island is also known as the Meridian Island. It was here, at the south west lighthouse of this island, where the referent for longitude 0 degrees was positioned, before Greenwich took the honor. To kill two birds in one shot, my plan was to put Pajaro on dry dock, to fix a mini leak from the new installed rudder fittings into the bilge. If I wanted the epoxy get a kick on dry laminate I needed a good month on the dry. In the mean time, days could be used for exploring the island. After a two weeks in the pontoon, I hauled Pajaro. Then got my hiking boots off the closet and got lost through the many trails the island has to offer.
The earthquake activity had been going on for a year, with thousands of tremors detected by the national earthquake sensors. But because of the amounts of those (sometimes hundred tremors registered daily), people had learn to live with them. After all, that´s why they are volcanic islands.
One night, while sleeping onboard on the boatyard, a moderate earth shake was felt for an span of 4 or 5 seconds, on the grade 4 Richter scale. I went back to my dreams, carelessly. The next morning, town hall emergency officials informed the inhabitants of La Restinga (the island south port), through mobile speakers, that the whole village had to be evacuated during the morning in an orderly manner. I continued with my works onboard during that afternoon, without much notice of the moves outside the boatyard. Simply wasn´t ready to leave the boat, and decided to wait and see. Didn´t see the point of leaving with no real eruption at sight. The boatyard was closed, and no one noticed me onboard.
During the night, had my radio receiver tuned into the emergency channels. Apparently, the quake epicenter had move from the north coast of the island to as near as a mile south where La Restinga port is located. As opossed to the lively nights of before, full of people walking, kids playing and bars topped, it felt like a post-cold war scene. Through my boat courtains no people, or cars could be seen, or noise heard other than the wind. Felt like a gosh town, where zombies would start to move around in the streets under the moonlight searching for dinner. Only a patrol car could be seen every hour or so, moving throught the streets with blue lights on, in search for people.
For what I heard later, they had central permission to break in the houses, if needed, to force people to evacuate.
Next morning, listened to the new radio reports. This time they had proceed evacuating all the the journalists, and police forces as well as red cross teams. Danger of deadly gas emanations throught the earth surface had been detected by the specialists.
Ok, the sweet death it´s called... So. It was time to "abandon ship".. I secured Pajaro with more supports and added some oil barrels to serve as back up in case of a heavy earth shake. Then, packed a bag with essentials, and started to walk up to the upper road. Once there, I was picked by a leaving Red Cross team. They took me to the rescue base, after lots of questioning of whys and hows. What was really unnerving, was having to hear all day long the exagerations based on bad info and plain fear. It took me days to get myself a clearer picture, clear of contradictions and typical speculation, and to set apart all the views of lava covering my boat forever.
With all my heart I wished a better end for my boat and possesions, other that being buried alive, or melted away by red hot magma.
If only could had her on the water, I could probably had found my way at night through one of the trails I knew already. Then to the boat and sail away unnoticed during the night. The whole village perimeter was under total vigilance by military forces. At night they were equiped with infrared devices (so we were told) and could detect anyone traying to make it into the village by way of trails, from the top of the upper road.
A radio of 4 miles around the south, navigation of any kind was stricly forbidden. And a coast guard patrol frigate was 24 hours in custody offshore..
Instead starting to chain smoke, as I used to do years ago, I decided to make a polite visit the local politicians involved in the security plan. After my appointment was accepted, got finally a interview with the head of the department. My argument was, that my house could be easily sailed away from the danger and also, not being a resident in the island I had to go back to work Tenerife. If flying tourists had left the island to their home countries by air, sea tourists should be allowed to leave by sea, now that it was possible, given the distance of the focus, and before the worse expectations could become a reality.
After hearing my concern patiently, he assured that he would get us permissions for an scorted leave by sea.
The question of lowering Pájaro in the water, was an added complication, but after a few phone calls, we got a permit by the port authorities in the capital city to go to the boatyard along with the crane operator. Plans were being organized to get us ready to leave on the secured sea corridor,the very next day, escorted by the coastguard patrol.
Next morning we headed for the port, with the red cross, and once on the boatyard, the travel-lift lowered Pajaro in the water in less than 30 minutes. That same afternoon when finally we all were ready to sail away, new commmands came from above deniying the operation due to new detected activity offshore. (More material was making the way up the surface, and the eruption was a fact. So, back we went to the red cross camp hospitality).
By mistake and lack of time, this second time, I don´t even carried a tooth brush with me into the red cross base camp, confident that next morning they would finally grant us an approved evacuation by sea, given that everything was ready to roll. But the next day nothing happened and we were force to remain on the camp and wait for the scientist reports. Days went on, and we witnessed throught TV news helicopter images of real volcanic material bubbleing from the sea surface south of the island. Not preciscely to make us feel secure and warm inside, now an then, the camp TV was playing a video of past eruptions all over the world, as a way of preparing our minds for the upcoming. Whole villages (and ports!) covered in magma.
I started to think the worse. All my hard earned material possesions were there, floating in a pontoon at 1 mile from the supposed upcoming lava. Shifts were made to allow the residents to go back to their homes, to pick up documents and most valued things. Boat crews were permitted to go and pick their documents and valued the next morning, under police supervision.
For a few days without other option but wait for the scientist investigations, and bearing uncertain pesimistic opinions all around, I thought that was it. My story with the boat would end here. I recall thinking, that if the worst would happen, I´d probably go back to work right away and save money for a second boat, wich I would rename Pajaro II. However all that work invested.... would be buried forever under the red hot stones.
The spirits on the camp were low. If the pronostics were right, dozens of families would loose all their hard earned homes and belongings, forever. A crevase of 2 meter diameter had been dicovered at 1000 mtrs deep and the material was finding the way up.
Being an underwater event, the eruption would be the explosive kind. When lava emerge through the sea bed, meets the water reacting as a drop of water in a red hot pan. Then the void left by the emerging lava is filled up with sea water that vaporizes explosively, sending a a powerful stream of vapor and rocks to the surface.
News requests and reunions with the authorities (wich indeed had many things to coordinate besides, 3 crews and their pleasure boats) resulted in an final allowance to leave by sea for the fishermen fleet and us. At last, were granted to leave at 19.00 the next day. The NE trades were blowing quite hard that particular night, and we were absolutely forbidden to go south where the danger zone was. So it would not be an easy task. But, hey, that was the price of freedom!!
Once everything ready, and out of the port protection, I set up the storm jib and with rocking contrary sea, managed to put 3 reefs on the main. Was like trying to arrange the bed of "The Exorcist" girl. All this while the wild gusty winds were pushing us to the danger zone, a mile to leeward. But once more Pájaro confirmed the great capable boat she is. After picking up speed, Pajaro took off, cutting like a blade, through a curtain of contrary forces.
The whole night was combat fight tacking stubbornly and without a break, gaining windward miles against short choppy stupid seas and gusty trades.The night was as dark as a railroad tunnel. Hand steering, to keep as close as I could to the wind, I recalled some of the wildest close hauled sailing carried in the US east coast winter days before the cross. This time my boat was ready to tackle it. Next day, the sun came up around 7.00 am, and few hours later I found myself on a glass sea, becalmed in the south ofthe island of Gomera. Pajaro had suceeded beating a volcanic lee shore for good, against prevalent mother-gusty accelerated wind. Surely, this was pure f****g adventure!
Becalmed under the sun, not feeling waiting for the wind, opted for motoring the remaining 15 miles. By afternoon I made my arrival to Puerto Santiago in the south of La Gomera. Not casually, a TV news team was waiting for me. The journalist, well, she wasn´t an ugly one . Exhausted, I went to sleep almost immediately after the interview, and didn´t wake up until next afternoon. (No... I didn´t wake up with the journalist)
Few days later two articles were on the press news showing Pajaro pics scaping the volcanic crisis on the Canary press. My live interview was broadcasted on the news tv next day. Sipping a beer on the bar I watched myself in TV . That beer sure tasted good....
Days after we left, the volcanic activity went back to normal, and the families were allowed to go back to their homes. Still today, the underwater crevase keep sending magmatic material slowly up, the cone being (at the time of writing this), 100 mtrs from the surface, without representing a treath to the islanders.
A dramatic adventure indeed, and everytime I remember this trip, I grate
my luck to be able to write about it in positive terms. Hopefully, Pájaro
will have many thousands of miles in her wake, before such and blunt ending
ever happen to us, if ever. Good boats always out-live their owners....or
so they say ;)
Behind the "Magic"
I saw the "mini-schooner" Magic for the very first time at the outer dock of Barber's Basin Marina (Salem River), on a stop I made day on my first "long" trip with "Pájaro" (Virginia - NYC passage).
During my years as a kid in Barcelona, on my way to school from 184 Valencia Street on my way to the Gracia neighborhood I used to walk every day (while connecting buses) by two of the many universal masterpieces from the catalonian arquitectural genious, Antonio Gaudí.
First the bus stopped at Paseo de Gracia, La Pedrera, and then right on the side of the school "Casa Vicencs". Because I saw them on a daily basis, I took those buildings "aliveness" for granted, compared with the rest of the "inert" street buildings. These buildings were breathing, like trees. Their shapes were "organic," shaped to nature.
What I'm trying to express is that, the first time I set my eyes on "Magic,” I was brought somehow back to the bus stop on the way to school. There on the water was that organic thing (not a boat, not a tree) marrying "life to moment," and breathing with us...
The floating work of art spoke by herself and after some inquiries about her skipper, I knew I was about to meet with a one of a kind character.
A "small-ville" phenomenon called Ted Simpkins...
As a kid, reading Jules Verne’s’ "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" and being much impressed with Captain Nemo's submarine, the mighty "Nautilus," a young Ted Simpkins took enough notes to start to conceive his own floating dream: the schooner "Magic".
You only need to visit his little library room at Ted's mother’s house to find there, hanging on the wall, among dozens of boat design and construction books and other nautical paraphernalia, a graceful replica of this adventurous submarine made by Ted as a teenager out of copper laminate and executed in minute detail.
Ted Simpkins is not just anybody. Always humble, hidden in his impeccable blue uniform of the Salem Water Department where he has worked as chief machinist for many years, he has earned not only the total respect and admiration of his work colleagues but also the admiration of all of the entire Salem little village and sailing community including the sporadic visitors, such as myself when I met him a few years ago while upgrading Pájaro.
Blessed by nature with a precise working brain and gifted with a great pair of skilled working hands, Ted shows a complete grasp on all technical areas and materials (he has a degree as a technical engineer). After watching him work I honestly believe he is capable of performing or guiding one (as he did with me) on almost any type of monumental task, no matter how big the mountain to be moved is, once he set his eyes on it. A kind of "superhuman".
This, of course, gets dramatic when it has anything to do with sailing craft. He'll gently brush his moustache and after some seconds of reflection squeezing his eyelids behind his aviator dark green glasses, (seconds which for the rest of us will seem an eternity) the silence will be then broken when some genius will come out of his mouth or his pencil and make you think: why didn't I think of that?...
Other proofs of his engineering skills can be found all around his mother's house. From the cat feeding system, the air conditioning, the fridge handle, the trailer for his boat, to the latest new "super-Magic shed" in his backyard.
And those nautical cathedrals...
These "gothic boat sheds", which Ted designed, constructed, and perfected over the years with natural ventilation and other marvels, are an extra rare example of this singular creator.
One good night I came back from work after the winter of 2007, on the last bus, after several months overseas, with a backpack full of tools and a heavy sleeping bag, ready to get inside Pájaro and to start working on some extensive refits I had planned the next morning.
Once at the marina (I arrived at night) I was so amazed I almost could not breathe when I saw Pájaro well sheltered under one of these magnificent pieces. I guess he could not resist covering my boat either. What an extraordinary surprise that was (not only to see Pájaro so well taken care, but mostly because, I simply can't recall being blessed with such a rare degree of human generosity, outside my own family. Real affectionate friendship is my answer. Angel on earth is perhaps my other answer.)
The shed Ted built over Pájaro during my leave endured near hurricane force winter winds. (Funny that these handsome buildings are made with simple and everyday materials and within everyone’s budget at the "Home Depot"). I had the opportunity to admire and study my shed over many days and nights. Lying under it and seeing the skeleton through the moonlight, my amazement grew on. I had the pleasure of disassembling it and studying it even closer.
As Teddy used to say to me many times, for most applications, "a curve is much stronger than a square angle." Makes sense. The curve is the axis that holds together the concept of his shed. (Try to come up with something as simple as that!) And not the least of which you can build them "single-handedly" from the deck of your boat as a support (a separate article on them to come).
For my part, not unlike Antoni Gaudí and other heroes, I see Teddy as the "true American craftsman" in the finest sense. Not only a superior spirited being, but also possessing a ferocious discipline to serve all those under his wing. He's truly a new age Renaissance man. A rare human form in these days of general indifference. (I never heard him curse or complain even once since I’ve met him!). He represents greatness.
It is because of men and women like him that the proud, hard working "America" has become respected as the leading nation to follow when it comes to do great projects and practical things. Be it sending craft to the outer space, making "Golden Gate" bridges, or resolving heavy-duty problems efficiently as only they know how...
And the saga goes on, fortunately.
Nonetheless, this same site you are reading right now is possible thanks to the HTML skills of a 24 year old talented freak from Newark, Delaware. Although he holds a degree in Computer Science, Andy prefers to escape the "herd" playing drums professionally (and quite tastefully) onboard cruise ships spinning around the planet. (I don't blame him.)
About "Magic”
What the eyes are for the soul, Magic is for Teddy. More than any other thing he has built during the last several years, the boat is what defines best his own essence and makes him immortal. (As once I pointed out to him, the boat will survive him for centuries.) Every joint and piece of matter that forms the boat bears his mark. Executed with much artistic liberty, the boat reveals a highly elevated spirit in search of beauty. Magic is in love with Teddy and Teddy is in love with his boat, a link as strong as Bernard for "Joshua" and Joshua for "Spray".
Her construction began in 1979 and if you ask Ted, he'll say it's still underway. The hull construction method was upside-down (cold molded) mahogany planks. He built her himself with no extra help. Every bit of the boat, with few exceptions (the winches, engine Sabb 9 HP, sails, furlers and other equipment) have been designed, made and installed with his own hands. For example, the lead for her ballast was melted using a bonfire and a bathtub in his backyard!
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Magic specs:
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Some of the woods used:
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Here comes a selection of pictures taken by his beloved niece and good personal friend of mine Melissa Powell.
Mrs. Powell, with her feet well on the ground and without her knowing it, as usually happens with unique women, was for me a source of invaluable moral support, encouraging my idea of going to sea in moments of personal uncertainty. Our little dinghy escapade with the breeze together that spring afternoon still floats very fresh in my memories. It will not be the last.. ;)
Salem Friends
Some of the life-long friends I made during the time I spent in Salem, NJ. Their genuine kindness, hospitality, and generosity they all shared with me will never be forgotten.
Mr.Teddy Simpkins, for his super-human patience,goodness,generosity and unassumed knowledge (bigger than the Atlantic Ocean).Not to mention his daily fresh vegetables deliveries from the nearby farms hanging near my boat at the daybreak, cookies, delicious crabcakes dinners and many hours spent with this crazy Spaniard. His memory will float aboard Pajaro and with myself forever.
Friends of Pájaro
| The beautiful Antal family (ex-Hummingbird owners), with (front to back) Ryan, Shannon, Megan and Michael sailing onboard with us the very first day in Yorktown, Virginia. Their hospitality and friendliness is still kept onboard. |
Sailor's Showcase
Other
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