Getting Safer with Smarter Cord Connections: Why We Chose Smart Plug

This is, literally and figuratively, *not* cool.

I'll never forget the boat fire that happened on our dock back in Chicago just before we left in 2010. We arrived at the marina to do some work in preparation for our departure just as we did every other day that summer, but this time things were different. Walking down the dock there was a distinct smell of burnt plastic, and as we made our way to our boat, we saw the carnage of the blaze that happened the night before. The ordeal was over and the crowds dispersed, but what was left was a power boat half submerged (thanks to floats that were keeping it from the bottom) - a total loss- and about four other neighboring boats seriously damaged by it's fiery wrath. Apparently a candle had been left burning and a gust of wind blew some canvas on top of it. Within minutes, we were told, the entire boat was aflame. Thankfully, the two people aboard escaped out of the front hatch and no one was hurt, but Scott and I walked away from that experience with two lessons seared into our brains: 1) candles have no place on a boat and 2) fiberglass boats burn hard and fast. 

Yes, we'd do everything we could to prevent a fire on our boat. 

Fast forward to five years and over ten thousand nautical miles later, we are living on the dock in beautiful Tortola, BVI. Ever since permanently relocating here (and being permanently plugged into shore power to run our boat's AC systems like refrigerator, freezer and air conditioning) I've been markedly more worried about the prospect of fire. That's a lot of load on a single cord and AC power freaks me out. Voltage irregularities, moisture intrusion, aging systems, shoddy wiring, and a damaged cord are all things that - in the perfect-storm scenario - can combine to cause a fire. One week I had such strong premonitions about our boat burning down and the fear weighed so heavily on my mind that I started Googling "how to prevent a boat fire at the dock" in earnest. Three days after this rather baseless (yet very driven) search we unplugged our shore power cord to find it charred and burnt. The connection to the boat was also deep-fried. Not cool. 

After talking to my seasoned marina-dwelling friends and professional boat workers about our issue, I learned that a) chord charring is not as dire as it seemed (most likely it would just fry the cord and that'd be the end of it) and b) fried and burnt shore power cords are far more common than I thought. "We replace our cords at least once a year" one fellow live-aboard friend told me, with several others agreeing. Even armed with this  knowledge, however, I felt uneasy. We have very precious cargo in the form of three adorably squishy little bodies on our boat and I want to ensure they are as safe as can be.

***

According to Boat US data about 17% of boat fires are due to the AC system and many of those are due to cord damage. Seaworthy Magazine has an exceptional article on the intricacies of shore power and cord care in "When Your Shore Power Looses it's Cool" and this article does a far better job at explaining the issues than I ever could. Long story short: cord damage happens, it's dangerous, and it's up to you to be diligent and monitor it. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.

After some research and a whole bunch of suggestions from friends who have converted, I decided we'd upgrade to the SmartPlug*. I purchased two SmartPlug 30-Amp Inlet Connector Combo Kits to retrofit our two 30-Amp connection ports. This conversion is not cheap (at the time we spend $175 on each) but, to us, anything that will keep our family safe and (possibly) save our boat and all our worldly possessions, is worth it.

Why SmartPlug? Well, first and foremost it's simply a huge improvement on the old-style cords. The Smart Plug's design prevents overheating and provides "greater protection against loose connections and corrosion - the leading cause of shore power failure and fires." How do they do this?

• Spring loaded multi-point push lock (much stronger connection to boat)
• Weatherproof sealing (much better at keeping moisture out than older style cords)
• Straight blades that offer much more surface contact (better connection which protects from overheating and arching)
• Ease of installation and use (uses existing holes, easy conversion and no awkward "did it really connect?" twisting involved once in)

We converted two outlets and cords because we also figured that perhaps the reason for our charring might be that our single 30-Amp cord was overburdened by our systems and we decided (since we had the real-estate) to put our refrigerator and freezer on one cord, and our air conditioning on another. These measures, plus our new SmartPlugs mean we sleep a little better at the dock.

*We have no affiliation with SmartPlug

Our Sleeping Arrangements on the Boat: Getting Creative with Minimal Space

My children's sleep is a big deal for me. Truth be told, prior to moving onto the boat, questions regarding their sleep, namely: where would they sleep, was the one thing I...well...lost sleep over. You see, we have a two cabin (aka "bedroom") boat and with five people including a toddler and infant twins, that means we had to get a little creative with our arrangements.

Isla's Bunk:

The aft cabin was taken by Scott and I, the twins had been assigned to the v-berth...but what about Isla? Where would she sleep?

The obvious option was for her to share our cabin with us, but that was not ideal for a lot of fairly obvious reasons. The other option was to have her sleep in the main salon, but that was also not ideal as it is our main living space and would confine us to cockpit as soon as she went to bed. There had to be another option. I kept returning to the pictures of our boat and tried to envision other options when suddenly it hit me: the walk through!

Because our boat is a center cockpit/aft cabin design, we have a small hallway of sorts with a workbench in it. It's where Scott keeps all his tools and is the unofficial "work area" of our boat when Scott get's in project mode (which translates to some point every day, love my handy man!) I looked again at the pictures and my mind's eye got to work...yes...it could happen...a lee cloth here, a small mattress there, a fan there...yes, YES! Isla could, in fact, have her own little space.

When we got down to the boat I tweaked the design. I decided a lee cloth would be too cumbersome and a lee board would better fit the bill, as it would be more rigid and easier to deploy and break down. Prior to flying down we ordered a child's sized Therm-A-Rest online which we thought would fit perfectly. It did. We then got a piece of wood cut to the length of the berth (this would be the lee board) and Scott installed brackets for it on either side so it could slide in and out easily. He also installed some mast steps along the leading edge of the bunk so she could climb up and down on her own. Because the control panel with all our switches also lives in this space, I sewed a cover (reinforced with phifertex in the middle to add stiffness) and installed some snaps around the edges (love this Pres-N-Snap tool) so that she didn't kick on or off any switches in the night. We cleared out our belongings from the shelves so Isla could a place for her special things and, voila! A perfect child's bunk was born!

In practice, this design has worked awesome. Minus the initial protest about sleeping in a completely new place, Isla now loves her bunk and prefers it to sleeping anywhere else. She climbs in and out like a little monkey and sleeps soundly all night most nights (sometimes the twins do wake her), but we do have to be very mindful if we are in the salon or galley while she is sleeping, as loud noises will wake her. Nevertheless, she has a special place to call her own on the boat which is fantastic in my book.

The Twin Bunk:

Designing the twin bunk took many, many hours in my head. We knew immediately that they would be sleeping in the v-berth, but sadly - the bed that worked so well for Isla would not work for two babies, and there was not enough room up there for two of those beds. We needed to come up with something different. What made matters even more complicated is the fact that we need access to our anchor locker pretty regularly, so whatever bunk we made needed to be easy to set up and break down should we need to get in there quickly (we almost always need to "knock down" our chain pile if we let out more than 130 feet of rode).

I struggled with whether or not to just corral the entire v-berth into a giant play pen with a big lee cloth across the front, but then I figured that would not be an efficient use of space, not to mention there are lights and a fan up there that the little fingers would surely find and destroy. Finally, I decided on what I think was the best solution and that was to have the entire port side of the berth partitioned off for them. This would allow for plenty of room for both babies to sleep, and allow the entire starboard side for diaper changes, a nursing area, or another sleep zone if for some reason I needed to be in there during a rough period (sickness, teething..etc).

I got to work designing, all the while running my ideas by Scott. Together we perfected the design by adding two half-moon zipper openings and a small divider in the middle to keep the babies separate. The local sailmaker at the Nanny Cay Marina brought our idea to life. To install we used a wooden shower curtain rod (very strong, but light) held in place by two metal curtain brackets, the entire lee cloth has grommets all around which then attach to the bulk heads and bottom of the bunk with strong bungee that Scott cut to size.  This allows for a very strong, secure fit and also allows for the shower rod to be sort of spring loaded which means taking it down is a breeze.

In practice, our design works great - minus the divider bit. Haven scaled that thing in an instant and it became clear that the girls would have to learn to sleep together. They have (phew). If I were to re-design it, I wouldn't make it so high (we went overkill on height to make sure no one could climb out) because it's hard to peek over the top, which is nice to be able to do (I love looking at sleeping babies!) I would also have only one half-moon zipper opening as opposed to two because now, without the divider, the second opening goes unused. Other than that, it's perfect. They love it and sleep great - which is all this sleep crazy mama can ask for!

To ensure a good night's rest, we also have these battery operated sound machines for both areas to help dampen any noise (boats are notoriously noisy with their clanging halyards and squeaky floorboards!) They work great and while they do eat up batteries, we run our generator enough when we are making water to be able to use rechargables so that we're not contributing batteries to the landfills.

So there you have it...

On a boat, creativity and thinking outside the box are key...Especially when trying to put to sleep three under three. Wink. (Sorry, couldn't help myself there.)

How have other boat mama's and papa's contained their little ones aboard? Share in the comments if you wish!

What Does it Feel like to Drown?

"What would it feel like to drown?" This is a question that just about every person who spends a good deal of time on the water wonders.  I've heard that it's actually a pretty peaceful way to go when it's all said and done; after all we came from water in the womb, so it seems perfectly natural that to water we would return...I guess there's some poetry in that.  I once saved the life of a drowning woman off the coast of El Salvador.  She was unresponsive by the time I got to her, but had suffered an asthma attack in the huge surf and then, after putting up a (panicky) fight, she said she just "let go" (went unconscious) and everything was "calm and peaceful".  That was until I got her to the beach where CPR was frantically performed and she "came to" again.  But anyway, that's besides the point...

Luckily, few of us will ever know intimately the experience of drowning, but one French filmmaker set out to show people what it might look and feel like to drown.  It's an interactive web movie and pretty intense.  I lasted about 4 minutes before I succumbed to the watery depths - but then again, I had two babies crying for me so I was distracted.  How long will you last?  See for yourself.

A couple takeaways from the video that are worth noting:

• How quickly things go from hunky dory to hellish (such is life on a boat)
• How fast the boat disappears on the horizon despite it being a pretty calm day
• The importance of making sure every crew member knows how to control the vessel
• The importance of having man overboard procedures in place

This video really drove those points home for me.  

What do you think?  Ever had a close call on the water?

Your Life Raft Might Not Save Your Life...

Image found here.

...in fact, it might not even inflate in your hour of need.  And I don't think I need to tell anyone just how badly that would suck considering the general rule of thumb is not to step into a life raft until your primary vessel has all but sunk from underneath you.

One of the perks of this blog is the fact that we have some pretty savvy followers who have advised, assisted and helped us on more than one occasion.  Many are active cruisers and sailors and pretty keen to share pertinent information with us when they see fit, and we have benefitted many times thanks to the brains of others.

Brian, a blog follower turned friend who actually helped us deliver our boat from the Bahamas to the BVI's back in May, just sent us the following excerpt from a thread on life rafts in an Allberg 30 forum he belongs to.  Knowing that we have a canister life raft stowed on the deck of our boat, he thought we might find it "of interest".  I most certainly did find it interesting and I think you will too so I am reprinting it here for you.  The following is reposted with the permission of the author, Gord Laco, who happens to be a marine historical consultant with a very interesting and very impressive resume.  In fact, I would very much like to meet the man!

Good day - 

My only direct experience with life rafts was when I served as a consultant on the television show 'Survivorman' in which Les Stroud is sent into various environments and copes for five days with what one might expect to have at hand. Sometimes he's been in the desert, sometimes a swamp, the one I did with him was assuming he'd had to abandon a yacht at sea and live in a life raft for five days. 

The production company made a deal with a popular life raft company for the use of one of their four person life rafts; but they backed out at the last minute suggesting that a five day test of a life raft was unrealistic...their representative said 'in this day and age anyone anywhere should expect rescue in two days'. 

I reckon he doesn't read the news nor books much. 

We were in a pickle; there we were in Belize about to set Les adrift but without a raft. I hit upon the idea of renting a raft from a yacht actually on a voyage; there were several yachts around, I knew people would probably be glad of the cash and it would add an interesting story point to be using a 'real' raft in the midst of a voyage. 

The first two rafts we tried (and you can guess where this is going) which had both been stored in on-deck canisters, inflated correctly when the lanyard was pulled. The first literally fell to pieces before our eyes. You should have seen the look on the owner's face. The glue had perished and the raft sank as a bunch of sheets of hypalon rubber. 

The second raft didn't quite fall to pieces, but it leaked so badly that we couldn't use it. You should have seen the look on that fellow's face too. 

The third raft blew up and...and.... Stayed inflated. However, when we opened the emergency kit, we found twice the amount of food in the container, but no water. You should have seen the look on that fellow's face. 

Each of these rafts were by name-brand manufacturers you'd all know. The first two were older, past their first and second "re-pack" cycles and had been stored in deck canisters and I reckon baking in the sun is what did them in. The first one was three years past it's repack date, the second one year past, as was the third. 

We gave Les a very old Zodiac inflatable boat (editor note: to use in conjunction with the third life raft) reckoning that it was reasonable to assume a sailor abandoning ship would bring his dink. 

Les ended up living during the day in the life raft to get out of the sun, but he had to work steadily to keep it inflated and also bailed out. It leaked through it's bottom. 

The ancient Zodiac however, performed flawlessly and he slept in it at night. Which was fine except when it rained in which case he really suffered. 

So what did I come away from that with? Always observe the repack dates. And with regard to stowage - most certainly on-deck stowage is best with regard to getting the raft over the side; but beware the effect of the sun baking your raft while you're sailing. I'd suggest only putting it out on deck when you're making a passage. 

Well there's another long message, I hope it's interesting.

Gord

So there you have it.

Just like everything related to cruising, there are vast and passionate arguments on the necessity and/or practicality of having a dedicated "life raft" on board (some say a dinghy will do just fine and that to spend so much money on something that is akin to potentially bad insurance isn't worth it or that having one is false security and might cause you to "abandon ship" when, really, you should not).  While I am certainly glad we have our life raft on deck (and, yes, it is current) - this definitely gives us something to think about... (and yet another "action item" on our to do list: make sure life raft is regularly serviced).  Safety gear is something we have plenty of on our boat (we are, after all, super conservative cruisers) and it's sort of assumed it will work as planned, but there are many stories of such items (including inflatable PFD's) not working properly - or at all - when they are needed most which is a very good way to make a really, really bad situation infinitely worse.  Not sure what the answer is, but it's definitely something to be mindful of before you head out to the big blue and begin selecting your safety gear.

Thank you, Gord Laco, your knowledge and findings and thank you, Brian, for sharing them with us. 

Swimming at Anchor: You're Not Always Safe in the Water

And, no, I am not talking about sharks here.  Bad things seem to be happening to folks around us which, I must admit, is slightly unnerving.  First, there was the attack on the cruisers in the anchorage next to us, then our very good friends had their dinghy stolen (miraculously it was recovered), and - to add insult to injury (or visa versa) - one of those same friends was a potentially deadly accident while swimming in a popular anchorage.

Most boat folks love the water.  The two sort of go hand in hand.  Our friend, Mario, is no exception and everywhere he and his beautiful partner, Karine, sail they take to the water to either spearfish, swim or snorkel.  They also happen to be supremely awesome and kind people so when mutual friends of ours anchored nearby, Mario offered to dive their anchor for them (a good habit to get into each time you drop the hook to make sure your anchor is properly set and dug in, we do this every time we anchor).  As he was swimming over to the boat, another cruiser's dinghy came zooming through the anchorage at top speed, oblivious to the fact that Mario was in the water.  Our friend, Eugene, who was on the bow of boat who's anchor was being checked screamed at the dinghy to tell them there was a swimmer in the water - but it was too late.  They never saw Mario and ran over him with their boat.  Luckily, Mario was able to dive down far enough to ensure the hit was not lethal (this sort of accident can absolutely be deadly) but he still suffered lacerations on his back from the propeller, and recieved several severe bruises on his head and shoulder as a result.  It is truly a miracle it was not worse and we are so happy he will be fine.

There are two very important lessons to take away from this near tragedy:

1. Be a cautious and watchful dinghy driver at ALL times:  but especially when you are driving through an anchorage.  When you are motoring through a crowded anchorage, do not go at top speed and be very mindful that there might be swimmers in the water.  Proceed with caution and keep a watchful eye.  Same goes for driving your big boat (though they rarely hit the speeds that dinghies do).
2. As a swimmer, do NOT assume you can be seen.  If you are swimming in a busy/crowded anchorage do not assume other boaters can see you, it is surprisingly difficult to see a lone swimmer or snorkeler in the water, especially during certain light.  Take precaution and use some sort of personal safety buoy (no affiliation) to alert dinghies and local boats to your whereabouts.  You do not need to buy anything fancy, a simple white milk jug or an old (brightly colored) life jacket attached to a tether could do the trick as well.

The swim buoy Mario and Karine will tow from now on to help ensure they are seen in the water.

Big thanks to Mario and Karine of The Good Life for letting us share their story in the hopes of helping others.

Photos courtesy of Mario and Karine of The Good Life catamaran.

Boat Karma and the Cruiser's Code: Helping out a Vessel in Trouble

The other night as we were coming back in the dinghy from our provisioning run, Scott and Luuck noticed a boat was dragging, with a lone sailor at the helm.  We all were in one dinghy (women and kids included), so they dropped Darcy and I off on our respective boats with the kiddos and immediately went to the boat in trouble to assist.  It was dangerously close to dragging into the unattended boat behind it (and, beyond that, was a reef; Clifton Harbor is not an anchorage to drag in) and time was of the essence.  The boys sprung right into action; Scott getting behind the helm and Luuck and the owner heading to the bow to raise the anchor and re-set it.  The whole ordeal lasted about an hour from start to finish and the owner (who was alone) was very, very grateful for the help of Scott and Luuck.  Our guys even got a couple cold ones out of the deal.

While the story isn't exactly gripping, what it illustrates is one of the cardinal rules of cruising:  when you see another boat in trouble, you help because one day, it will be you on the other side of the coin.  While those of us lucky enough to live this lifestyle enjoy the ability to reside "off the grid" and outside mainstream society, what this also means is we don't get to enjoy some of the conveniences a developed society affords.  We rely on ourselves, and each other, when things go wrong.  There's no AAA, no water-based fire department, and no 911 on the water to come to our rescue so when bad things happen - you must rely on yourself and, if you are lucky, the kindness of strangers to get you out of a jam.

Which brings me back to another story.  You might recall my post from last week about how some fellow cruisers were brutally attacked in the anchorage next to us.  Not 24 hours after that post went "live", I received an email from a close friend of the woman attacked.  Apparently Tina (the victim) was curious about the boat I mentioned in that post that had come into our anchorage during dark.  Tina had recalled a boat being in their anchorage, but never heard them on the radio (to be fair, it turns out they were on different channels) and saw them shine a light on their boat only to watch them leave immediately after hearing their cries.  From Mark and Tina's vantage point, these mystery cruisers had done a "runner" and abandoned them in their moment of need.  Reading her email confirmed my initial suspicion, which was a hard pill to swallow.  How could someone just leave another person in trouble like that? In landlubber life, this happens all the time.  We all pass stranded motorists on the highway and turn a blind eye to the homeless in our cities.  But on the water this sort of behavior is taboo.

When we went back to Chatham Bay the next day that boat was still there and Luuck went over to tell them the unfortunate fate of s/v Rainbow, the boat they left after hearing screaming.  While they were very upset to hear that there was indeed serious trouble (and not, as they otherwise thought, a domestic dispute), the response of the male was incredibly disturbing.  He mentioned that he knew deep down something terrible was happening and he just wanted to "get out of there."  Apparently when he was in Brazil, a cruiser on a boat next to him was murdered and, after bearing witness to that, he now believes it's best not to get involved.   He made zero apologies for this logic (the woman, on the other hand, was emphatic that they should have done something and was very distraught over the news).  To be fair, this man broke no law and was in no legal way obligated to help out, but what he did do is break a deep seated cruiser moral code.

I am not here to incriminate anyone or create a mob against this boat (and it shall remain nameless because I intentionally did not get the name to avoid such a thing), but rather to start a discussion on the subject and get people thinking.  What would you do?  While we never know exactly what our reactions will be if faced with a similar situation, we can speculate.  We all agreed that simply abandoning fellow boaters in peril would not be an option.  We went around and around discussing this issue from every angle and we all came to the final conclusion that if the tables were turned, we'd hope that someone would help us.  If there was ever a case of "treat others the way you want to be treated", this was the holy grail.  We would have assisted in any way we could and certainly wouldn't have left in the midst of screaming.

It should be noted that the cruising community as a whole did come out in droves for Mark and Tina.  While no one was physically there to assist them during this tragedy, over the magic of the radio and the substantial Grenada cruisers net, Tina was given immediate medical advice over the radio for her wounds and when they got their boat to safety a few hours later in the neighboring island of Carriacou, medical services were waiting to take them to the hospital.  The cruising community has continued to come to their aid in just about every way, shape and form imaginable.  Most of us understand that this could have happened to any of us and empathy runs deep amongst cruisers.

So how can we move forward from this?  How do we ensure anchorages remain safe for cruisers?  How can you help if faced with a similar scenario?  Here are a few things we came up with:

1. Always, ALWAYS keep your radio on: Especially at night.  Monitor channel 16 and possibly scan other channels if there are popular cruisers' stations in your area.  Mark and Tina were hugely assisted by channel 66 which is the Grenada Cruisers channel that many people monitor.  Luckily, due to it's popularity, a repeater was added which meant they could reach people all the way in St. Georges from here in the Grenadines (without the repeater this would not have been possible).
2. If you hear trouble, call on the radio first:  If there are signs of distress and trouble, try hailing the boat in question on the radio over and over.  Try several stations as not everyone only monitors 16.  
3. If you don't get the boat in question on the radio, try other boats in the area: Other boats might be aware of the situation as well and able to help.  The more boats that can get involved in one way or another - the better.  There is safety in numbers.
4. If you know for certain there is trouble, alert every station on the radio:  Make a "Pan Pan" (or a "Mayday" if imminent danger is certain) announcement on every major station in your area (starting with 16).  The boat in trouble might have their radio on (but not be able to get to it) and a thief or attacker might be scared away by hearing alerts over the airwaves. To do this, follow this radio protocol:
1. "Pan pan, Pan pan, Pan pan ALL STATIONS"
2. "This is sailing vessel 'x' (repeat three times slowly and clearly)"
3.  Report position, urgency message, type of assistance required.
4.  Listen for acknowledgment.  Repeat if necessary.*
5. Have your air horn, spotlight and/or pepper spray handy:  We now have all three in our cockpit when we are up there in the evenings and by our bedsides.  Criminals do not like loud noises and bright lights.  (Please, let's NOT turn this into a gun debate, we do not have guns on board and do not ever plan on having guns on board.  Period.)
6. Have flares handy and be sure they are not expired:  The boat in trouble might not be able to help themselves if there is a struggle, so setting off a flare for them can be a big help.  As an aside, some flare guns can also house shotgun shells and flares themselves can be considered pretty devastating weapons.  Our flare gun is stainless steel and can, quite literally, pack a punch - though I am not suggesting that shooting anyone is the answer as sometimes that can just exacerbate a situation.  This is a tirelessly debated subject and one I don't care to get into at this juncture.
7. If you are of able body, go assist:  It has been decided that if we are ever faced with a situation like this, the men of our boat would assess the situation and assist if possible while the women would stay back with the kids.  This option might not be for everyone, and that is okay, but know that there are many ways to help aside from physical intervention. (Tina mentioned that the boat that left their anchorage could have really helped them get their anchor up and get out of there as she was very seriously injured and severely bleeding.)
8. Do what you can in the aftermath:  Offer a medical kit, medical advice, make calls on the radio to line up further help and do what you can to soften the blow, so to speak.

What else can be done?  Any veteran cruisers' have protocol you would suggest or follow?  Please share in the comments so we can all learn some safety standards of procedure (again, let's stay above the "shoot 'em up" debate).  The more prepared we are as a whole community, the better equipped we will be to help each other out if and when the time comes.

If you want to read some of the scuttlebutt around this recent attack, you can read this thread on Cruisers Forum.  You can also hear more about the attack first hand from Tina through this blog post by her good friend, Lynne.

* Many thanks to our friends from Kaleo for sharing this procedure with us. We have a laminated sheet with all call protocol; securite, pan pan, and mayday laminated and taped in our navigation station.

Monsoon on the Pontoon

Before...

The pontoon boat doesn't have the most, how shall I say, 'esteemed' reputation amongst it's fellow water-dwelling vessels.  They resemble tin cans, travel at a snail's pace and require almost zero skill to operate.  They are synonymous with lakeside indulgence, red necks and beer bellies but no matter what, an afternoon on a pontoon boat is sure to bring you some brat slinging, beer swilling, music thumping fun in the sun.  Enjoyable as they are, they are by no means considered "seaworthy" and never in a million years would I have guessed that I would experience my worst squall to date on one.  But that is exactly what happened this past weekend in Northern Michigan.  Guess there's a first for everything...

The day began with threats of storms and rain, but we decided to risk it and head out on the lake anyway.  The sun was starting to peek through the clouds, the air was warm and we all wanted to have fun together since it's not often we get to spend time with Scott's bro and sis and their respective families.  We decided on a little 'river tour' through the various lakes and rivers up here and off we went at a respectable five miles per hour.  We put-putted along; listening to music, entertaining the kiddos, snacking on junk food and, in general, just enjoying the peaceful scenery and good company around us.

Around 5pm the sky was looking pretty ominous.  So much so that Scott and his brother decided to check the radar of the area and see what was in store.  Apparently, there was a big red blob around our whole county with several thunderstorm warnings thrown in for good measure.  We decided to make our way home.  As we more or less drifted along the river, the sky grew darker still and lightning began striking around us, but despite this we all felt pretty confident that we could out run the worst of it (note: have Scott and I learned NOTHING?!?).  Just to be on the safe side we decided to prepare for a downpour, so Scott - being the experienced 'captain' among us - took the helm while the rest of us frantically started packing things away, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.  I believe we deserve a few points for our (vain) attempts to be prudent...

About 5:30 pm we were cruising along when all of a sudden Scott yelled, "Here it comes!!" and just as we looked up, a literal wall of white approached us.  I am talking a WALL OF WATER, people.  The likes of which I have only ever seen in a Caribbean squall and even then, only once.  Lots of screaming and scrambling ensued - there were four kids aboard that needed cover - and before we knew it: WHAM!  It hit us.  And it wasn't just water, but wind.  Lots of it (reports clocked the gusts in our area at 60 mph - the highest wind we have ever seen sailing is 39 knots, fyi).  Instantly we were drenched.  The rain was so dense and strong it looked like someone was taking a machine gun to the water around us.  Suddenly, a humongous gust raced down the river and broke our bimini (the only thing that offered a *little* protection from the elements) suddenly exposing all of us to the cold, driving rain which left us shaking like leaves.

I yelled to Scott (since yelling was the only way you could communicate over the ruckus) to make sure he was okay, he had his arm over his eyes and was struggling to keep the boat moving forward against the wind and rain, and confirmed he was fine.  Peering through the soaked towel that Isla and I were hiding under, I saw our life ring take air and fly away, then a pair of sandals, then a bucket.  The scene around us was utter mayhem, which was kind of hilarious because - again - we were in a pontoon boat.  Scott, realizing that forward momentum was both unsafe and futile, docked the boat along a riverside dock and we hunkered down to wait for the worst to pass.  I kept chucking to myself at how insane the whole scenario was.  I can't wait to sit around some yacht club somewhere with a bunch of sailors spinning yarns and recall "...that one time I went pontoon boating in Northern Michigan..." Good grief.

Eventually, it subsided.  The boat was FULL of water.  All of us - as well as our belongings - needed a complete ringing out.  We were all chattering cold, covered in goosebumps and looked like drowned rats.  This, of course, left only one thing to do which was to laugh.  REALLY hard.  Scott put the boat back in gear and we limped back home, in belly-holding hysterics the entire time.  We even got some cheers from shore-side folks who'd enjoyed the mayhem from their homes but really, only the other pontoon boaters will ever know what it was like out there.  Solidarity, people (tongue is in cheek here).

The lesson here:  don't ever try to outrun a monsoon on a pontoon, because it ain't gonna work.

...after.  It does the wrath no justice!

On Passage-Making, Luck and What We Did Right

With our first long-ish passage -Bahamas to the BVI's - behind us, I find myself reflecting on how successful it was and how smoothly it went, no small feat for a boat at sea for five days.  There are several reasons for this:  First of all (let's be real here), we were lucky.  I believe strongly that those of us who take to the sea depend on a fair amount on good old-fashioned L-U-C-K from time to time (don't we all?), and thankfully, it was on our side during this particular passage.  It is also my belief, however, that we create our own luck in the form of preparedness (anyone remember the "black box theory"?) - particularly at sea - and that the two, let's call them "dumb" luck and "created" luck, dance precariously in a yin/yang type of ballet.

We did a lot right during this passage; some of it intentional, some of it serendipitous... but here is what we learned and tips I can share based on our experience venturing offshore and covering eight hundred miles over the course of five days, non-stop:

1. Route Planning:  Scott poured over the charts and scoured the internet for information on our trip.  Unfortunately, there was not too much out there as a) most (smart) cruisers avoid passages completely to windward and b) most people who do make this passage start much further north, and much earlier in the season in order to take advantage of trade winds.  Despite the lack of info out there for our particular set of circumstances and coordinates, Scott and I read accounts of the trip and had a pretty good idea of what to expect.  Namely: lots of motoring, bashing headlong into easterly trade winds, and a potential puke-fest of epic proportions.  Fun, right?
2. Prepare fot the worst:  I know, this sounds pessimistic, but hear me out:  if you prepare for the worst, you will either be ready when the worst smacks you square across the face OR (the better option) you will be pleasantly surprised when it shows up at your door step like an innocent, water-logged kitten looking for shelter instead of the roaring lion it's shadow foretold.  We had read lots of accounts of strong easterly trades and mind-numbing upwind slogs complete with bashing into twelve foot ocean swells for days on end, and that is what we prepared our boat and ourselves for.  The fact that our trip wasn't that bad made it all the better, and because our boat was so well stowed and prepped, we enjoyed a nice, drama-free ride complete with evening sing-a-longs in the cockpit.  (Okay, not really).
3. Watch the Weather:  Scott watched weather for about a month before our passage; looking for patterns and trying to identify when the trades would lie down a bit and allow for some nice, easterly motoring.  The fact that a weather window presented itself just as our crew arrived was - of course - dumb luck.  You cannot plan stuff like that.  We also subscribed to a professional weather routing service which we utilized underway (via SSB) to alter our course and optimize our path.  This proved to be very useful.  
4. Know your Limits:  We had two volunteer crew aboard to help Scott make this delivery because initially Isla and I were not going to come (see #2).  We ended up joining the roster after all, and it was fantastic (essential?) to have four extra hands on board.  These days, my number one priority is being a momma to Isla and - truth be told - she is a handful (actually, two handfulls) when she's awake, making me a less than reliable offshore crew member at the moment.  Having a working crew of three guys with me as a mommy/floater/galley slave made this passage much better - for all of us.  The guys maintained a two hour on/four hour off watch schedule which was very easy and ensured everyone was well-rested.
5. Pre-make Meals:  Holy moly was this a lifesaver!  We ate incredibly well the entire trip and (wait for it.....) I am going to give myself a little pat on the back for this fact.  Actually, I am going to give myself a full-blown "whoop whoop" for my culinary efforts.  Me pulling off five nights of palatable boat meals is, in my little world, akin to Armstrong's first steps on the moon:  A small step for man,  a huge step for Brittany...or something like that.  Thanks to The Boat Galley Cookbook, a very large refrigerator and a couple days of slaving away in the galley pre-departure, I made six casserole-type meals in "bake-and-serve" plastic containers to keep and make underway.  Cooking on a boat (the chopping, the cleaning, the prep...) is challenge enough, cooking on a boat at an aggressive heel while bashing into 4-8 foot rollers is significantly harder.  All I had to do was pre-heat the oven, slide in the dish, wait 30-45 minutes and voila! warm, tasty meals for a hungry crew.  I also made sure there were plenty of ready-to-eat snacks - both healthy and junky - available as well.  We did not go hungry on this passage, that is for sure.  Another added bonus of pre-making meals?  Less garbage underway.  We only had one small bag of garbage at the end of five days.
6. Shake Down: This is where dumb luck came into play for us in a big way.  We had not planned a shake down sail but the weather ended giving us an opportunity to sail from Georgetown to Long Island and it was probably one of the best (unintentional) things we did.  It was a pretty aggressive sail: twelve hours in 15-20 knots of wind with seas in the 4-8 foot range.  Not only did this give us time to get into sync as a crew, it gave the new crew members a chance to learn a bit about our boat, how she handles and - most importantly - it gave our gear a chance to break before we headed offshore.  We lost our jib halyard at the end of the sail and fixing it in port was much, much easier than out at sea.  The two subsequent days we spent in Long Island were also great for crew morale and boat prep.  This turned out to be a key piece of luck that made our subsequent passage much smoother.
7. Quick Caffeine Fixes:  The Aeropress coffee maker is still my first love, but it is not the most practical percolator while sailing head-first into six to eight foot ocean swells.  Single serve instant coffee packets are the bomb, and they are your friend.  I bought a veritable boatload of Starbucks Via instant brews on my last trip home and - say what you will about the 'Bucks - it was good.  Really good.  And what's best?  It was easy.  I boiled a thermos full of water every morning and whenever anyone (i.e me) wanted a cuppa joe, all they had to do was grab a mug, tear open the pack and pour in the water.  Coffee snobbery has no place on the high seas people, sometimes you just gotta get your jolt and go.
8. Prep the Boat:  We went overboard prepping our boat.  The outboard motor?  Stored down below under the v-berth.  The grill?  Stowed in our shower.  The dinghy?  Lashed to our bow despite the fact that our awesome davits are rated for something insane like ten thousand pounds.  We checked oils, changed filters, topped of water and fuel and did all the usual visual checks.  Furthermore, the interior of the boat was given the "tip over" test - meaning I went through the cabin and imagined our boat on her ear, and anything that wouldn't stay put in an event like that, was moved.  I am happy to report our cabin remained clutter and catastrophe-free.  I also made lee-cloths for the crew which proved to be essential (and comfortable).
9. Pre-Medicate:  The only time I have ever been seasick - and I mean actually puking seasick - came after a night of five (count them, five) dirty martinis.  Friends don't let friends sail hungover, folks.  That still goes down as one of the worst days on the water ever.  No bueno.  But aside from that little blip on the radar - I don't really get seasick.  Despite this, I - along with the rest of our adult crew - slapped on a scopolamine patch the second we started our motor.  No need to be a hero.  Seasickness is not fun, especially if you'll be at it for days on end and we were prepping for a bouncy ride to windward.  The only bout of seasickness came from the one crew member who's patch fell off and was not replenished, otherwise - we were all hunky-dory.  Not too shabby!
10. Timing is Everything:  I mentioned that luck made it so our weather window arrived just as our crew stepped off their flights and onto Bahamian tarmac.  Dumb luck.  BUT - when we went looking for volunteer crew, one of the stipulations was that they had to be available from the 9th to the 23rd of May.  That obviously disqualified a lot of folks.  We were adamant on this point so that we could have a large window to allow for a healthy amount of wiggle room to wait for weather, make repairs, etc.  It worked out for the best, and - as luck would have it - we were even able to leave a day ahead of schedule because our crew was able to fly in early so that we could take advantage of the weather window as it presented itself.
11. Get Mental: No, I don't mean go crazy (thought we almost did for a hot minute there).  I mean mentally prepare yourself for the journey at hand.  Do you estimate it will take eight days?  Prepare for at least ten.  Visualize yourself on the boat, day in and day out, for that length of time.  Imagine the calms and the storms, how you will handle yourself, how it will feel.  Envision how you will pass the time and keep your mind occupied.  Picture the night watches, the day watches and visualize the smells, the sounds, the potential boredom, the motion, the monotony, the excitement...  Great athletes are famous for envisioning entire games before they are played and while we might not be scoring any points out here - there is something to be said for getting your head in the game. 

So that's our (very long winded) $.02.  What are your tips and tricks for long passages?  Please share in the comments so we all can learn!

Master Glockenspiel-er in the making

Our crew, off watch. 

The sea treated us to some spectacular panoramas!

A monster squall on the horizon 

Scott, downloading GRIB files via SSB 

Red sky at night?

Happy crew on the home stretch

A Little Adventure

Our passage yesterday was not uneventful.  We left with the rising sun and pointed our bow to the east.  The first four hours or so we simply motored which is never really pleasant on a sailboat, but a necessity more often than you might think when trying to get from point A to point B instead of simply sailing where the wind takes you.  New cruisers are often shocked at how little we are powered exclusively by the breeze.

We raised our sails as we began to head north up the coast of Long Island and enjoyed a pleasant ride in the lee of the land.  The motion was comfortable, the sun was shining and we were blasting along at over seven knots.  It was an exhilarating sail in a freshening breeze.

When we turned the northernmost corner of the island we were no longer protected by land and the seas grew to five feet or larger.  Definitely not terrible; but the motion of the boat became a little more erratic, a little more bouncy.  It wasn't a problem for any of the adults on board, but poor little Isla lost her lunch.  And her dinner.  Luckily for all of us, it seems that Isla is what I like to call the "puke and rally" type meaning that once she pukes, she's blissfully unaware of the mess she just made all over us and the cockpit and goes back to her happy, playful self.  She is too young for seasick meds but we will see what we can do to manage her tummy as we continue on.

As if baby vomit all over the place wasn't enough, we then lost our jib halyard.  I had just put Isla down for a nap, and came up on deck to see we were slightly overpowered and heeling pretty aggressively   We shortened sail a bit by reefing the main which straightened out the boat, and began looking at the jib.  Suddenly - as if the jib knew we were talking about it - we heard a loud POP!  "What was that?" exclaimed Scott from the helm.  A quick glance up the rig confirmed it, "We lost our jib halyard" I told him.  It's always something on a boat...

This was not a huge problem by any standard.  AJ and Scott went on deck to sort out the jib, we set our stays'l and we were back in action again in less than five minutes.   We were all grateful it happened when it did: in decent conditions with lots of daylight - and plenty of hands to help.  We'll go up the rig and sort it out later today.

As the last few hours of our trip slowly ticked away, we all became aware of a distinct change in the weather.  The sky had taken on a uniform gray color and it looked as if storms were brewing all around us.  Then lightning began.  When you are on a boat at sea, lightning is a most unwelcome spectacle.  While strikes are rare, they do happen.  At best, a direct hit to your mast will fry pretty much every electronic you have on board, at worst it can blow a hole in your boat and/or kill someone.  The lightning was no where near us as we sailed into the anchorage, but it became obvious as we dropped the hook that it was getting closer.  As dinner was being served, we were surrounded.

The storm system was a monster and, according to the radar, extended for miles and miles around us, providing us with the most incredible lighting show I have ever seen.  It was pitch black outside but the strikes almost constant, and each time a bolt shot from the sky the world around us would light up as if someone had switched on a bulb.  We have video footage, but a few screen shots will have to suffice for now as internet bandwidth won't allow an upload.  Nerves ran high for a bit as we looked all around us pointing out strike after strike from every direction, but the closest they got was no less than a mile away.

The wind continued to howl with gusts up to thirty knots and rain pelted the deck as the dramatic lightning show continued well into the night.  By morning, however, the skies had cleared and it's a new day.  With the passage of that giant system a new weather forecast has come in our favor.  It's looking like we will be setting sail from here for the BVI's Sunday morning.  The winds are looking good (for now) and we will continue to monitor the weather as we fix the few issues that presented themselves.

Morale is high, the crew is happy and all is well aboard the good ship Asante!

Solid as a Roc(na)

Our anchor is laughably huge.  It is 73 honking pounds of galvanized steel and looks positively ginormous on our bow.  This is just the way we like it.  On our 35 foot Hallberg Rassy, we had a 55 pound Delta as our primary anchor.  It, too, was huge.  People commented on it all the time, "Wow...got an oversized anchor there, huh?"  Why, yes.  Yes we do.  While there aren't too many places on a boat where "more is better", I think your ground tackle is one such place where you're doing yourself a disservice if you don't round up.  You do not want to be the dude in the anchorage with the dinky anchor.  We don't want you to be that dude with the dinky anchor.  People with dinky anchors make cruisers around them really nervous.

So why did we go with a Rocna this time?  Word. Of. Mouth*.  There's really nothing more to it other than the fact that we met many cruisers between Chicago and Trinidad who had them and nary a one had a bad thing to say about 'em.  In fact, most used the word "love" to describe their anchor and would spontaneously launch into an account of some storm in some anchorage where every boat dragged but them.  We heard story after story of Rocna's being put to the test** and passing with flying colors.  Call it the cruising version of "keeping up with the Jones'", call it covetousness, but we wanted one.  Bad.  The fact that they agreed to sponsor us made the deal that much sweeter.

When cruising, you put an insane amount of trust in your anchor***.  There might even be a time when your life depends on it.  Picture this: You are sleeping in your cabin when all of a sudden you hear the wind start howling and something feels different.  You check the GPS.  It is pitch black outside but you know there is a reef behind you now because the wind has unexpectedly shifted and repositioned your boat.  You will be fine as long as you stay put.  Your boat begins to aggressively and erratically lurch and pull at the anchor chain as the wind builds.  The rain starts.  Sheets and sheets of water turn your cabin top into a drum making it difficult to hear anything else.  You turn on the instruments and see the wind is now gusting to forty knots.  It is shrieking and whistling through the rigging and again, there is a reef behind you.  Dragging and re-setting anchor at this moment would be horrible.  Definitely boat threatening and possibly even life threatening.  You, however, are confident you won't budge because you know you set your anchor properly (you dove on it) and you trust your ground tackle (perhaps it's a Rocna?).  Despite this, you decide to do anchor watch shifts anyway because a) you are a prudent mariner and b) you can't trust the folks (the ones with the dinky anchors) around you.  A couple hours pass and by the time the sun rises, the storm has cleared and it's a beautiful day in paradise.  You have a fresh cup of coffee in the cockpit, share a chuckle with your partner about how annoying last night was and jump in the water for a snorkel.

A scenario similar to this will happen to you at some point if you go cruising.  Do you want to worry about dragging?

Dragging anchor can, at best, be a nuisance and, at worst, be catastrophic.  Part of the allure of being on the 'hook' is how peaceful, calm and relaxing it is.  And it really is most of the time.  We chose a Rocna for when it's not.   Because we like a good night's sleep every night.

* As I mentioned in an earlier post, cruisers have strong opinions about gear ESPECIALLY anchors.  We strongly urge you to do your own research when selecting an anchor for your boat.
** An independent anchor performance test compilation consistently showed Rocna to be an outstanding performer. 
*** No amount of anchor can make up for human error.  If you don't know how to anchor properly, it won't matter what size and type of anchor you have, you will most likely drag at some point, possibly often.  There is no "magic" piece of gear in sailing.  Before you rely on a piece of gear (like an anchor) make sure you trust yourself using it first.

Mo' Money, Mo' Problems

Our beautiful Brewer 44.  More boat, more money, more problems.

The late philosopher poet Notorious B.I.G once said, "Mo money, mo problems". I've been thinking about that line a lot lately, not because I'm a fan of classic rap, but because it's a refrain I have been hearing in my head over and over the last couple weeks, although mine has been slightly modified.  My little mantra these days is: "Mo boat, mo problems".

Lin and Larry Pardey, arguably the greatest and most prolific cruising couple of our time, are famous for saying "Go small, go simple, go now".  It's really great advice because, really, the three go hand in hand.  It's much easier to go "now" if you go "simple" and it's a heck of a lot easier to go "simple" when you go "small".  I'm not saying there are large boats that aren't simple or small boats that aren't complex, but they seem to be the exception and not the rule.

Take us for example.  We're still at the dock largely because we got ten more feet of boat and with that extra real estate came more work.  I'm not complaining - this was a calculated choice we made - but it is a fact.  When you get more boat, you get more problems.  There's probably even a law of physics to prove it.  Asante has about two or three times the systems that Rasmus had.  We've now got refrigeration, air conditioning, and even a freezer (crazy, right?).  We have a breaker panel with twice the number of switches on it and a honking generator.  We even have a bow thruster for crying out loud (yeah, we think it's cheating too).  We've got more lights, winches, lines, deck hardware, sail area, sail options...more EVERYTHING.  With all that comes more opportunity for stuff to fail, service, repair, maintain...and more opportunity to get dock-locked.

Rasmus, our 1975 Hallberg Rassy Rasmus.  A smaller, simpler boat.

The big question that I know a lot of you are wondering is:  would we do this again knowing what we know now?  Well, I would be lying to you if I didn't say I haven't cursed this boat a couple of times (like, 'F' bomb curse).  I would also be lying if I told you I haven't cried for our beloved Rasmus and her ready-to-go status.  Have we considered the fact that if we didn't buy a bigger boat we could be cruising right now?  Have we thought about the fact that Rasmus was about as close to perfection as we needed?  Of course.  But you know what?  Rasmus was not the right boat for a family with a small baby.  It just wasn't (in our opinion).  There are many reasons for this, but suffice it to say we would not have been comfortable.  We would have longed for more space.  We would have craved an easier single-handed setup.  For two, Rasmus was perfect.  But we're no longer two.  We now have a bright eyed, smiley little deck swab to think about and her safety is numero uno.

We should, however, be a cautionary tale to any people in a similar situation.  If you already own a boat and want a bigger boat, really consider why.  Consider the time it will take to shop for and purchase a new boat.  Consider how much work you will need to put into the new boat (it will be much more than you think) and how much money that work will cost (it, too, will be much more than you think).  Can you learn to be happy with what you have?  Adjust your expectations to make your current situation work?  We are very pleased with our new boat, but could we have made do with Rasmus?  Sure.  It was after careful consideration we decided not to.  We have no doubt Asante, in the long run, will serve us better than Rasmus would have.  There will be hiccups, curve balls and unforeseen problems, we know that for certain.  We'll learn as we go, just as we did with Rasmus.   There might be mo problems, but we'll deal with them in the relative comfort of mo boat.

There are no Shortcuts on a Boat

Scott removing the leaking track and 5200 with Debond 2000, in order to re-bed it properly with UV4000 so it does not leak.

"There are no shortcuts on a boat, only quick ways to more problems" I wrote to our friend Willie, who, after reading Friday's post emailed to express his serious concern with the stays'l track solution I outlined.

It wasn't our rigger's fault.  He's a really good guy who's been at this for a long time and he and Scott had formulated the plan for the deck together.  But at the end of the day, Scott and I were uncomfortable.  Something didn't sit right.  We knew what we were doing was not right.  It was a half-baked solution and felt rushed.  On Rasmus, we didn't cut any corners.  This time, however, we were up against the clock, under a tremendous amount of stress, and hastily decided to go with the fastest, easiest solution.  We were taking a short cut, and we all knew it.  

After our friend emailed me with his concerns, I hit the internet and did some research.   It confirmed our fears: that our piece-meal solution was a one way ticket to Leaksville, USA.  I showed Scott what I found and we decided together to press stop and rewind.  We needed to do this project ourselves, a better way, even if it meant more time.  We needed ensure we would sleep well at night and never worry about our stays'l track leaking and rotting out the newly replaced deck coring underneath it.

It's scary, really, how much trust we put in people because of their titles.   This obviously doesn't only apply to boating, but to "normal" life as well.  Auto mechanics, contractors, doctors...etc.  We assume they know what is best and trust them implicitly with our cars, our homes, our lives.  Scott and I are by no means "experts" on boat maintenance, but we know enough to be dangerous.  We know enough to know when we see something that doesn't seem quite right, we know to ask questions and do our homework.  Such was the case with the stays'l track fiasco.  We were simply not comfortable with the work and how it was being done. 

There is a TON of subjectivity when it comes to all things "boat".  Some people swear by teak oil, some by Cetol, others by nothing (me by Honey Teak!).  Some people love their CQR anchor and others would using nothing other than a Rocna.  Some love catamarans, others love monohulls.  Some believe that a full keel is the only way to go on a blue water boat, whereas others believe a faster, fin keel is best.  Heck, the term "blue water boat" is up for grabs as well.  The list goes on and on and on... It's kind of like parenting, actually.  There is no right and wrong, just what's right for you and your child.  Same goes for your boat, no matter what your method or opinion, you'll find some out there who support it and some who do not, usually vehemently.  We're not a wishy-washy group, us cruisers.

For us, our first red flag with the stays'l project was the fact that it was being "bedded" with 5200.  Now I know there are those of you out there who believe firmly in this stuff, but Scott and I do not.  I'm sure it has a place somewhere on a boat, but in our opinion* it is NOT a bedding compound for deck hardware.  It is an adhesive.  A super strong, super permanent adhesive.  There is a ton of research online to support the notion that it really has no place on the deck of a sailboat.  I'm not going to go into it because this is besides the point.  What IS the point is this:  When it comes to hiring out boat work do your homework.  Don't simply trust an "expert" and assume he or she is doing things the way it should be done.  Remember, they don't care about your boat nearly as much as you do.  You need to question what they are doing, why they are doing it and how.  You also need to trust your gut.  As the old adage goes: if you want something done right - you'd better do it yourself.  We've hired help for many projects on this boat simply because we are short on time and man power (with me being more or less out of commission with the baby and all) - but we're always working alongside them to learn and observe as we go.  There is no doubt we're making mistakes and there almost certainly will be unforeseen surprises, but we're trying to limit them as best we know how.  At the end of the day, we can only do our best, right?

If you do decide to take that short cut, be prepared to deal with a potentially much bigger problem on the flip side because "if you take a short cut, you get cut short".

*Again, I'd like to point everyone to our DISCLAIMER.