[In lieu of some real foul weather, here’s a photo from Cape Foulweather on the Oregon coast. (800×600)]

We got up the other morning—or rather, I got up and Joshua followed three hours later—to the trees bashing against the side of the building and the windows sounding all ghost-mansion with the wind sucking in and out of the house. Outside was gray and the trees across the street were violently shedding the remainder of their fall leaves. Idly, I thought to just check the marine forecast because, well, wonder if it is windy out there if it’s windy over here. The offshore weather for N Oregon/S Washington was this: 45kt wind and increasing with gusts to 60, 25-foot seas with a 14-second period increasing to 30 feet later in the afternoon.

Oh my hell.

Not that small boat folk like us would be likely to be caught in such weather but it really drove home the fact that I was sitting comfortably (and still) in my robe on the couch with a cup of steaming coffee (decaf!) balanced precariously on the couch arm, and not freezing my ass off in my foulies on a lurching boat.

When I was growing up—well, actually always until getting on a boat—I always thought extreme weather was terribly exciting. Record freezes, heat waves, blustery wind, violent thunderstorms, even earthquakes… Clearly I led a very sedate life. I guess growing up in an area where extreme weather just did not really exist (non-coastal Oregon and Humboldt, but I always missed the really big earthquakes) made it all seem so exceptional and interesting.

All that changed of course the minute we started sailing. Suddenly wind was a two-timing, back-stabbing friend. You depended upon it and it could be brilliantly beautiful at times but there was a fine line between good and suddenly rather… unpleasant. That line was around 19 knots. (Or 29 knots if going downwind.) Of course other friends could gang up on you to make things difficult as well: wave height/period and temperature. If it was cold, that fine line hovered more around 9 knots for me. I have a low tolerance for unrelenting, damp, bone-crushingly cold wind. I know, such a wuss. They have yet to invent long underwear that would allow me to merrily cope with the above conditions. They have, however, invented duct tape, so at least any forced coping may be done without any bitter and vociferous complaints.

Naturally, we (cough, I) became neurotic weather checkers, never failing to listen to VHF weather in the US, then SSB and internet weather south of the US. No trips anywhere were ever planned without first convincing ourselves that the weather would not do anything… unpleasant. In hindsight, I feel we did pretty well, really, with only a couple unfortunate situations. At the time, of course, I was not a happy camper and Joshua was probably wishing we had duct tape on board.

Of course, the moment we landed in Texas, we stopped listening to the weather. A norther headed this way? “Ho hum.” Massive black flickering storms on the horizon? “Hey! Look at all that lightning!” A far cry from the liveaboard battlecry: “Batten the hatches and put the GPS in the pressure cooker!” Then we’d spring into action and neurotically pace the perimeter of the boat making sure everything was tied down. Afterwards, I would sit tensely below, gnawing at my cuticles and gazing up at the hatch counting seconds between flash and crash. If we were at sea, I tended to pester Joshua ala: “Tell me again the story about the little trimaran who didn’t get struck by lightning because it was MOVING…”

There are a lot of differences between living at sea versus living on land, the more obvious include the following: industrial-strength plumbing vs. porta-potty, refrigeration vs. tepid beer, or dinette/nav. station/bed-all-in-one vs. hell, a whole ROOM for each of those things. It is perhaps the more subtle differences that really make all the difference. Like which way the wind is blowing.

And while I feel you are at the mercy of your surroundings no matter where you live, you take for granted a sense of control over them when you are a land-dweller (even if it is a false sense in many ways). At sea, you take it for granted that you don’t have any control over the surroundings and you simply learn to not fight it, to just move with it and pay attention to things. You learn to appreciate simple things, like a cold beer, calm weather, clear seas, and duct tape.

Larry made a couple of delicious pies from this beautiful squash.

Readers will remember that we had trouble with the rudder on the TimeMachine. I’ve been collecting rudder designs in my head for an eventual redesign for the rudder on the TimeMachine. Of course, that’s not my responsibility anymore, but I thought I’d post details of all the designs I’ve examined for other people who face the same dilemma. Also notice the various outboard motor mounts.

[Searunner 31, TimeMachine]

The plans for the searunner 31 included 3 rudder designs. The skeg rudder, the break away rudder, and the kickup rudder. The skeg rudder would have a fixed skeg permanently attached to the hull with the rudder surface at the trailing edge. The break away rudder design is very similar to the kickup rudder. The difference being that instead of kicking up in a box, the pintles would break free but still be repairable at sea.

As it turns out the kickup rudder box design included in the plans is simply not strong enough to handle the large surface area of the rudder. Our experience was that if the rudder kicks up while underway in a heavy sea, the forces involved simply destroy the rudder box.

If I were to build a new Searunner 31 from plans I would definitly choose the skeg rudder. It will give better control at high speeds and is shallower than the minikeel so you won’t have to worry so much about groundings. Unfortunately, retrofitting a skeg rudder would be a pretty big job.

[Corsair F-31, Gimme Samoa]

The Corsair F-31 design is functionally the same as the searunner kick up design. However, there are a couple important differences. The rudder kicks up all the way completely clear of the water. The surface area is comparatively small, the pintles are much closer together, and the construction is sturdier.

[Condor 30, Quetzal]

The Condor 30 utilizes a similar kick up design. I especially like the additional line for hoisting it clear. We could have used a system like this on the TimeMachine to prevent our rudder from being fouled. Again, the pintles are close together and the construction is very sturdy.

[Custom 30, Wing & a Prayer]

This unique design on Bill’s custom trimaran uses a dagger board in sleeve. There is no kickup ability but the depth can easily be adjusted for current conditions. Note the forward rake that provides balance as the rudder is pushed deeper.

This type of solution would be very workable on the Searunner. It has the ability to provide a very large control surface when needed, but still allow you to operate in shallow water. This is the only design I’ve seen which can be adjusted in this way. None of the kickup designs can be used half deployed. They must be fully down while underway.

[Kurt Hughes 30, Side Effects]

The interesting thing about this Kurt Hughes design is the split lower control surface.

[Genesis 32, Tri Harder]

I don’t know much about this boat, but the rudder looks very similar to Jim Brown’s break away design.

Update: Two followup posts include photos of Jim Brown’s skeg rudder design and a custom Searunner 31 rudder based on Bill’s design above.

We found an abundant crop of these little brown mushrooms in Washington last week. I have no idea what they are, but I know what they’re not. Don’t worry we didn’t eat them. There are only a few dangerous mushrooms in our area and one of them is small and brown like this. The Deadly Galerina (Galerina autumnalis) is similar to one pictured above, but that doesn’t matter because you are unlikely to be collecting anything even remotely like it. Like most collectors, I usually don’t bother to collect or identify small mushrooms that I don’t plan to eat anyway unless they are exceptionally beautiful.

There are only two species which are likely to be an issue. Pholioto mutabilis is not a popular edible in part because it looks a lot like the Deadly Galerina and other mildly poisonous LMBs. More importantly it lacks a reputation as a choice edible so it will only attract the true hard core enthusiasts who want to try everything. These enthusiast are, by their very nature, knowledgeable enough to do so safely.

The mildly hallucinogenic Psilocybe stuntzii attracts more attention than P. mutabilis for obvious reasons. I don’t have any experience with it, but it is widely reported to have been found side by side with G. autumnalis. That sounds like a high risk high, but they are easily distinguished by the color of the spores. If you choose to collected Psilocybe stuntzii make a spore print of every mushroom and discard any that fail to print (and, of course, those that have cinnamon brown prints).

Some people have asserted that you could mistake a Deadly Galerina for a Candy Cap (Lactarius fragilis). However, the Lactarius genus is one the easiest genuses to identify and L. fragilis does not grow on wood. In reality, you’d have to be particularly dense to make this mistake and I have never heard of a case.

The Italian tradition has it that any mushroom growing on wood is safe and good to eat. This might be true in Italy, but not in North America. G. autumnalis being an obvious counter example.

Amanita phalloides. Santa Cruz Mountains, California 2002

Amanita phalloides (Death Cap) causes more poisonings and deaths than any other mushroom found in North America. It is very distinct and incredibly common in California. The deadliness of this mushroom has nothing to do with amateur mushroom hunters confusing it with an edible species. The problem stems from Volvariella volvacea (Paddy-straw mushroom), a similar looking edible commonly collected in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. It seems like every year or two a southeast asian immigrant family poisons themselves when they discover what they think are Paddy-straw mushrooms from home. Unfortunately, it often kills half the family. In 2004, I noticed that state and local parks around the bay area began putting up signs translated in to all the southeast asian languages warning people about the Death Cap.

Interestingly A. phalloides is not native to North America. It was probably brought in with soil attached to the roots of trees imported from Europe (norway spruce and cork).

The admonishment against collecting button stage mushrooms originates with Amanita ocreata (Destroying angel) and it’s close relatives. Prized edibles like Amanita calyptrata (Coccora) and Amanita velosa (Springtime amanita) can be difficult to distinguish form A. ocreata in the button stage. However, better advice would be: Learn to identify the genus Amanita before attempting to collect and eat any mushroom with gills. Then don’t consider eating any Amanita until until you have sufficient experience to identify all the most common Amanitas on sight.

I don’t have a good picture of a destroying angel. However, it is easy to recognize because it is pure white. Do not eat any pure white amanita.

The scary part:

All of the poisonous mushrooms mentioned contain the same poisons known as amatoxins. The mortality rate is about 50% and either way it is extremely unpleasant. Symptoms don’t start until it’s too late for standard poison remedies like induced vomiting or a stomach pump. There is no antidote but massive injections of penicillin might help. The only “cure” is a liver transplant.

Cases usually progress like this: Within a few hours the toxins start causing irreparable liver and kidney damage asymptomatically. Within 10-24 hours you start to get flu like symptoms including violent vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal cramping. These are so severe that you might check yourself into a hospital even if you don’t suspect the mushrooms. After a couple days you start to recover. You feel better and the doctor lets you go home from the hospital. Another day later you relapse. Your liver fails and you go into a coma or die. Even if you survive it is unlikely that you will recover full health.

I’m thirty weeks now and look pregnant enough to have my first stranger, a cashier in one of the local shops, ask me when I was due. Of course, she had been recently pregnant herself so was unusually perceptive as to what such a large protruding anterior growth might possibly mean, but still, it was a milestone of sorts. My apartment neighbors still have yet to get a good look at me up close and I aim to keep it that way; of course, I run the risk that when I do start appearing with an actual air-breathing baby, they’ll probably think I stole it and call the cops. I’ll have to track down the shopgirl to vouch for me.

The closer I get to the magical date of January 1st (the day insurance starts! What? Does January 1st mean anything else? I can’t remember…), the more anxious I get. By the time the date rolls around I’ll probably undergo such a complete full-body relax and exhale that my lungs will collapse and the baby will slip right down out of me onto the floor. I’ll be in Trader Joes or something and people will seriously freak out.

The third trimester seems to be when all the unpleasant symptoms of pregnancy rear their ugly heads and I am right on schedule. (1) Monday morning of my 28th week, my back was suddenly all achy. I grumped around for a few days before walking to Fred Meyer to buy a hot pad and let me tell you, I LOVE that thing. Hot pads are the cat’s ass. My back, now two weeks later, actually feels better. Man, I’m turning it on right now! (2) Recent hyperproduction of relaxin in my body means my very skeleton is now held together by sheer will, or possibly peer pressure. I’m all … floppy. Sleeping on one side for more than five minutes results in a sensation that my hips have dislocated. Double ick. So I roll over (and make Joshua roll over too because his body forms a convenient scaffolding system for my body’s limb support) and give it another go for five minutes. Repeat. And again. Nobody sleeps. We nap a lot lately. (3) Stretching hurts! One of my abdominal scars has so much nerve damage I can’t feel anything anywhere in the vicinity but the other scar remains fully functional, nerve-wise, and hurts like a sonofabitch as the belly looms ever northward. I’m sure my round ligaments will start in next. (4) Restless leg syndrome! GAH! (5) Charley horses!! AAACK!

One fascinating development of pregnancy is blood. There is a lot more blood in my body than there used to be. The books all say so, something like 25-40% more. And I can feel it. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips and palms whenever I put my hands down by my sides or lay them on anything at all (kaBOOM kaBOOM kaBOOM). I feel my temples pulsing against my eyeballs. No wonder mosquitoes are especially attracted to pregnant women, we’re bursting with bloody goodness and there is SO MUCH SURFACE AREA to choose from.