Ep. 234, Lin Pardey, Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond
Find Paul Trammell's podcast here.
January 2025
I’m almost finished with my morning writing and eagerly anticipating heading down to work on Sahula. On days like this, preparing to set off on a voyage feels almost as fulfilling as actually being “out there.”
When the cyclone season in the South Pacific draws to a
close about four months from now, David and I are headed across the Tasman Sea
again. This time our goal is the outer reaches of the Great Barrier Reef in
north Queensland. It has been almost a year since we last took Sahula
offshore so of course there is a list of to-do’s. Right now I have several
projects underway, the most challenging involve woodworking; building a new
front for the engine box, replacing bits
of trim that had to be removed by force to let David inspect the steel hull under
the floor in the loo, building a replacement strut to insure the cockpit seats stay
firmly in place when someone steps on them, creating another shelf in the china
teacup and glass locker. My voyage
preparation list started with 11 woodworking jobs, six rigging jobs and a dozen
general jobs. As of today, two of the
woodworking jobs are finished and crossed off, and I am minutes from completing
number three, a new front panel for the engine box.
David was helping me do the final fit on the slide bolts
that secure this replacement section earlier today. When the job was nearly finished,
he stood back and said, “That’s a real improvement. How about replacing the top
of the engine box – those stains and chips are even more obvious now the front
looks so smart.” Glowing from the compliment, I willingly add one more job to
the list. This one presents a new challenge – getting straight clean cuts on
the sides of the plywood. (Yes, the plywood edges will show as this surface is
also one of the working areas for the galley.) So now am thinking of how I will
practice using the jig saw. I’ve got lots of scruffy looking off-cuts of ply
around the shop I can use for my practice cuts. I am actually excited by this newest addition
to the list.
There are a few reasons I am particularly enjoying myself. First,
I am being forced to learn new skills.
In the past Larry, as a master boatbuilder, took care of any woodworking
projects – handing me beautifully shaped pieces of timber to inspect for any
pencil marks he might have missed. After a close inspection I would then sand
and varnish or paint each thing he had built until it glowed. Larry did teach
me how to do some simple woodworking jobs on my own, using the drill press to cut
wood plugs, then hammering each plug carefully in place, then using chisels to
cut them flush. He taught me how to sharpen a wood plane and use it to trim the
edges of the cedar planks that eventually became our bunk boards. But generally,
I was the perpetual apprentice and finisher.
Now I am sailing with David, a retired solicitor who taught
Environmental Law and worked as an environmental activist. He laughingly
describes himself as a “highly skilled pencil pusher.” David is willing to take
care of engine and systems maintenance and the sump of the bilge to the top of
the coach-roof rust chipping then recoating and repainting work that is necessary as owner of a steel cruising vessel.
But he has no patience at all with woodwork. We need to keep our costs in
control and there are no carpenters available here on the island where we live.
Thus, the relatively simple woodwork upgrades have fallen to me. It’s a case of - either I do it or I put up
with it.
This is the forward cabin on Taleisin. Her whole interior reflected Larry’s skills as a master boatbuilder and what many would call, “a traditionalist."
Furthermore, Taleisin’s interior was a stunning example of Larry’s boatbuilding/carpentry skills with features such as Birdseye maple raised panel cabinet doors surrounded by California black walnut set into solid teak tongue and groove cabinetry, all lovingly finished with six coats of varnish. I felt privileged to care for that beautiful interior, Larry had the skills to repair any small bits of wear and tear so even after 27 years of hard use, it looked almost like new. In contrast, an amateur built Sahula. He was more comfortable working with steel than with timber. Her woodwork, mostly plywood, was unsophisticated when it was built. After almost 30 years of use and abuse by three different male owners who sailed mostly on their own it had become, to put it bluntly, a bit shabby and patched looking by the time I met my wild Australian boy. The first time I offered to replace a broken bit of trim and build a paper towel holder, David said, “go for it. But remember, this isn’t Taleisin. Nothing has to be perfect.” His delight at what I felt was a mediocre result, encouraged me to try other projects. And David, over the ensuing 7 years, smartly fed my ego by pointing out my simple improvement efforts to everyone who came on board.
Sahula’s interior is a complete contrast, far less formal. It reflects David’s love of color.
Today, I am having a hard time concentrating on writing this blog post even though the early summer weather here in New Zealand is squally and wet, my office comfy. I keep mulling over how to fit the new engine box lid around the wiring that goes from the engine through the lid and on to the cockpit instruments, whether to paint the top of the new engine cover with white two-pot epoxy paint or a heavy-duty polyurethane varnish. I remember I have a can of white epoxy. Decision made, I finally turn 've read all of Lin and Larry Pardey's cruising chronicle books (all of Serrafyn's adventures and Taleisin's Tales). I loved this book for it's telling of tales of passages. But this book went a level deeper: Lin shares her anxieties, insecurities, and how she deals with some of life's most difficult moments in this memoir of the years after Taleisin's Tales. Her positivity continues to shine through despite it all, but the book provides plenty of food for thought about life and love, both on and off the water, making a choice that feels important at this moment, and finishing this blog post so I can share it with friends like you.
Lin Pardey
Kawau Island
P.S. Thank you to those who have written wonderful notes via
facebook and posted great reviews on Amazon and other sites after reading
Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond. (Yes, like most authors, I do watch reviews to
see how folks are reacting.) Here’s one of my favorite:
I've read all of Lin and Larry Pardey's cruising
chronicle books (all of Seraffyn’s adventures and Taleisin's Tales). I loved
this book for it's telling of tales of passages. But this book went a level
deeper: Lin shares her anxieties, insecurities, and how she deals with some of
life's most difficult moments in this memoir of the years after Taleisin's
Tales. Her positivity continues to shine through despite it all, but the book
provides plenty of food for thought about life and love, both on and off the water.
To order a copy of Passages, click here.
See all of Lin's available publications, click here.
Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond
Available Now!
Find it here
July 2024
Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond
By Lin Pardey
I have lived and breathed sailing for the past two years, not just afloat, but ashore. While David and I were cruising on Sahula and meandering through the 250-mile-long coral fringed lagoon of New Caledonia, I spent several mornings each week writing the first chapters of a book with the working title of Passages.
While I
wrote, David enjoyed working his way through an art course to help him
negotiate away from acrylics and back to using oil paints (water oils.) My work
computer and his easel soon had new storage spots. Instead of being tucked away
in the forepeak, they were right at hand in the main saloon. Though other
cruisers might have resented the reinforced trades that set in for weeks at a
time and kept us from exploring the outer reef anchorages, neither of us seemed
to notice. I became so engrossed in the story I was trying to tell, that each
day seemed to rush past. When David suggested we climb into the dinghy and find
a place to land so we could stretch our legs, I had to spend a few minutes
dragging myself away from the people, the places, the by-gone passages I was
engrossed in so I could live in the moment.
Even as we
were sailing away from the threat of cyclones towards New Zealand, my project
added to life afloat. The trade winds,
instead of helping us reach quickly south, now seemed to decide to take “time
out.” For seven of the nine days of that passage, we had extremely light
winds. No problem. Out came “the book
project” to quell any sense of impatience.
I had brought along several of the logbooks I kept during the later
years of voyaging with Larry on board Taleisin plus the several of the
diaries I keep when I am ashore. They became my quiet-time reading as I tried
to decide what to include in the next chapters of the book.
When we
arrived back in New Zealand, I realized, if I wanted to have this book finished
for the Annapolis boat show, I had to work on Passages at least six
hours a day, five days a week. David helped tremendously with this. When I
seemed to bog down, he’d begin packing Sahula . He suggested we head off
for a week or ten days to meander around to some of the islands within a day of
sailing from my homebase. We had rendezvous with friends, took long walks along
the meandering streams on shore, settled into the cockpit seats to watch the
sun go down. But after a day or two of leaving my office, my computer came out
and I was back at my “project” feeling invigorated. And even when we flew to Australia
for a two week visit with all of David’s daughters and his six grandchildren,
everyone generously accepted I would hide away in a quiet corner for several
hours each day and keep reliving my past.
Finally, not
too long ago, David got out a bottle of our best wine, set out a tray of
nibbles then helped me celebrate writing the very last words of the story that
now had a full name, Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond. Ever a supporter of
my writing habit, he said, “It’s great.” But I reminded David, though he liked
what I had written, and I felt I had written something that many sailors would
enjoy reading, I had concerns that others might be disappointed because this
book is was far different than anything I’d written before.
Then the
outsiders set to work and, emails began pouring in as first the editor, then
the proofreader sent query after query – correction after correction: did I
want numbers over ten written out; should it be on board, aboard or onboard. I
suffered through what felt like a lesson in punctuation and accuracy. A week
ago, the book designer took over from the editors. Now the emails asked, “do
you have a higher res copy of this photo?” “Who gets credit for that photo?”
I had, as required
by the publisher, sent a copy of the manuscript to several early readers. Fingers
crossed, I prayed they would like what I have written and offer a short comment
for the back cover of the book. I held my breath as I waited for their
impressions.
I can let my
breath out now. I am thrilled with the initial response to the hardest story I
have ever tried to tell.
“Lin Pardey’s new book just may be her best. It’s a classic Pardey voyaging narrative, but it’s so much more. It’s filled with wisdom and love, as Lin chronicles Larry’s slow decline with perspective and deep gratitude for the life they were able to share. And it’s filled with hope and optimism for the future, a blueprint for how to keep living as we get older. It’s a terrific story.” — John Kretschmer, adventurer/author, Sailing a Serious Ocean
This is a brave book, written by an indomitable woman and sailor. It honors the man with whom she shared more than 50 years of that life voyaging the world’s oceans and inspiring generations of sailors. And though it sails straight on into the hardest of life’s passages, it also celebrates the light that emerges when one has had the strength and courage to endure the storm. - Wendy Mitman Clarke, Editor-in-Chief, SAIL Magazine
“The title reflects both the thrilling sailing adventures of Lin and Larry Pardey and the profound changes in Lin's life. I absolutely loved this!”
Carolyn Shearlock – Creator of TheBoatgalley.com
“Generations of sailors have found inspiration and courage in the voyages of Lin Pardey, whose self-reliant sailor ethos sets her apart in an ocean of sailing stories. Her writing has never been more compelling and speaks to sailors in every part of life’s journey.”- Erin Schanen, editor, SAILING Magazine
So ,what do I do while I wait for Passages to be published? Once again, David is getting Sahula ready so we can head off sailing towards the quiet anchorages at the far end of Waiheke Island to enjoy the first bit of good weather that comes along. It is blowing a gale right now, heavy rain is forecast, the days are bitterly cold (In New Zealand that means 42 degrees at night, 50 degrees during the day.) But there is a high-pressure system moving towards us from Australia. So next week we should be able to sail and enjoy just messing about in boats.
To order a copy of Passages, click here.
June 2024
Winter in New Zealand
By Lin Pardey
I was torn. I was within a few hundred words of completing the very last chapter of Passages: Beyond Cape Horn, the book I’d been working on for almost two years. An editor was waiting for it. I was “in the groove.” But….
“I’m going whether you come along or not,” David said. From the moment I started this latest project, he had spent time editing each chapter I’d written, encouraging me, even cajoling me when I thought of a dozen reasons to put off writing. Now he noted my hesitation and said, “I think you should stick at it. You’ll be thrilled when you get that chapter down on paper. Besides, there’s only an hour before it turns dark. Probably only be out for half an hour, so, you won’t be missing much.”
But as soon as I turned back to begin typing, I realized he was wrong. I was missing a lot; a chance to feel the wind on my face, to watch the ever-changing patterns of the water slowly slipping by the side of a lovely little boat, a rare chance to do nothing at all and not feel the least bit guilty.
Then I became engrossed in what I was writing and completely forgot about time. When I finished typing my chapter then read through it one more time before pushing the button that sent it on its way to the editor, I finally looked up. It was dark, too dark to see where David and Felicity happened to be.
I went out onto the deck of my office and could feel the stillness of evening. David’s breeze had dropped off to the lightest of zephyrs. The temperature had dropped precipitously. I quickly walked towards the house to grab a jacket, then head down to the end of the jetty where I planned to climb into my fizzboat to go out searching for Felicity. I could imagine David, who hates being cold, would welcome a tow home rather than sit out in the bay becalmed. Before I reached the house, I heard the scraping sound of our little fiberglass tender being dragged up onto the pontoon and realized David had obviously gotten back on his own just before the wind dropped off. He had secured Felicity on her mooring and rowed ashore.
I went inside the house and set to work building a fire in the wood burner. David walked in a few minutes later. “Perfect sailing. Went right around Goat and Rabbit islands. Would have gone further but knew the wind would drop. I didn’t put the boat cover on because you might want to go out on Felicity tomorrow. How did the writing go.”
As usually seems to happen when you miss a perfect chance to head out for a sail, tomorrow became today and today the winds are far beyond the “fun” sailing range. So, though I am happy to have reached a milestone with my book project, a voice inside me whispers, “lesson learned.” There is never a good reason to miss being afloat around Kawau.
Here’s a link to a video with me out sailing on Felicity.
https://pardeytime.blogspot.com/2017/06/video-kawau-island-story.html
Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond, will be ready for the Annapolis Sailboat Show. Pre-order page for signed copies will be up in a few weeks.
July 2023
We are anchored in a very quiet spot just 12 miles from Noumea, New Caledonia. After three weeks of great weather, rain has set in. Perfect time to do a bit or writing. Today I finished editing a short story I started when we were preparing Sahula for the voyage away from the New Zealand winter. Hope you enjoy it.
Finding the Balance
By Lin Pardey
Half of each day the boat is afloat, half it is aground, high, dry, steady, sitting right next to my boatshed on a tidal grid. Reason? We are finally finishing a refit that was supposed to take six or eight weeks and has been on going for more than a year. More important, we are on the countdown. Just 10 weeks to get Sahula ready for another ocean passage.
That’s not to say we haven’t been sailing during the past year. We have. We’ve been getting away every second month for a few weeks at a time. My almost 5 decades of life afloat has taught me; nothing helps a refit as much as taking a sailing break. Even if the boat is a mess, even if you have to shove everything into boxes and live a bit rough, sailing away for a few days or weeks helps keep up the enthusiasm. And the bonus, it gives you mental space to sort out the necessities of the next phase of the refit. But now we are on the home stretch – or should I say the true run-away-from-home stretch.
For the major portion of our refit, we had Mike Hayes, a retired boatbuilder helping for a few hours a day with all the woodwork inside Sahula. David, between times spent being the builders apprentice, took care of ripping things apart, inspecting every crevice and cranny for rust (Sahula is a steel, 40-foot Van de Stadt cutter), then descaling and sealing and repainting the hull surfaces. I did the general dogs body work; sourcing and sorting supplies, sanding and varnishing, painting the finished woodwork, applying bandaids when necessary. But a few months ago Mike realized he had to get back to refitting his own boat. David was okay with the work involved in removing and replacing a large part of the overhead paneling and the majority of the remaining jobs. But, his woodworking skills and the patience to deal with the bits of trim we needed, are limited. All of a sudden, I was faced with a new reality. If I wanted the wood trim to match the work Mike had done, I had to try something new.
During the years I worked alongside Larry as he built our boats and repaired other people’s boats, he had taught me how to safely use basic woodworking tools and machinery. I’d learned to sharpen a chisel or scraper so I could remove the tops of wood plugs, or clean up pencil marks or sawblade scratches before applying the varnish or paint that made a customer’s boat look good. But up until a few weeks ago the only wooden things I’d actually built were some rickety sawhorses for the shop and a paper towel holder as a gift for a favorite sailing friend.
Then David came walking up to the house and said, “Lin, the only way I can think of to hide the wire connection for the overhead light in the salon is with a little wooden box. Are you willing to find some time to make one?”
Talking more boldly than I felt, I said, “Of course.” After all, how hard could it be – a simple little rectangular box just 1-1/4 inch by 2 inches by ¾ inch deep (32mm by 50mm by 19mm). Then I climbed on board the boat and realized, everyone would be able to see the box – everyone who sat at the salon table, or turned on the overhead light!
Slowly, methodically, I set to work; first creating a rough sketch of my project, then measuring, not once but twice before marking a cutting line on each piece of timber (is it correct to call the small scraps I was using “timber”?) As I plugged in the small bandsaw, I remembered the sign Larry had drawn up 50 years or more in the past, just before he let me use a bandsaw for the first time. It read, “Have you ever seen a nine fingered piano player?” Carefully I cut the small scraps into even smaller pieces. Two hours later I had done a practice run, piecing the four tiny sides and bottom I’d cut and sanded together to be sure each one fit correctly then figuring out how I was going to clamp them together while the glue dried. Next I carefully and quickly as possible mixed up some five-minute epoxy, spread it on both sides of each joint just as Larry had always done, then aligned and clamped my miniature project onto a square of baking paper on the workbench quickly together.
Late that afternoon I set to work sanding off the excess glue so I could finally see if my joints would have met Larry’s standards. I applied the first coat of varnish then ran up to the cottage and urged David to come and see my tiny creation.
I am quite proud of him. He didn’t laugh. “It will do the job perfectly,” he solemnly stated. “So now, how long will it take you to make the trim for the loo area?” David also didn’t laugh when I put the box in my pocket before we rowed across the bay to have drinks with a neighbor. Nor did he tease me when I carried it around for four days and showed it to other friends.
Now, two weeks and about three dozen pieces of trim later I am considering buying another chisel to add to my arsenal. For I have found I really enjoy working with wood, figuring out how to cut a compound angle right the first time, now to measure the correct length for a piece of trimming timber that will have to be bent to conform to the underside of the deck. It is like working on an intricate three-dimensional puzzle. But with a far longer lasting sense of accomplishment.
“Real difference between you and I,” David commented just a day ago. “I think you like working on the boat as much as you like sailing.”
Looking back over the years I have spent around the marine world, I think he may be right. I am one of those people who not only loves sailing, but enjoys taking care of a boat, making it look tidy, organized, and sometimes even easier to use. On the other hand, I am also aware there is a potential pitfall, the tendency to, as Larry would often say, “trip out on the job.” I have watched a lot of folks get so carried away with trying to make their boat perfect that they actually never got away sailing. I was reminded of this when I asked David to help me secure yet another a piece of trim in place. As the last screw went in, I realized the joint didn’t fit as well as it could. “I’ll take it down and make a new one tomorrow,” I said.
“Come on Lin, it’s good enough,” David stated. “Besides, who is going to sit on the loo and look at the overhead trim joints. Let’s just get this job done.”
He is right. As much as I am enjoying my new-found skill, time is passing, the open ocean is calling and, if I put a bit of putty in the joint before I paint the trim, even I won’t notice the less than perfect fit.
P.S. Video making, writing, blogging – all have added to my cruising kitty through the years. That is why I was pleased to find a way to share what I’d learned along the way. Now, I am delighted with the comments I am getting from folks who have downloaded or purchased the USB version of Storytelling for Sailors which includes interviews with 12 other sailors who have also found ways to earn from video, Youtubing and writing.
“Inspiring” - Kimberly Ward (She has just finished writing her first sailing sailing book , Three on board)
“Really useful guidelines for building a YouTube audience” - John Creamer, SV Going Too
You can purchase an online streaming version or digital copy of Storytelling for Sailors on a USB thumb drive from my publishing partner, Paradise Cay Publications, on their website here:
https://www.paracay.com/storytelling-for-sailors-seminar-download/
Previews are available at:
https://vimeo.com/ondemand/storytellingforsailors/
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