When we arrived to Puerto Galera, we visited the yacht club and then went straight to town. The flyer we’ve picked up at the tourist centre, described the town as “first class municipality”. It must be local demographic technical term, because that handful of streets hemmed by souvenir shops and bars full of fat old foreigners sipping on rum with water, the wet market hidden in poorly lit dirty yellow ground floor, reeking of raw meat, blood and fish, somehow does not fit the description “first class”.

Puerto Galera is first of all a touristy town. On the east side you will find a fishing village, but other than that you will mostly see tricycles, whose drivers constantly shout “White Beach” and “Sabang”, which are the names of the most famous local attractions.

But people come here for first class diving. Our mission wasn’t tourism, but a hunt for some fresh veggies and fruit.

We found that people here are not as friendly as the people of Olongapo. They keep a certain distance. After all, the typical foreigner they meet is a short term tourist or an expat and both mean quick money.  The younger world population that comes consists mostly of strapping divers and backpackers. Anyway, one feels like a walking wallet. On the other hand, our kind but refusing “thank you, not today” is reciprocated by smiles and not annoyed frown. The people of the Philippines are very endearing indeed.

Soon we’ve seen the whole city and also found the wet market. This market lived up to its’ name. It was really well irrigated by puddles of muddy water, blood and slime. Our sandals squelched and our nosed were picking up whiffs of strange smells as well as scents of fresh mangos, bananas, plantains and melons. We picked up one stall in the back, right next to an alley where fishermen of their wives offered the catch of the last night. We were after zucchini and this stall had them, as well as plenty of other produce.

To our dismay the fruit was a little more expensive than in Olongapo. Vegetable had comparable prices, but perhaps, because this is a tourist town and most tourists won’t buy veggies, but only fruit, the offer was adjusted to the demand.  But all the fruit is sweet and refreshing beyond belief, so we have hardly any reason to complain.

We left the market loaded down with fresh produce. The thunder roared couple of times and when the first fat tropical raindrops hit our heads, we disappeared into a small hardware shop. We politely inquired about few spare parts we might use, but we didn’t expect them to be available in a small town like this. Then we lingered by the entrance to the shop and watched the rain come down in buckets.

Suddenly we noticed few people who ran stuck out pots and buckets to catch the rainwater – a sight we haven’t seen for a long time. It’s the end of the dry season and the water is scarce. When we inquired about water at the yacht club earlier that day, we were told that we can get it from them, but sometimes there is simply not enough. It is not surprising that people catch the rainwater.

Our new appreciation of the value of water was caused by the lack of cheap laundry. The yacht club charges 60 pesos per kilo, which we found a little to expensive (we paid 22 in Olongapo). We’ve heard about laundry in town, but couldn’t find and it and besides we wanted to experiment with a new technique, we’ve known about quite some time, but never tried it.

You simply put the cloths into a bucket with detergent and water for couple of hours and use a sink plunger to squash it from time to time.  The results are quite good. The more daring of us claim that it’s even better than the 30min automatic cycle in cold water that you get in Taiwan and most of the South-East Asia. And it doesn’t use that much water.

We started to value the water more than before. Naturally on a passage across a sea, your water supplies are limited and you can’t really depend on a rainfall. But the lack of drinkable water at sea is something to be expected and we go there knowing that we have to spare every drop. On the other hand, we you get to a populated area, where people dwell year in year out, and that is surrounded by a lush greenery, you expect that water is not a problem. The lack of it, somehow makes it even more precious than water at sea, because you expect it to be there.

We’ve been here in Puerto Galera for a week, mostly working on finalizing the translation of the taiwanese novel Butcher’s wife by Li Ang. This is done and we have time to recount our last days in Subic Bay and the passage from there.
The third day in Subic we unpacked our bicycles and went on a supply trip to Olongapo. We tried to recognize the streets and corners we’ve seen the previous day from a window of a taxi driven by the good man Elmo. Soon we got lost in the unwieldy streets of Olongapo, but thanks to modern technology and google maps we’ve soon found the market and laundry we were looking for.
I waited buy the bikes, because we forgot to bring locks (well we had the locks, but not the key, so…), and Jana dived into the market. From time to time she emerged, hands full of plastic bags with veggies and chirped about how cheap everything is, almost the same as in Taiwan, and how lovely all the ladies at the stalls are.

Then we passed by an optician and got new glasses made, because I broke one pair just few hours off Kaohsiung. We left our laundry at a small shop near the gate to Freeport and went back to the yacht club, where we met a group of mechanics from Broadwater marine. We’ve chatted with them for a bit and revealed our troubles with the engine. Young guy jumped up willing to take a look, but we told him that we are waiting for a mechanic we arranged through the Watercraft venture, but we took his number, just in case.
Than we called Spanky (real name) of Watercraft and asked about the mechanic he promised to provide today.
“Well, he’s busy, he might come tomorrow, or maybe on Monday.”
I hang the phone and called Sandro, the young mechanic from Broadwater. He said he will come at three, so we started to cook lunch. Suddenly Sandro appeared followed by a rain squall.
He asked us where are we from and if we carry vodka. We said we have something much better (home made slivovice). Then we revealed our engine and the inquiry began.

Sandro tried couple of moves we tried ourselves and then started disassembling the hoses and pumping fuel into the system in few stages. This was naturally accompanied by diesel spills, but we were quick enough to catch most of them in time and prevent too much contamination of our bilge. In the end Sandro managed to start to engine from a jerry can and then even from the tank. We were happy and celebrated by a shot of the delicious Moravian spirit.
With engine running, we were free. Except that it was Friday afternoon and we needed customs clearance out, which won’t be available until Monday. So we decided to suck it up and stay till then and do some work on our translations and on the boat.
On Monday we went to the marina office for our check. We were supposed to come at 9am. The guy at the office didn’t know anything about us, so we told him to get someone who knows something and went to port control office for our harbour clearance.
Back in the yacht club we got our customs clearance too and also the check from the marina. When we arrived, we were tied to a T dock and after two days asked to move to a different berth. So since we were at two berths the marina decided to charge us twice for water. It wasn’t much, but I said no. The basic charge is for 1000 liters. We were charged for 4000l at the first berth and then again 1000l at the other.
“You have filled your water tanks, that’s why you have used so much water,” said the clerk. I have asked him (not very politely), how much water does he think that we can carry in the boat. He just gave me a stupid grin.
“And you have washed your boat.”
“With 4000 liters of water?”
Then he gave up, but he still charged us the minimum charge for two berths.
“You were at two berths, weren’t you?” I couldn’t deny that and neither was I willing to spend another minute of my life talking to that sleazy face.

We had a lunch, prepared the boat and started the engine. We were about to cast the lines, when a guy from a yacht next to us approached Jana with some pointers about our route, especially the reef in Puerto Galera.
Then we finally left that annoying place. The wind was fresh and on the nose, so we motored, hoping to get as far from the shore as possible before the night sets in.
Once out of the bay, the wind was getting weaker by the minute and just when we were passing a flock of anchored tankers, the wind died. The engine followed. We were in a safe distance from the ships, we always keep our distance in case we loose the wind or the engine or, like in this case, both. The wind has picked up a bit, so we were able to drift-sail south away from Subic, the ships and the shore.
Oh, well. Sailing ship again. Just to be prepared for any eventualities, we disassembled the fuel lines and rigged a jerry can from which we could run the engine. We started it just to be sure that it runs smoothly and then continued under sail.
Soon we had the mainsail down and gennaker up.

We met very few fishermen or ships, only around midnight a big fat black cloud started to approach. The wind picked up and we hoisted reefed main and small jib. We rode the along the squall till the morning, when the wind died again and we knew that we won’t be at Puerto Galera before dark. The light wind conditions followed us the whole day. We run the engine for a while in the afternoon, but soon we noticed that the fuel consumption is quite high. We didn’t realize that the engine pump is actually pumping more fuel that is actually consumed and we had the return from the engine directed to the main tank. So out went the wrenches and rubber hoses and finally we had a system that worked. Except that most of our fuel was now in the main fuel tank, which is usually a good thing. Fortunately we still had about 7l in one jerry can and another one full. We decided to keep sailing and see how far we can get.
When the darkness fell we already had the jerry can rigged in the cockpit, we rewarded ourselves with a hearty dinner, this night might be quite long.
Then the seas lit up. We’ve noticed the small fishing banghas leaving the shores and filling the seascape around us. Small light were flashing yellow, green, red, blue, anything that the fishermen could buy. No idea which lights are from boats, which are crab pots and which are the terminals of a half submerged net.

Immediately we decided that we are not going for Puerto Galera. It was still about 20 miles away and we were still battling against a current. The engine was happily humming. We headed east towards the Maricaban Island and a small cove on its western tip. We will have to approach it at night, there won’t be any lights, but the skies were quite clear and the moon will soon come up. At least, once we go in the lee of the Malicaban Island the current got weaker and we were making a good speed.
We reached the cove at around midnight. I’ve prepared the anchor and Jana slowly entered the cove announcing the depth. When we reach below 6 meters we dropped little over 20 meters of chain, our beloved Rocna bit immediately and we were soon snug in the cockpit, watching the stars and the big rock cliff the loomed above us.

The morning was just… clear water, lush tropical island with a white beach sand… After a slow breakfast, the wind picked up, we sailed off the anchor and started to dream about a lunch in Puerto Galera. We decided to sail as much as possible, but our speed was below 2 knots and we still had to cover about 15 miles.
We hand steered and at about 2pm we were about 4 miles away from our goal. The wind had dies of course. We could have drifted and waited, but we chose not to, started the engine and in an hour tied to a club mooring in one of the most beautiful bays in the world.

In the afternoon the wind was gradually intensifying and before the dinner we had the second reef in the mainsail and genoa was replaced by a reefing jib. Even under the reduced canvas we maintained 5.5-6 knots over ground. The waves were growing by the minute and as Janna surfed down their slopes the speed was reaching 8 knots.
We had very delicious instant vegetarian rise from Jessica Ou, the Cape Horn windvane was steering very reliably. We were nevertheless little nervous if the wind and especially the waves are going to grow even further. The night was uneventful and soon we got used to the wind and the waves and we started to hope these conditions will hold. The watches were relaxing, one only had to stand up to look around and inspect each quadrant with a little more care so as not to miss a light due to the big swell. But we could see only one or two ships. Our strategy to sail further offshore payed off. When we had the north coast of Luzon on our beam we were about 70 miles offshore.
In the afternoon the wind started to weaken and in the evening we were once again battling with insufficient wind and still quite considerable swell, which was taking the wind out of our sails.
The next two days were spent by hypnotizing the sails. Whenever they bellied and stayed that way for more than ten seconds, we fixed our concentrated stares at them hoping to keep them that way. Then we felt Janna’s stern to lift on a swell and the mast whipped through the air. When the sails only collapsed, we were cheering. Mostly, though, the swing of the mast was faster then the strength of the wind, and the sails followed the mast as if it was a flagpole waved by a zealous boy-scout in a parade and then the mast swung back and a then came the loud bang. Janna shuddered and so did we. If this continued for a while and we couldn’t help it by steering, the sails went down. Whenever there was the tiniest of zephyrs we hoisted the gennaker made out of light nylon, but sometimes even the gennaker was too much of cloth for the joke of a wind.

Soon we didn’t bother to watch the speed. We knew what it was. From time to time we would hear the cheerful sound of the bow wave and that meant we are really moving at speed of about 2kn. At those times we raved on deck picturing the pristine anchorages, shade of palm trees and cold beer that are now almost within the reach of a hand. This enthusiasm usually soon dissipated, down with the sails and Janna continued her cork screw like bobbing/drifting.
We used the times of the greatest heat to bath either by jumping directly into the sea or by pouring sea water over ourselves using our new canvas bucket that Jana made right before departure from an old mainsail. We’ve noticed new type of marine growth on the bottom and as we were bathing each day, the water became noticeably warmer and warmer.
As we slowly approached the coast, each evening we observed billowing clouds and distant thunderstorm. That reminded us of our summer sail through the Philippines when we were moving Janna from Langkawi to Hong Kong. We used to be quite scared of these thunderstorms, and we still are, but we started to wish to get closer to them and get the taste of some of the power they were packing. We didn’t care much about the lightnings, but wind, that we could use. Not much, just a little more.
After five days at sea we made about 2/3 of our planned passage. We were little worried how much longer it would take to get to Puerto Galera. Thus we decided, against all the warning signs that we’ve received before, to aim for Subic Bay Yacht Club. It lies in a bay of the same same, and old station of the U.S. navy and air-force, now deserted. The yacht club itself was known for being expensive with very poor service and the bribes demanded by immigration, quarantine and customs were the highest in the Philippines. But we were in the situation where we needed a mechanic, which we could surely find elsewhere, but in case we need spare parts or even order something from abroad, Subic Bay was the ideal place, because it’s a duty free zone. Thus we changed course towards Subic Bay (we were sort of drifting that way anyway).
Once more we tried to inspect the whole fuel system, but we couldn’t find anything. We replaced all filters, checked that no hose is blocked, but we still couldn’t pump the diesel out of the fuel tank. We disassembled the mechanical fuel feed pump, but found no obvious problem. The diaphragm and all the valves looked fine. By the way, have you ever seen the weird gunk that collects in the pump? We retightened all the clams, but still no fuel was coming out of the tank. It was a hot and uncomfortable job. Janna was rocking on the swell, I was sweating like a pig, dripping sweat and diesel. Jana was on the watch for the ships, fishermen and parts and tools rolling around the cockpit.
We were clueless. Everything seemed fine, so why couldn’t we pump the diesel out? We never had a problem like that. We decided that it would be best to go to the nearest port and seed a help from someone with more experience. The obvious choice was Subic Bay. It’s a duty free zone, has a boatyard for yachts, finding spare parts should be more likely than in Puerto Galera. We still had about 40 miles to sail, but if we get a good wind, we might make it before dinner.
The morning greeted us with barely any wind at all. We were kind of moving under a limp gennaker and there wasn’t much to do other then jump into the water and give ourselves a power-wash. Just when we dropped the ladder into the water, the wind picked up and suddenly we were making 3 knots, then 4 and in few minutes we were flying. We setup the Cape Horn windvane, lied in the cockpit reading.
Since we were getting closer to the shore, there were more tankers, but we had a good wind and they were mostly passing us at a safe distance. For a while a school of dolphins followed us.
Around one o’clock in the afternoon, the winds started to die on us again. We were doing what we could to stay in a good angle to the swell and to make way for Subic Bay at the same time. We were hoping the wind will pickup the same way it did yesterday afternoon, but
we were not so lucky. No, the Neptune decided to make us work for our first port of call. We were drifting soft of towards the Subic Bay when a small fishing bangka approached us waving towards the Subic Bay. We thought they are directing us to the port, but the waving got more and more excited and then we spotted the small buoys of their net. We were about two boat lengths from it and there was no way we could avoid it. So we sailed right across the net. The fishermen were watching us with despair. We were shouting “It’s OK” and “Don’t worry” as they watched as their lively-hood being destroyed. Luckily for them and for us, Janna’s long keel slid over the net and didn’t harm it at all. That’s a great advantage of our boat in areas like these. The nets can be found everywhere and it’s a nasty job to get one off your propeller.
The sun was falling down and the shore grew closer. We decided to take a shower. We found out that one of our port lights is leaking a little bit, so I stood closer to the boat and started to pour buckets of sea water on top of my head. Suddenly I realized that I am standing right next to the front hatch and not exactly small amounts of water are splashing right over our V-berth and the veggies stored there. I cried out, Jana jumped up and if I wasn’t standing on the other side of the boat already, I would have ran there for a protection from Jana’s mop.
About five miles from the mouth of the Subic Bay the wind picked up and we were doing five knows just under the gennaker. We had about an hour before we would have to start tacking into the harbour. So Jana put our pressure cooker to work. Before the risotto was ready, we hoisted the mainsail, took down the gennaker and hoisted hank-on genoa instead. As we munched on our dinner, the wind started to die again. We started to get worried.
The sun was gone, the darkness fell and we were becalmed right by the mouth of the Subic Bay.
First we called the yacht club to see if they have a boat that could tow us in. They said they don’t. So we contacted the port control and advised them the we are barely sailing at the speed of one knot and that we might soon be obstructing the traffic. Fortunately there was no traffic, but it surely wasn’t a good place to be idling.
The port control said they will organize a rescue. We defended ourselves that we are not in danger and that we only need a tow. But the “rescue” definition of the whole affair stuck. Then the wind picked up again and suddenly we were moving at about 2 knots. We informed the port control and the boat that was supposed to tow — I mean rescue — us was supposed to stand by.
Soon we saw about 50′ steel pilot boat approach us. The wind has dies again, so we gave up and let them come along side. We had the lines and fenders ready. I’ve discussed with the captain of the boat how we are going to them. His idea was to tie bow and stern lines and get underway. I strongly protested and forced him to tie a spring line from our stern to his bow. When all of us were satisfied, the captain gave a signal to the helmsman. The engine roared and the pilot boat jump forward. The lines screeched, Janna moaned, the two of us screamed.
“SLOWLY, @#$%, #$@&*&*#^$, *&&^@%%$$$@!”
The captain smiled and said:
“That’s our lowest speed. Any lower than that is the neutral.”
We complained that this boat is too large for us, that they knew we are a small boat. When both boats gathered momentum and settled down, the screeching and tugging stopped and we were little relieved. We were still checking all the lines, when I looked up and started to wonder where are they taking us. The captain informed us that they cannot enter the basin of the yacht club, so we will be tied to them at their dock for the night. The dock was supposed to be right next to the yacht club. The yacht club was to the north, we were being towed to the east.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked the captain.
“To our dock, next to the yacht club,” he replied.
“I think that should be that way,” I pointed north.
So far the captain was lounging against the guard rail, satisfied with the execution of his mission. Then the captain jumped up and looked around. Then he mumbled something in Filipino and ran into the cabin. Then we made a sharp turn.
Their exhaust was spraying Janna’s topsides and filling the air with nauseating fumes. Apart of that, it seemed like all is good and we’ll soon be tied in the marina, hot shower pouring on our shoulders, cold beer in hand. It wasn’t meant to be. Not for another couple of hours, anyway.
So far we were riding through calm water south of the Grande Island which mark the port limits. When we passed the island, a sudden strong wind hit us and whipped up a nasty chop. Janna was of course on the windward side. She started rocking violently and crashing against the pilot boat. The lines were stretching beyond belief. This is no good, we shouted at the captain, who seemed worried as well. The chop was getting nastier and the noises unbearable. We asked the captain to stop the boat. We suggested that we will sail from here, the wind was more then adequate for that. But the captain wasn’t willing to let us go. He called the port control who in the meantime found a smaller boat that could take us directly to the yacht club. We were still couple of miles away, so we were hoping to sail towards towards the small boat. But the captain had his instructions. So we waited for about an hour when an unlit motor boat about 20′ long approached us. The crewman jumped aboard our boat without a warning, which got me little worked out, but I controlled myself and I simply said: Get back on your boat. We got rid of the steel monster and continued in much slower pace. In about an hour we reached our destination. The wind had died again, so we wouldn’t have made it to the yacht club after all. Anyway, we were there and safe.
The dangers of the sea and shipping were over, now were had to get ready for the “land sharks”…

22:03:15
We left Kaohsing at 9am. We have announced our departure for 8am, but who would’ve expected that the water hoses we used to leave on the dock would be so unbelievably dirty. Partially UV rays working on the plastic, partially the ever-present dirt of Kaohsiung. It took almost a pint of acetone to clean.
Just before eight o’clock Kevin arrived. I have greeted him in my swim trunks, because I was just about to dive to check our propeller and the state of our rudder. There’s a little play around the bottom hinge, nothing serious, but something we need to take care of when we haul out in the Philippines. I scraped only couple of tube worms from the prop, otherwise everything was quite clean, since Jana scraped the whole boat few days ago.
Just when I climbed out of water, the immigration officers arrived to stamp us out of the country. I wrapped a towel around my waist and stretched my hand to great them. There were three of them, two guys, who whole-heartedly shook my head, and one lady, who kept her distance from this water dripping man.

Right before the immigration, our dear friend Mr. Ou appeared with a bag full of gifts. He embraced us dearly and reciprocated the feelings. We spend quite some time together and became quite close.
We were ready to leave, but then we recollected we wanted to buy some ice for the first two days… Then our Czech friend Tomas called that he’s ready at the breakwater to take our pictures. Poor guy! I borrowed Kevin’s bike and paddled quickly for some ice. Then a quick stop at the Cickle K (in Taiwan it’s called OK) store to spend our last 100 Taiwanese dollars on soda. Deniz from the Kaohsiung Yachtclub just showed up and was kind enough to take few pictures of us leaving the dock. Looks like our departure from Taiwan will be well documented.
Engine started, lines cast off, even the traffic control gave us a green to leave the harbour, no standby, no nothing. Just stay clear of incoming vessel. Sure we will, it’s a bulk tanker.
Jana pushed the throttle to 1600 recs, the ferries to Qijin were nowhere in sight, as if we had the whole port to ourselves.
Once we turned around the rock next to the coast guard station, Kevin appeared and we began waving. Then we hoisted the mainsail so that Tomas gets a bit more exciting pictures. We passed the breakwater, waves our last goodbyes to Tomas and started to prepare the boat for sea. Our phones beeped constantly as our three friends Deniz, Tomas and Kevin posted and shared the photos they took.
Jana at the helm, I was coiling lines, tying fenders on the dighy and checking that everything is ready for few days at sea. Jana then took a phone and called said the last goodbyes to friends we couldn’t meet, and most importantly her professor Fan Minru. Then we lost the signal. The shore began to recede into the mist.
We were motoring to get as far from shore as possible, there was not much wind anyway. We blasted through the ship anchorage and watched the grey skies around us. Naturally we were a little annoyed by the prospect of rain. In fact, when we got up that morning it was drizzling. I complained to Kevin about that, who took a breath as if he wanted to say something, but then he suddenly exhaled and waved his hand:
“No, I can’t say that. One shouldn’t say things like that.”
“You mean that Taiwan is weeping that we are leaving,” I said with a smile.
Kevin smiled back.
“Yes,” he said.

The sea was calm, so we were able to motor at about 6 knots. We hoisted the genoa to get a bit more speed. Kaohsiung gradually disappeared in the mist.
I climbed down to the navigation table and started preparing our notebook for navigation. Few minutes later, Jana called that she will shift to neutral, so I shouldn’t be alarmed. After few more minutes, she turned the engine off entirely. We continued to glide across the water at about 5 knots. Could we ask for more? Actually we could, but the nature provided everything. Few drops of rains fell on us, but then the clouds scattered, and the sun started to scorch the earth and the sea and us. We stretched the square awning from the boomgallows to the solar panel arch and lounged in a shade, breeze cooling down the heat that surrounded us.
We had a bowl of tomato soup that Jana made in the morning and which was stored in our pressure cooker. She grated the rest of the cheese we had left and we finished it with a cold beer. Was anything missing that evening? We couldn’t think of anything.
The whole day our speed was constantly around five knots, the sea was calm, very little traffic. We were heading SSW and aiming for longitude 118* 30′, where the winds were supposed to be more constant.

22:34:54
Last night was quite uneventful. The wind it light, but we were still able to maintain more or less 3kn. The sun was strong from the early morning. We underestimated it’s power and got burned a little.
During the day the wind was really light and the speed dropped to 2kn. In the after noon the wind dropped completely, but we were still moving at about 1kn. We must have been making way through the water, because the helm was responding, even though slowly. The rest of a push from a current. We discussed the situation for a while and with a sigh we started the engine. We were in no hurry, but it would be nice to make a good time, so that our parents are not too worried. This is a first longer voyage after quite a long time of sitting in port. Jana came up with this argument for starting the engine, and I agreed. If we kept drift-sailing for another week, it would certainly raise a panic. We realized that we might’ve bought the SPOT messenger instead of GoPro. It would allow us to send short messages that we are OK and what we are up to. But for next couple of months we won’t make a passage longer than few days and will be in the reach of mobile signal.

It was almost dark when a tiny swallow started inspect our boat and then decided to fly right into the cabin and sit on the kerosene lamp. I pushed her out and she found surely much more comfortable spot on the lifelines and then we saw her fly around for some more and disappear. We thought she might be hiding somewhere and we didn’t want to step on her in the night, but she was nowhere to be found.
It was dinner time and since we didn’t catch any fish, Jana made a tomato risotto in the pressure cooker. As soon as the meal was ready the engine died. Little annoyed we opened the engine room knowing by the sound of the engine that the reason is probably air leak into the fuel lines. We suspected an o-ring of the fuel prefilter, because we could see few tiny bubbles around it. We reassembled it and it’s been working fine up until now.
Jana was sleeping when the engine died again, which woke her up. I send her back to bed and started the engine again. It coughed a little, but begun running just fine. The wind picked up, so I hoisted hank-on genoa for light winds. If the engine dies again, we will continue under sail and have a look at the air leak in the morning. We have a replacement for the prefilter housing if the problem is the o-rings.
We are roughly in the middle of the Bashi Channel.

23:01:01
The engine died a while ago. I connected the Cape Horn windvane. Who would want to mess with diesel on such a beautiful night. Fortunately, the wind has picked up again and we are sailing 2.6-3kn. That’s below our average speed, but good enough to get to Puerto Galera in 7-8 days.

10:05:37
The night was terrible. We were moving slowly in the beginning under mainsail and light wind genoa, but the monsoon started to blow north of Taiwan and it kicked up an annoying swell, which constantly kicked the wind out of our sails. Around midnight we had to take down the mainsail, be cause the noise and strain on the rigging was just unbearable. Later the genoa came down too. Finally we had chance to taste the pleasures of the mariners of the old. Being becalmed, no engine (or dysfunctional one), you can do nothing but wait. We continued keeping a watch and listen to the sounds of our screeching little boat. The off-watch slept surprisingly well, even though the boat was tossed around quite violently.
I woke up early in the morning and found out that Jana already hoisted hank-on genoa. We were steering by hand, because windvane couldn’t cope with the swell in this light wind or maybe we haven’t found the trick how to make him to stray on course. Soon we were able to hoist the mainsail. We were making way, but westward, which was little out of the way, so we took down the main and unrolled the heavy genoa and sailed wing-on-wing due south. The wing was gradually picking up and it was turning east, which meant that we could reach down under our heavy furling genoa and the mainsail.
It was obvious that the North-East monsoon that was blowing already for two days at north Taiwan finally reached us. The GRIB forecast that we had from Kaohsiung suggested that it should became even stronger and hold for about two days…
Jana: And what became of the swallow? When we chased her out of the cabin, we thought that she flew away, but it turns out she was hiding underneath the dinghy. In the morning it flew out and sat on the tip of the tiller right next to my head. I tried to wake Petr up and have him take a picture, but he was sleeping too well. We looked at each other, the swallow and I, for about five minutes and then she spread her winds and flew away for good. I felt that she came by to say goodby and thanks for the lodgings…

My old man was an electrician by trade. But he hated the work and above all he loved horses, westerns and country music and defined himself by the cult western Monty Walsh. So one year after the Velvet revolution, he brought home a big bag full of cowhide, needles, thread, roe-deer antlers and sheets of bee wax. He put that all down in the corner of our living room, which naturally made my mum very happy. But it wouldn’t be fair to leave out the other parts of our tiny block of flats apartment, so in the kitchen he started to melt the bee wax and mould it into balls and a frame for a western saddle soon appeared in the bedroom.

A typical western saddle (example photo, not a product of my dad, even though it looked pretty much like this one)

It goes without saying that my dad had no horse, but he made himself available to people that had horses and everyone who has ever been around horses knows that there’s a lot of work to be done. More work than riding actually, so full hearted people devoted to the cause, like my dad, are always welcome.

Finally he threw away a multimeter and went to the other side of Bohemia to the Krkonose mountains to be with horses on a small farm with about 30 Hucul horses. We saw him only for few days once in couple of months, but I could spend two or three whole summer and winter holidays at the farm in the midst of those beautiful forests. Whenever there was a free horse during the rides for the paying clients one of us kids could take a ride with the group. Those calm mares always took a good care of us.

But then my dad hurt his back when he fell from a horseback and that was the end of his work at the farm. By then he made two or three western saddles and repaired many more so it was only natural that he would start his own saddler shop.

He was no businessman. He was working with too big a heart and besides, most of his clients were people that were doing some lovable jobs, like tending to horses, or had dreamer’s hobbies like country music, scouting or tramping. But you don’t need to make a lot of money if you do what you love. And he was doing exactly that till the end.

Before I grew up into an ignorant teenager, I had a chance to learn a bit of the trade and it came in handy. We were preparing to make a dodger for Janna so we visited a local canvas guy from whom we wanted to buy some material like Sunbrella, Dacron thread, and such. I knew that he must be using cowhide so I asked him about it. He said that indeed he used to use it, but now they tend to use synthetic material instead. When he asked if we wanted some of his old cowhide stored back in his shop, I didn’t waste a second.

I put that big bag full of cowhide into the corner of our cockpit and took out my inheritance: couple of awls, saddler’s needles and hole cutters.

Soon I realized that I kind of didn’t manage to inherit dad’s craftsman’s patience and eye for detail. But my goal wasn’t to create works of art like my dad, just something that will work and hopefully won’t hurt the eyes and aesthetic feelings of fellow human beings.

Pieces of cowhide and waxed thread were soon laying all around the boat and my hands hurt from piercing the thick hide and pulling the needle through, even though I used a sailor’s palm to push it in and pliers to pull it out.

Working with cowhide is really enjoyable. When you soak it in water you can actually mould it quite well and to a certain extent it will hold the form. That’s what the roe-deer antler is for. A round one for moulding and shaping, a sharp one for embossing patterns. But I didn’t venture that far. My esthetical goals were very simple, something in the lines of preventing regular people of being offended by my sloppiness. Craftsmen please shed a blind eye.

We naturally love water, but same as with the fire, it is a good servant, but a bad boss. Recently we found out that our otherwise quite dependent bilge pump Rule 1100 started malfunctioning. First the float switch started to get stuck and refused to get lifted by the water in the bilge. Soon the motor would start working only sporadically and when it did work, it wouldn’t have enough power to lift the water.

I tried to get inside, but the motor is sealed in a plastic body of the pump, so we decided to order a new one, which is by the way, quite improved, the float is hidden so it cannot get dirty and stuck. At the same time we ordered an inline check-valve for our manual bilge pump Gusher 10. We were looking for a similar strainer that we had before, but the advantage of the strainer, other than being able to be attached to the floor, is not so clear to me, so I just attached a piece of strong plastic netting on the check-valve to get a cheap strainer. The netting is naturally important to prevent hard large objects getting into the bilge pump and puncturing the membrane.

Now everything is back in working order and we sleep a tad sounder, i.e. until there’s water in the bilge which triggers an annoyingly alarming buzzer…

When I was a small kid back in the communist Czech and Slovak Socialistic Republic, a friend of mine introduced me to this marvelous new gadget – a digital watch. The Vietnamese throw them into the garbage when the battery is dead, said my friend. Yes, that marvel was battery operated. I’ve never seen battery operated watch. Why wouldn’t the Vietnamese replace the battery instead of tossing the whole watch I didn’t understand. My friend just shook his head and pointed out to me again that the fact that these can be found in garbage cans is what I should be concentrating on.

Surely I did peek to garbage cans for a while then before emptying the content of our household bin. Yes, there were no plastic bags used then. All went to the bin, we would fold an old newspaper on the bottom, and the bin would have to be cleaned from time to time, because it would start to smell quite badly. I guess we were quite ecological back then, regardless of the fact that people didn’t know much about being ecological.

But the times they are a-changin’ and we buy and discard on a daily basis. Those who take a screw driver and disassemble are breaking warranties and are being labeled as handyman or in more contemporary lingo as hackers.

I digress, however. We try to remain faithful to our promise to the mother Earth and create as little garbage as possible. Thus, knife in one hand scissors in the other, I started butchering one of our old mainsails. You see, right now we have three mainsails on board. A very old one, then the one that was rigged when we bought the boat and now the new one, we just bought in Hong Kong. The time for the other too has come, holes here and there and patches, chafed all around, grommets corroded, leech lines, stuck to the fabric.

I stretched that large piece of shred and started to plot my attack. We need leecloths, helmsman awning, weathercloths, and couple of bags for lines, bag for cloth pins, there’s never enough bags on a boat. So far we’ve been using plastic bags (sic), because there’s such an abundance of those things and especially in Taiwan, most things are usually packages at least twice. Receiving piles of plastic bags seems unavoidable, but it’s time for us to say no. Not to mention that some of the plastic bags are so noisy.

So after a few hours effort, we got new leecloths, bottom firmly screwed to our berths and the top hanged on the cabin handholds and a massive eye through bolted to a bulkhead. We can stretch nice helmsmen awning, called “the square” over our cockpit. Our 100m mooring lines are now stowed properly in their own bags, line flaked inside so that it can be let out quickly without snags. And we have a new bag for a mainsheet in the cockpit (the photo of which will remain unpublished, because it’s a recycled cover from an outboard and it does not look particularly nice – but it works…).

In the conclusion I can say only this: Long live our fabulous Singer machine!