Days of our lives in Israel

Time is really strange when you are traveling on a sailboat. Sitting at anchor for days waiting for a weather change, sailing on an overnight 24 hour passage that would only take you 2 hours driving by car, and the hours it takes to just get the simplest jobs done in a new port is all such a different reality then most peoples day to day lives. Having come from a country that is based on a set of cultural beliefs of working long hours, eating fast food, and making money to achieve the American dream and buy the newest coolest stuff, life cruising on a sailboat seems almost a paradox. There is no doubt about our continued struggle with this reality. Nicole and I have it in our genes and from our American upbringing to be hard-working and active, but living on a boat you sometimes have to let go and just learn to accept a slower pace of life.

When we first got to Israel, we were our usual busy busy beaver-selves.
Trying to get all our broken parts sent out and fixed, attempting to tackle cleaning DK of the layers of dirt from the Red Sea , and also doing our best to make connections with Israeli family friends who knew we would be soon arriving in their country. And we did all that at first running here and there and seeing people and dealing with our boat. And then we CRASHED. We didn't realize how tired we were mentally from the trip up the Red Sea. With all our constant boat problems and dealing with the subconscious anxiety all the way from Oman, it finally hit us that we needed to stop for a bit and not be social and not be busy and not try to fix anything on the boat, at least for a while.

We have been in Israel now for a month and we are so thankful we chose to chill out. Right now we are staying in Nicole's family friends', Hemi and Anat, work apartment in downtown Tel Aviv and loving it. Having a place off the boat in the middle of this hip city with AC, fast internet, a good shower, and a cozy bed is total luxury for us. We can walk to the beach in about 1/2 hour as well as walk outside our door to sample all the great hip Israeli cafes, falafel joints, juice bars, and shops in this part of the city. We've been enjoying our time catching up on photos and writing, taking long walks, eating great food, and settling into the long summer hours of life in the Med.

Not only have we had some quality chill out time in Tel Aviv, but we have also managed to be good tourists. We spent a couple of days out in the Negev desert, crossed the border into Jordan and explored the ruins of Petra for 3 days, bobbed in the most salty buoyant water on the planet in the Dead Sea, trekked up at sunrise to the sacred ruins of Massada, and spent 4 days in the holy city of Jerusalem exploring this crazy fascinating city. The history and current reality of this country have been extremely interesting and are deserving of a couple stories soon to be written on the website.

On the boat reality side of our life, we have also managed to fix and clean up DK to an acceptable level again. After dealing with the most disorganized courier company ever, FedEX Israel, with over 12 hours on the phone to at least 10 different customer service personnel over a two week period, we finally managed to get both our wind generator and charging regulators sent to the U.S. for repair and back in our hands in Israel again, all working. That really sucked. But thankfully after over 3 years sailing all over the world, this is the first time we have had to deal with a company like this in sending parts back and forth. Hopefully also the last.

So DK is starting to look good again. Charging system is fixed, watermaker membrane replaced and working, wind generator up and running, all our sails are newly stitched up and a new panel replaced on our torn mainsail, instruments are all up and running, autopilot hopefully working now, chafed lines swapped out, yanmar engine serviced, new antenna replaced on our satphone on deck, and Nic, the winch cleaning superstar, meticulously took apart all 8 of our winches and serviced every part of them in about 12 hours of work. Coated with dirt, grime, and Red Sea sand, they were all in awful shape coming into Israel.

We are almost outta here. We will be back on the boat still with a few last projects to do before we take off sailing again enroute to the Dodecanese Greek Islands. Hopefully, with a good weather forecast we will pull out of our slip on Monday, June 28, top up some diesel, and head north towards Rhodes, Greece. By that time we also should have some stories of Israel and our photo albums uploaded as well. Enjoy!

A New Sea

It was already noon as we sat in our sunny cockpit tied up to the Ismalia Yacht Club in Egypt. Three other pilots had already come to take the other cruising boats up part 2 of the Suez Canal, but no one had come for us. The yacht club manager was not on our side. He said we were supposed to check in with him the night before if we wanted to leave. Of course, we were never told this, but this being Egypt and all, we figured it was just another ploy for him to make another days profit from us sitting and waiting at his dock. Whatever...after waiting patiently all morning we were fine sitting another day. We were tired and it was nice to have an excuse to rest.

We started putting the boat back to bed and geared up for a walk around town, when, behold, a pilot shows up on the dock with our agency. He looked to be kind and happy and was definitely ready to go. Isn't it too late, we asked? Won't we be in Port Said after dark?? No no no, they all said, you will be fine. Nic and I did a quick check-in and decided we should just go for it because who knows if anyone will even show up tomorrow. So in a matter of minutes our new pilot jumped in DK, we cast off the med mooring lines, revved up DreamKeeper's engine and we were off.

Once again we had scored. Our pilot was truly a warm and friendly pious Egyptian man, competent and easy to be around. He took the helm and hand-steered up and out of Ismalia bound for the Mediterranean. I wish I could say it was an uneventful trip, but knowing us lately, it just wouldn't be so.

Within an hour while checking the engine, I noticed our charging regulator was off, meaning no battery charging. I checked the wires. All ok. So I figured we have a new regulator problem, one of many we have had recently, so I decided to switch it out underway. Out comes my electrical tool box and all my tools. With the Yanmar cranking and intensely hot already, I started taking it apart and reinstalling a new one, one I was hoping actually worked. After a while it was ready. I tested it. Nothing. Then I started testing wires all the way from the batteries to the cockpit engine key. I tested circuits, looked for loose wires, and poked and prodded everywhere I could. Meanwhile, our pilot hand-steered and Nic tried to give me positive encouragement the best that she could.

For at least 3 hours I tried to fix the problem. I was totally stressed out, tired, soaked in sweat and also worried that we might have a big problem and need to stay in Port Said to sort it all out. Not what we wanted at all considering the baksheesh we would have to pay and the hassle of dealing with another pilot when we wanted to leave again.

I finally took a break and sat in our cockpit next to the pilot, both of us shaking our heads. Then, I glanced over to the instrument panel and noticed the key. It was turned to the "off" position and not the "on" position like it should be. No f-ing way, I thought. I flicked the key over, opened the engine compartment and glanced at the charging regulator. It was on. Classic. I couldn't believe it. Nothing was broken, it was just a stupid mistake on my part to not think through the problem well enough. In my defense it's so easy to forget on a marine diesel engine that the key doesn't turn the engine off but will turn the electricity off to the regulator if not in the correct position. It had only been bumped. Unbelievable. I think this little episode pretty much summed up where I was at in dealing with all DreamKeeper's problems and mentally just being exhausted with all of it. Thankfully this one had a happy ending and we were still 'good to go' to head out into the Med.

After another long day through the man-made canal at sunset we had made it to Port Said, our last Egyptian port. After giving our pilot the mandatory baksheesh and some extra cigarettes to his greedy little pilot boat friends, we waved farewell and took over DK's helm as we motored out through the city and into our first glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea at dusk. We raised the mainsail, unfurled the jib, and fell off on a starboard close reach towards Israel zigging and zagging through the fishing buoys and busy shipping lanes.

Even though we were really tired, we were also so so relieved to put closure on the Red Sea, Egypt, and the Suez Canal. It was pretty surreal. One of those times when you can't actually believe where you really are.

Nic and I settled into our night watch routine as we plodded along through confused seas and light winds navigating through the oil platforms and fishing boats. We managed to rig the Monitor windvane to actually auto-steer for us most of the night, even though we had only a little wind and had the motor on. Relieved to not be glued to the helm for hours at a time, we could actually lay back and relax a bit and take a leak when we needed to.

At dawn the Israeli Navy was already calling us on the VHF. Over and over we repeated answers to their many questions. We knew security there would be tight and we expected a thorough questioning, but it seemed to never end.

We were told to stay 20 miles from land and 5 miles from the gas platform offshore so we changed our course and plowed into the swell and wind to make amends. By mid-afternoon we were finally ready to turn towards shore right when the wind piped up in the high twenties and the seas increased. Good timing. If it would have happened earlier we would have been spending another tiring night out hove-to, awaiting a morning arrival. But the Mediterranean sea gods were on our side and we fell off onto a broad reach flying along at 7-8 knots towards the port of Ashkelon.

A little while later we were met by the Israeli Navy in a gun boat performing tight circles around DK while hailing us on the VHF. I answered all the same questions once again while Nic hand-steered down the seas and the Navy fixed it's massive guns on us at close range. After 20 minutes or so, we were cleared in and they motored away. Little did we know at the time but the first "Aid Flotilla" from Turkey was almost to Israel, the one with the violent ending that most of you probably read about in the news. Security in Israel is always tight, but even more so when there is the possibility of conflict. Thankfully, we managed to slip right into the harbor before all the news happened, tied up to the customs dock, dealt with more security officials and then melted into our beds in a new land, in a new sea.

God Willing

At last, the Red Sea gave us a window to escape. For three days we watched the wind push storm clouds of dust running across the desert, swirling over the nearby mountains and out over the sea. We kept our eyes on the small fishing boats at anchor and laughed with the locals, shrugging our shoulders and shaking our heads about the sand storm and wild seas. Peering out our portholes, we were grateful we were on DK and not on one of the many fishing boats tossing at anchor with their shade-cloths billowing up and down like unwieldy circus tents.


On May 20, at 06:00 we upped anchor from Ras Abu Zenima. The wind still howled at us us but the seas were manageable. By nine am, the wind continued to build and the seas reared up and threatened to stop us in our tracks again. We had learned our lesson and tucked into Ras Malab at 29.12.1998N, 32.55.814E after a surprisingly blustery but gentle 12 miles north. We gratefully celebrated our wise choice when the wind picked up at noon to 30 knots and we were bouncing around again at anchor. Mentally exhausted, we declared the rest of the day a holiday and lounged around, baked cookies, and watched a matinee. All day the wind picked up, surging past our hull and licking us with salt spray. By 19:00 we were humbled by its strength, blowing constantly at 32 knots, often gusting to 37, the strongest we’d yet seen in the Red Sea.

For those of you who don’t know boats, when it’s this windy it’s really loud. Secured lines bounce, rattle, and buzz. The anchor snubber moans in protest against the wind, and the boat, even when protected from the seas by a shallow reef, continues to roll like we are on passage in moderate but sloppy seas. Here conditions were too raucous to get any sleep in the V-berth in the front of DK (our normal bed), even with one of us wedged horizontally across it. For the first time ever, we made two sea berths in the salon that night. Well into the wee hours the seas slapped us and tossed us around, our hopes dwindling that conditions would allow us to leave by morning.

On May 21st we awoke with our alarms at 05:00 to blustery conditions. Resigned to be stuck another day, we tucked ourselves back into our cozy berths for a couple more hours. But by 07:00 the wind seemed manageable and we again headed up the coast, hopeful we could make the 15 miles to Ras Sudur before the wind barred our passage again. Successfully, we made it by 13:00 in strong winds but decent time. We tucked in at 29.35.135N, 32.41.231E in 16 feet of water next to a pod of resting dolphins. The wind predictably kicked up again within a couple of hours and we were glad we were learning to be patient.


We had twenty five miles to go to Pt Suez Yacht Club, our entrance to the Suez Canal. At 05:30 on May 22, we greeted the chilly morning bundled again in our foul weather pants and jackets. The captain even wore a wool hat. It was dead calm, eerily so. A few fish broke the surface and terns dove overhead. By 10:00, the sun was merciless again. Spinner dolphins escorted us the last 10 miles through swarms of purple jellyfish and into the Suez Harbor.

By noon we were ecstatic and relieved to have made it to Pt Suez, the mouth or the tail of the Suez Canal depending on how you look at it. Our journey up the Red Sea was at last behind us. Kar Kar, the marina man and, Sayed, our agent from Felix Maritime tied us to our mooring. Within minutes Sayed had our paperwork completed and said that “Insha'Allah, (God willing) we could head up the canal the next day if it wasn’t too late for the measurer to come and there were no warships transiting in the morning.” Then we would be lucky and we could proceed north. “Maybe yes, maybe no” he said. “Insha'Allah.”

God was willing. By 16:00 we had been measured, and after some back and forth, Gar and the measurer agreed upon the calculations for our tonnage and canal transit price. The next morning, we rose to crisp clear skies, calm winds and the promising possibility we would be heading north up the Suez Canal. After calling our agent numerous times to no avail he showed up at 9:30 with our bill. Of course it was higher than we had agreed upon with the measurer. This is Egypt after all. After some stern talks and haggling over the difference, we reduced the fees to what they should have been. In the end, we were charged $288 dollars for our canal transit, port and agent fees, $21 dollars for our night on the mooring balls and an extra $5 dollars here and there for baksheesh (bribes, greasing the wheels, Egyptian custom, whatever you want to call it) along with a couple of boxes of cigarettes (on board specifically for this purpose) and our broken VHF.

I had the bonus of having a very sweet old man do my shopping for me at only a moderately inflated price. Freshies abound again on DK and our pilot will hopefully be happy with a feast for lunch including green beans, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, melons, eggplant and fresh Egyptian bread among other things. The best part about my grocery resupply was that it came from an adorable old man with a stunning smile and a winning sales act. I received many kisses, a promise of him as my second husband, and a belly full of laughter before we agreed on a shopping list and a price. If only dealing with all Egyptians were as delightful as this.

At 10:25 our canal pilot took the helm. DreamKeeper’s rpms were revved to a fast but easy 2500 and our pilot steered us on up to Ismalia, adding another run to his 15 years of canal piloting. He is serious and scholarly looking with round frameless glasses, a long face, and tightly cropped hair and beard. The dark callouses in the middle of his forehead mark his dedication to prayer and Allah.

It is wild to think of our journey up the Red Sea coming to a close with the final miles through the man-made canal that is Egypt’s lifeline to the rest of the world. The work to create the first canal that separated Africa from Asia and connected her to the Mediterranean was first recorded in 610-595 BC. For a few hundred years numerous Egyptian rulers and conquerors worked to build and maintain the original canal running through a different and more complicated route that was later abandoned. In 1859, the excavation of the current Suez Canal was begun and in 1956 Egypt fought and won control over the rights and ownership of it.

The Suez Canal is now the one of the most heavily used shipping lanes in the world with over 20,000 ships a year transiting its waters. It runs 167 km in length from Port Suez to Port Said, running through a few large lakes and a waiting basin and yacht club in Ismalia. In some places it is wide enough for a large ship and a small one like ours to squeeze closely passed one another but not wide enough for two large ships to pass each other at once. So there are specific transit times for northbound and south bound boats. The cut off time to head north from Port Suez is 11:00. At 10:30 we were one of the last small northbound boats transiting the canal. Our pilot Mohammed Ebrahim Ali was excellent. He was competent and courteous and hand steered our boat with constant attention to the conditions. He skillfully navigated the canal and passed 28 gigantic ships heading south on our way north to our mooring for the night in Ismalia.

By 17:30 we were med-moored stern to in Ismalia to the entertainment of a large family of Egyptians watching just feet away from our cockpit. We’ll likely spend a day or so here. The weather looks like it will be favorable in the Med in a couple of days and we’ve got diesel runs to do and a re-provision before we leave. Hopefully, the last leg of the canal transit will be smooth and we’ll kiss Egypt goodbye in a couple of days.

Schooled by the Suez

We're rubbing grit out of our eyes and sand out of our teeth. The Red Sea is still spitting at us these last 180 miles as we claw our way north. The powers of the Red Sea have pushed us into Ras Abu Zenima anchorage at 29.02.5N 33.06.8E. We're rolling among oil platforms and fishing boats of all sizes. The desert licks the shore and showers us with sand even though our feet haven't touched the earth in 5 days.

It's wild what happens on a journey like ours. Some days just suck. Like life anywhere. We cannot be bound by deadlines and dates, our hopes and even our own sheer will has little power in a place as raw and relentless as here. Everything is unpredictable and changes all the time. Right now it is all up to fate and what the world dishes out to us. Lately it seems we've been in a shitstorm of sand.

Let me start from the beginning. We left Hurgada Marina (May 15th) with full water tanks and a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables. The wind was light and we hoped it would stay that way. We knew the last 180 miles of the Red Sea up the Gulf of Suez might not be so easy.

Lately our adventure seems to start with a challenge and linger with it like some kind of ominous warning. Casting off our lines, I felt the familiar nervousness and excitement that comes with leaving the safety of the marina and heading out to the unknown world; one we knew would likely not be easy. It quickly turned to dread as Gar put the boat into reverse and we heard a strange thumping sound. Out of the slip and not wanting to be stuck engineless trying to maneuver back in between the two boats, we headed out to the bay to assess the problem. Lifting the engine hatch on the cockpit floor and peering into the engine room we both groaned. I think I could hear our spirits sinking. Seriously, this could not be happening.

Our shaft seal looked to be cracked and sea water was gushing into the boat. Hovering in neutral facing into the wind and looking out for hazards, I held my breath and prayed for some divine intervention. After all, we had been visiting the gods of Egypt and paying respect to their temples.

The problem: the dripless shaft seal that goes around our propeller shaft and keeps sea water from flooding into our boat shifted somehow and the seal venting line hose was wrapped around the shaft. The sea was pouring into our boat fast and we couldn't use the engine. Gar grabbed tools, scrunched himself into the small engine compartment, and straddled the revolving shaft. "Don't put the boat into gear," he warned. I knew all too well his toes and fingers could be sacrificed if I gave him no warning. Swiftly he unwound the venting line, re-attached the rubber seal and tightened the hose clamps and then re-inspected the seal. Thankfully there was no damage and it stopped leaking. The flood was over and as our pulses returned to normal we thanked the boat and our guardians for allowing us to leave Egypt. We could have had to have hauled the boat out of the water, waited for parts, and been stuck on the hard here for a year. Not something we had on our "To Do" list.

DK always keeps us on our toes. The rest of the day was a good one. The desert winds were lighter than anticipated and the seas stayed small. We felt lucky and grateful and had a long an uneventful motor sail 42 miles north. Honestly it felt good to be home. We dropped the hook at Marsa Zeitiya, 27.49.7N 33.35.0E, in 32 feet of water and hard packed sand just before the sun slipped beneath the sea.

Waking as the sky turned from black to violet we motored out of the anchorage by 5:30. It was a sweet day. We crossed the shipping lanes quickly on a fast beam reach without trouble and pushed the boat 20 miles past our proposed anchorage at El Tur to Shab El Hasa 28.35.4N 33.11.5E in 16 feet of sand. Sailing up the Red Sea is still a game. We are playing chicken with the winds and seas and take all we can when we can get it.

The next morning threatened to scorch us with temperatures predicted in the hundreds and the winds likely building. Again we were off early, sipping tea in the inky darkness and freshening wind. Within an hour the desert sands shifted along with our luck.

The seas grew mountainous and the winds pummeled us. Perhaps pushing on was foolish on our part but we were still making 4-5 knots headway. Motor-sailing with a 30-40 degree angle to the 25-32 knots of wind and the standing and sometimes breaking steep 8-10 feet waves, we pushed on. The autopilot quit as usual and we hand steered, punching through waves and wind constantly soaked by the sea cascading over the dodger. The deck was awash in green water and the drain scuppers were working overtime. Again and again we were soaked in sea water and swiftly licked dry and coated with sand by the building winds. The boat rebelled and our angels grew weary.

We lost a scupper screen and the alternator regulator was starting to go out which means our charging system was again at risk from overheating or not getting enough power. Water splashed through our sealed dorade vents onto the salon cushions and we found leaks in places we didn't know existed. Thankfully, at least, our new hatch and window seals are working flawlessly.

By 1300 hours we were within a few miles of an anchorage and debated pushing 12 miles on. The boat was still making good time but we were tired, salty, and concerned about pushing DK too hard. Gratefully, we dropped the hook in 54 feet of water behind a fleet of fishing boats and in front of an oil tanker. The sun seared through our decks while sand danced over the sea. Our cabin temperature was a debilitating 87 degrees. We hunkered down and welcomed the relief of the departure of the sun.

By 0200 the winds had laid down and we woke out of a deep sleep to a "SLAM" on our port side. We bolted out of bed and ripped the sleep from our eyes. A wooden fishing boat at anchor and tied to another had swung into us, hitting us broadside. Frantically, we rushed to put the boat in gear and grab a fender to place in between the boats before we hit again. Twice we hit hulls before we could move away from the boats. We yelled and yelled; surprisingly, no one was on board. Then our depth sounder went out. With patience, attention to the light winds, and swinging of the other boats, we were able to maneuver around both fishing boats and eventually lift our anchor. Steering cautiously and paying our rode in and out in a delicate dance, we avoided crossing anchors and further impact.

With light winds and adrenaline pumping through our veins we could have left in the dark stillness of early morning to move north but our depth sounder was out and we wanted it working. So we collapsed into bed again after a swift re-anchoring, well beyond any fishing boats.

The next morning (May 18th) we woke to light winds and we hoped we could escape this anchorage. Immediately, Gar went to work on the depth sounder. Then the entire Sea Talk system went out; we lost all of our instruments. We can't wait until we can replace our autopilot control head. Thankfully we had internet and while he was working on the unit I sleuthed around and got some good insight. It took all morning to get most of it working again. Then, at 10:30 we foolishly tried to leave.

Pounding into building waves and wind was a stupid decision. Making only 2-4 knots in what appeared to be rapidly building seas we weighed our options. Then our bow-sprit teak plank broke from too much sun and heat and half of it came floating towards us like a depressing souvenir. After 20 minutes of bashing into the steep massive breaking waves we acknowledged our defeat and turned around in the towering seas and hoped we wouldn't get pooped. Once again, back in our anchorage we dropped the hook in deeper water in effort to avoid another collision with a fishing boat.

The anchor windless jammed. I couldn't control it and cursed as chain rattled out of the locker reeling, dumping all 280 feet of chain. Only when the shackle that connects the bitter end jammed in the plate did the chain stop. I raced to put a backup on the chain. Thin strands of rope that we pulled up that morning wrapped around the drum of the windless and jammed the clutch plate. It was blowing 25-30. Thankfully we could get a snubber on it to take the pressure off while Gar cut away the thin tangled strands of rope that wrapped around our anchor drum and clutch plate.

It probably seems like I'm spinning a good yarn for your entertainment but all of this is true. We felt like crying.

Before lunch yesterday, Gar dove back into the boat again, trying to diagnose the charging regulator. It is broken, the second to have gone out in a few months. Thankfully we have one last working spare and it was easily replaced. By noon the sun climbed to his full power and scorched us from the inside out. We napped in a restless stupor.

Sand swirls around us, coating the deck and collecting in small piles in the corners of the boat. A thin layer sticks to Gar's foul weather coat. In attempts to keep it from invading every crevice of our beings we shut most of the port holes and hatches. But the heat is relentless even in these strong winds. The cabin temperature soars and we are listless and grumpy. Every counter and floor is covered in a thin layer of sand.

It is easy to understand why the desert people wear long robes and cover their heads and faces with large scarves. We feel like we are breathing fire and eating dirt even in the comfort of the boat. Desert people in Africa are tough and resourceful.

Today (May 19th) we slept in until 07:00. Since there is nothing left to fix today we cleaned the dust from the counters and floors and relish is the cooler temperatures. The wind is relentless and howls through the rigging. Gusting to 35 in the anchorage, we are happy to be securely anchored and out of the brunt of the seas. We will patiently await the abating winds and settling seas before departing again. Until then, the desert will make her mark. Our skin is weathered and wrinkling and the desert sands are again beginning to settle in our home.