The Expedition Medical Chest series is the brainchild of Kirsten Hansen and her partner, Steve Roberts (he of Technomad and Nomadness fame).  Unlike the cheap kits you get from the typical marine supply house, these kits are stocked with professional-grade supplies and tools to help you deal with health emergencies while at sea.

Kirsten Hansen is a nurse with 17 years of experience (including ER).  She has patched many a cut, assessed countless traumas, changed innumerable complicated dressings, given thousands of injections, started many IV’s, assisted with surgeries, sutured many incisions and generated a few trees’ worth of documentation and is teamed with Steve Roberts in this new venture.

Steve became known in the 1980′s as a “technomad,” pedaling a computerized recumbent bicycle 17,000 miles around the U.S. while freelance writing with a handlebar chord keyboard and built-in networking tools.  He has written six books, and is now converting a 44-foot steel pilothouse sailboat into something akin to the Starship Enterprise, with a distributed sensor network and voice/browser user interface.

I asked Kirsten to post a version of one of her recent blogs, wherein she discusses the philosophy behind the kits and some of the specific supplies.  Yes, she’s selling these.  But I think they’re a great idea and I want my readers to hear about them from the people who build them.

—————

The Expedition Medical Chest Modules -- Photo Courtesy of Kirsten Hansen

Expedition Medical Chests
by Kirsten Hansen

One of our basic philosophies is that we must take responsibility for our own health, and this is not even optional in the cruising setting. We have to educate ourselves, stock the best tools and supplies, and take a deliberate approach to on-board health management.

The first module in our Expedition Medical Chest line is focused on wounds and burn care. Since lacerations, abrasions, punctures, and burns are common injuries on a boat, we decided to focus on those for our initial offering. Steve told me how he shopped for his boat’s expensive medical kit, and as I browsed the contents with a critical nurse’s eye, I found myself surprised at what was (and was not) included. I realized that if I were called upon to take care of someone who had just cut themselves badly at sea, I would not want to reach for that kit… which is a high-end and well-marketed product.

This brings me to the reasoning behind our first Medical Chest module, which reflects my nursing experience as well as Steve’s colorful career of adventure on land and sea. I have specific preferences in the items I reach for when I enter the hospital supply room, so here is an inventory of the contents packed in a logical sequence in our gasketed Lexan cases, along with some commentary on my rationale behind each:

Ten non-latex gloves - We chose vinyl since many people are allergic to latex (including some who are not aware of it).

Two 8” X 10” high absorbency ‘Abdominal’ pads – these dressings are extremely absorbent, versatile, and generous enough to cover a large wound.

25 4” X 4” gauze sponges – when someone is really bleeding, pressure is the first thing to think of to stop it. Gauze 4×4’s are great to just grab and hold on the fresh wound.

10 stretch fabric knuckle/fingertip bandaids
20 stretch fabric 1” X 3” bandaids- this is my favorite tape for applying and changing dressings (and I’ve tried them all). It is easy to manipulate in tight spots, the adhesive lasts a long time, and it seems to cause the least irritation.

One roll Micropore paper tape

Two 100mL bottles of sterile water – sterile water or saline is a very good thing to have on hand for flushing a fresh wound.

One 12mL syringe – when you are flushing a wound with the sterile solution, a syringe helps to get some pressure going. This can be very helpful with displacing debris and microbes.

One tube of triple antibiotic ointment – a good broad-spectrum topical antibiotic ointment can mean the difference between quick healing and a painful infection. Indispensable stuff.

One pack of 10 3M Steri-strips – To close a gash, these are my tool of choice.

5 Povidone Betadine swab sticks – iodine (betadine) is really an amazing substance.  It will nearly sterilize skin around a wound and is used in surgical prep as well as complicated dressing change protocols.

20 Alcohol wipes – alcohol will also nearly sterilize skin as well as instruments (such as forceps) before use.

5 Telfa 3”x5” non-adherent pads – these dressings will help prevent ripping off a newly formed scab (your body’s natural protective layer).

Two rolls of Kerlix gauze wrap – I really like this stuff for keeping a dressing in place in a spot like an elbow or wrist where there is a lot of motion or friction, but where you don’t need moisture protection.

Two sterile eye pads- this is the wrap to use when you need to secure a dressing, further protect the area, and/or give some support to a joint. Coban is wonderful.

One roll of 3M Coban wrap

One 2”x2” 3M Acticoat burn dressing – these dressings are impregnated with a silver antimicrobial substance which is particularly effective for healing a burn.

One Instant Ice Pack – before you tape a dressing on an area, if you remove the hair it is much easier to achieve cleanliness as well as less painful dressing changes.

One disposable razor

Self-published instruction manual and starter medical log – To tie all this together, I’ve written a set of procedures for dealing with typical lacerations, presented in a logical sequence that matches the grouping of supplies within the chest.

As a nurse, maybe I am spoiled, but I know there is a huge difference in the quality and usability of these items. Lower grade bandages will fall apart as soon as they get wet or you bend your elbow to hoist a line… better ones last longer, are easier to work with, and give you a better chance to heal. The supplies in our kits are the same ones I am used to grabbing when I run into the supply room in hospitals, and the quantities reflect my experience with first aid as well as ongoing care. The gasketed polycarbonate box is completely waterproof and will keep your supplies dry… a must in the marine environment.

Upcoming modules in the series include a smaller version for local journeys (out now), a “ship’s pharmacy,” CPAP storage, and a few others. Future blog posts will look at such topics as what to stock in your onboard medicine cabinet (both over-the-counter and with a prescription from your MD), prophylactic “guerrilla” antibiotics (broad spectrum and others), to Tourniquet or not to Tourniquet, the proper way to do dressing changes and wound assessments, shock, hypothermia, aseptic technique, burns, how to wrap, how to give an injection, how to document incidents in a medical log, use of epinephrine pens and so on. I expect it to be interesting and fun… especially with the added color of your stories about medical adventures at sea!

Cheers and thanks for dropping by!

Read a more detailed version of this blog post, and find much more information at:  MedicalChests.com.

Kirsten Hansen &
Steve Roberts
Nomadic Research Labs

By Victoria Allman

“Are they still there?” I asked Patrick as he walked through the galley.

“They haven’t left.” Patrick grabbed a slice of pineapple from the platter in front of me. “We’re surrounded.”

I swatted his hand as he reached for another slice. The fruit tray was for the guests on Pangaea, the 185-foot yacht I was chef of, not for the crew, whether he was my husband or not.

I removed my apron and followed Patrick down the side passageway to our aft deck.  The equatorial sun of Papua New Guinea burned deep into my skin within seconds of leaving the cool air-conditioned environ of my galley. I raised my hand to shade my eyes and squinted out over the tea-colored water.

Patrick was right; we were surrounded. Trailing behind us were half a dozen hand-carved wooden canoes, each holding a dozen tribal men and women.  To our starboard side, another four canoes were packed with dark-skinned naked children. Half of them smiled wide, half crouched behind the gunwale, the whites of their eyes peaking over the rim, too scared to look, too intrigued to glance away.

We were a novelty. A boat our size had never traveled that far up the Sepik River before. We had anchored the night before in the center of the river, unable to navigate farther in the dark. The guest on board had requested a trip up the Sepik, also known as the Amazon of the Pacific, to the center of the country along some of the wildest and remotest terrain on earth to view spirit-houses and tour primitive villages. So far, our journey had twisted through steamy mangrove jungles, untouched dense rainforests and boggy swamps.

The guests were on a National Geographic-like expedition, only, it was being done in the luxury of a twenty million dollar yacht.

Sweat trickled between my breasts before I even reached the swim platform. A mosquito landed on my arm. I swatted it away with one hand while with the other I motioned to one of the canoes to come closer.

A man wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and an elaborate headdress of feathers and vines maneuvered his prow alongside the swim platform of Pangaea. Patrick reached down to steady the dugout vessel.

“Welcome.” The man’s rough smile showed betel nut-stained misshapen teeth. He spit velvet red juice into the muddy-brown water. It swirled a moment and disappeared in the fast-moving current. “We sell bananas and coconut.”

I smiled. The local market had come to me. “How much?”

I had been to Madang, the local town earlier that week and had a rough grasp of how the Kina worked. In such a poor country, five kina bought you almost anything. I had spent more money than the market-sellers had seen in a long time on sweet potatoes, water spinach and papaya to feed our twelve crew and twelve guests.

I pulled coins from my pocket and pointed to the branch of bananas on the rough-hewn floor. I held out my hand, but the man shook his head. The animal bone piercing his nose swung back and forth.

“No good here.” He waved his hand toward the river banks lined with clusters of wheat and wild sugarcane. The village we anchored in front of consisted of stilted one-room huts made of wood and thatch. Jungle forests stretched forever beyond the clearing. Of course, where would he spend the money? On what?

Patrick stepped in. “Batteries?” he asked.

The man nodded. Our local guide on board came down to translate.

Patrick disappeared into the engine room to grab some of our spares while I stood smiling at a two-year old, curly-headed girl draped in a dirty white cloth for a diaper. I wiggled my fingers in a wave that sent her burying her face between her mother’s bare breasts.

I looked from one woman to the next. Each was bare-chested with long, flat, shriveled breasts that hung low and uneven down their bellies. Some wore skirts of grass, some a cloth wrapped around their hips. I felt self-conscious in my white polo with the yacht’s logo stitched on the chest.

Patrick returned with a box of batteries and a plastic container. The man nodded and handed me the branch with dozens of green bananas attached. 

Patrick bent down beside the children in the center of the canoe and held out his hand. One child shrieked and huddled in the far corner, but a boy of about six years tentatively peeked into Patrick’s cupped hand. He reached out a scrawny arm and touched what was inside. He, too, shrieked. But, this one was out of excitement.  The other six children pushed and leaned in to get a view of what the strange white man with hair the color of the surrounding wheat fields had in his hand.

The first boy grabbed at what Patrick held and snuggled it to his chest. Finally, I could see what the excitement was all about. Patrick had brought a container of ice from our ice machine. The children pawed at the ice in the boy’s arms, but within seconds, it had disappeared. All heads turned back to Patrick, wide eyes pleading for more.

Patrick laughed and handed out cubes to all the children. The men from other canoes paddled close to see what the excitement was all about. One by one, each canoe approached the boat and as I traded batteries, an old frying pan and crew t-shirts for tropical fruits from the fields, Patrick entertained the children with the ice.

Within minutes, all the crew and guests had come to trade. Extra clothes were exchanged for carved masks, flashlights for weaved baskets. As the rudimentary bartering progressed, Patrick produced the exchange item of greatest value.

He and our engineer, Scotty, lowered the jet-skis into the water. One-by one, Patrick took each boy for a ride. They straddled the seat behind him; smiling and waving as they passed their village, showing off to those on shore waiting their turn. He taught them to drive our machines in exchange for them teaching a thirty-nine year old man how to balance in their round bottomed vessels.

“Stand in back. Just paddle.” One boy instructed. Patrick rose, balancing like he learned on his surfboard as the hollow tree trunk swayed beneath him.  He teetered right and corrected too quickly to the left.

Splash! He emerged from the muddy water laughing. Children and elders roared with laughter around us. To their immense pleasure, he ended up in the water many times, tipping out of the canoe before he mastered its balance. 

By mid-morning, when we had to pull anchor and continue our voyage up the river, we had emptied our reserves of essentials and loaded in their place a bounty of carvings and fruits.

“You’ve been taken advantage of.”  Our guide shook his head. “Two batteries for something that grows free on trees.”

I disagreed. For me, it was the other way around; two little batteries for the chance of creating our own market aboard.  The smile on the woman’s face when I handed over a pot for boiling water and the memory of children’s laughter at my husband’s ineptitude at mastering the canoe was well worth any amount of trade. I was definitely getting the better end of the deal.

We set off for our next destination leaving a trail of canoes and laughter in our wake and navigated toward our next stop for more tribal bartering.

———-

Fruit Salad with Coconut Rum Caramel Sauce - Photo Courtesy of Victoria Allman

Tropical Fruit Salad

with a Coconut Rum Caramel Sauce 

Tropical Fruit Salad of:

•  Pineapples
•  Mangoes
•   Papaya
•   Bananas
•   Grapefruit
•   Oranges

 Coconut Rum Caramel Sauce:

• 1 cup sugar
• 1 orange, juiced
• 2 tablespoons coconut rum
• 1 can coconut milk
• 1 vanilla pod, split and seeded

In a heavy-bottomed saucepot, cook the sugar and juice of the orange over moderately high heat until it turns a deep caramel color. It will darken quickly so watch closely, once it starts to color be ready to add the rum or the sugar will burn. At this point, the sugar is extremely hot. DO NOT TOUCH.  Remove from the heat and pour in the rum. The caramel will “spit” so stand back and be careful. Add coconut milk and vanilla pod and seeds and return to the heat. Simmer for 5 minutes until the caramel is dissolved.

Cool and serve with fruit salad.

Serves 8

———-

Victoria Allman, author SEAsoned: A Chef’s Journey with Her Captain, has been following her stomach around the globe for twelve years as a yacht chef.  She writes about her floating culinary odyssey through Europe, the Caribbean, Nepal, Vietnam, Africa and the South Pacific in her first book, Sea Fare:  A Chef’s Journey Across the Ocean.

SEAsoned, Victoria’s second book is the hilarious look at a yacht chef’s first year working for her husband while they cruise from the Bahamas to Italy, France, Greece and Spain; trying to stay afloat.

You can read more of her food-driven escapades through her web-site, www.victoriaallman.com

Narrative and recipe Copyright © 2011 by Victoria Allman.

Copyright © 2011 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

S/V Quest

Conflicting news reports this morning have agreed on one sad fact, that the four passagemakers aboard the S/V Quest, hijacked late last week by Somali pirates, are dead.  The CBS report is HERE.  The pirates reportedly told Reuters that they killed the hostages after their two commanders were killed by U.S. military forces shadowing the hijacked vessel.  U.S. military reports say the Navy only boarded the vessel after shots were heard aboard.

Undoubtedly, it will take a while for the actual facts to emerge from the haze of what is essentially a war zone off the East Africa coast, but I have to say that sailing alone in these waters seems plain foolhardy now.  We don’t know the exact reasons the Quest left a larger group, although friends in Seattle, quoted by news reports from there, suggest they may not have realized the true extent of the risk.  If that is so, it is hard to understand, since the marine media, online boating communities and government sources are full of daily discussion of the huge, and growing dangers in the area.

If you are sailing in the Indian Ocean, you need to be informed and prepared and there are a huge number of resources to help you get and stay that way.  In the meantime, our thoughts go out to the families and friends of the sailors aboard S/V Quest.

Copyright © 2011 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

Chef/Author Victoria Allman in the Krogen 55' Expedition Galley -- Photo Courtesy of Kadey-Krogen

At last week’s Trawler Fest, our own favorite professional chef, Victoria Allman, treated a group of VIP guests of Kadey-Krogen to an evening of haute cuisine hors d’oeuvres (classy snacks).  For two evenings, Victoria gave the gorgeous galley aboard the Krogen 55′ Expedition a workout.  The Kadey-Krogen folks (author Shannon Band, actually) wrote about the show and the dining delights in their latest blog, which you can read here.  Kadey-Krogen recently upgraded the galley designs and you will now find seriously upscale features, such as Viking ranges and the like on new Kadey-Krogen yachts.

I’m planning to talk with Victoria about not only the Krogen 55′ Expedition galley, but about galley design aboard yachts in general.  As the chef aboard several megayachts for many years now, Victoria knows all about both the hardware and software (food) requirements for fine dining at sea.  If you’ve read her book, “Sea Fare, A Chef’s Journey Across the Ocean,” you know she’s a great storyteller with some delectable recipes.  In fact, Victoria just released her second book, “SEAsoned, A Chef’s Journey with Her Captain,” which complements more great recipes with the often-spicy tales of professional life aboard these megayachts.  I wonder if I’m too old to ship out?

Anyway, look for our talk with Victoria about yacht galley design here on OceanLines after we get back from the Miami International Boat Show, in two weeks.

Copyright © 2011 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

While this piece was previously published, we lost it during a move to new servers and so we’re reposting to ensure new readers don’t miss it.

———-

A Lucky Encounter

by Victoria Allman

Maybe it was the rain or the grayness of Vancouver that transported me to another city surrounded by water, not so long ago, just across the ocean.  Physically, we were in sitting down to dim sum in a restaurant in Chinatown engulfed by the clatter of plates and the rumble of the carts rolling past. But, in my mind, I was seated in an identical restaurant in Hong Kong, escaping, not only the rain, but also the chaos of the street.

It was six years earlier and I had been overwhelmed by Hong Kong.  The lights of the city burned neon bright.  The whirl of people passing, rushing to their destination, disoriented me.  My newfound friend Vivian was leading me through her city and was drowning in the confusion. I needed a reprieve. It was a Saturday morning and we ducked into a crowded dim sum restaurant for a meal.

“Har gau, chiu-chao,” a short woman with straight black hair called as she weaved her rickety cart through the labyrinth of tables. The bamboo steamers piled precariously on top jolted forward at an unnatural angle as the cart bumped to a stop against our table leg. The oolong tea in my glass leaped up and over the edge.

Vivian said something in rapid-fire Cantonese and the woman plunked two of the steamers down in front of us.  She grabbed for the paper on the edge of the table and ticked off two boxes before she pushed on, not once breaking a smile.

“This one is pork.”  Vivian used her chopsticks to point at the dumplings nestled on a bed of cabbage. “And, this one is shrimp.”

The pink of the shrimp glowed from within its translucent wrapper.  I worked my chopsticks around the small bundle and prayed it wouldn’t slip from my grip before I had tasted what was inside.  There was a luscious feel on my tongue just before the dumpling slid down my throat like a light slippery noodle.  Startled, and not wanting the sensation to end, I looked back into the steamer.  Empty. Vivian had already eaten the other har gau.

“Just two?” I asked. “Will she be back with more?” I looked around the crowded room hoping to spot the same woman again.

Vivian giggled. “Just wait. There is more to come.” As I tried to grasp the pork bundle in the other steamer, Vivian said, “We will have six, or eight, or maybe nine different things.”

I looked at her, wondering if her strange counting was a mistaken translation to English.  She must have sensed my question and started to explain. “In our culture, lucky numbers are based on Chinese words which sound similar to other Chinese words. All numbers sounding like words with positive connotations are considered auspicious, such as numbers 6, 8 and 9.”  I smiled, liking the idea of having an auspicious meal.  

Another middle-aged woman came by with beef ribs.  Vivian nodded her head and another round steamer was plopped on top of our empty ones along with a plate of steamed Chinese broccoli and oyster sauce.  The smell of ginger emanated from the bamboo.  I sucked the tender five-spice flavored bones as Vivian continued.  “Numbers like 4, 5 and 7 are considered unlucky.” The stem of the broccoli crunched as she bit into it. “Number seven, for example, means spiritual or ghostly.” She reached for another long stalk. “Also, the seventh month of the Chinese calendar is called the ghost month when all the gates of hell are opened for spirits to visit the living.” 

Oh, I didn’t want that.

I counted the plates in front of us, four, and quickly looked around for the next cart. Battered salt and pepper squid appeared, as well as crispy-fried wontons filed with pork and Chinese mushrooms.  I relaxed, knowing we were back to a lucky number of dishes.

“We start with lighter steamed dishes and then move on to fried.” Vivian was a wealth of knowledge.  I was so wrapped up in the history and taste explosions in my mouth that the cacophony going on around me faded.  I was intrigued.

It was that glimpse into her culture that I tried to relate to Patrick back in Vancouver.  I struggled to remember which numbers were the lucky ones. I didn’t want to get it wrong and start our exploration of the Canadian coast on a bad note.  The noisy atmosphere transported me back as I searched my memory for the accurate information. Plates of sticky rice and paper-thin pancakes scattered around our table. The opening of the front door brought a wave of the scent of barbecued duck through the restaurant from the birds hanging in the window. 

I tapped my pointer and middle fingers on the table when a scrawny man in a white dishwashers jacket came by to refill my tea, remembering that was the sign of thanks. I felt like I was back in Hong Kong with Vivian that day. And whether I had five, seven, or nine dishes in front of me, I felt lucky to be eating such delicacies again.

———-

Dim Sum from Your Own Floating Palace -- Photo Courtesy of Victoria Allman

Har Gow

When I first read this recipe, I thought it was too much work.  But, after the first trial, I realized they were easy, just finicky and definitely worth the time.  I set aside three hours and make enough to freeze for future use.  These are tasty afternoon snacks, hors d’oerves or light lunches.

Sweet Soy Dipping Sauce:

• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
• 2 tablespoons water
• 1 teaspoon brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

Whisk all together and set aside.

Shrimp Filling:

• 1 pound shrimp, peeled and chopped into ¼” dice.
• ¾ teaspoon sea salt
• 2 tablespoons fatty bacon, minced
• 3 tablespoons bamboo shoots, rinsed and chopped fine
• 1 tablespoon green onions, white part only, diced fine
• 1 ½ teaspoons cornstarch
• ¾ teaspoons sugar
• 1/8 teaspoon white pepper
• 1 ½ teaspoons Shaoxing rice wine
• 1 teaspoon sesame oil

Mix together diced bacon, bamboo shoots and green onions and mince finely with a knife until well combined.  Mix into shrimp and set aside.  In a smaller bowl, whisk together cornstarch, sugar, white pepper, Shaoxing rice wine, and sesame oil. Mix into the shrimp and marinate for 30 minutes while you mix the dough.

Wheat Starch Dough:

• 1 cup wheat starch
• ½ cup tapioca starch
• ¼ teaspoon sea salt
• 1 cup boiled water, cooled for 2 minutes
• 4 teaspoons canola oil 

Mix wheat starch, tapioca starch and salt.  Pour in half the hot water and stir with a wooden spoon until incorporated.  Add the rest of the hot water and work into dough.  Add canola oil as soon as dough begins to come together and knead with your hands for a minute to make a smooth, play-dough like dough. Divide into four equal balls and cover with saran wrap.  Rest for 5 minutes before rolling. 

Slice a ziplock bag down the sides and brush with canola oil.  Roll one of the portions of dough into a 1” log and divide into 8 portions.  Cover with saran wrap.  Take one portion, roll it into a ball and press between the ziplock bag with a flat-bottomed glass to create a 4” thin circle.  Set aside and cover with saran.  Repeat process with all eight small pieces. 

Making the dumplings:

Place one of the rounds in your slightly cupped hand, gently.  Spoon two teaspoons of filling into the center.  Gently close your hand around the filling to seal the edges of the dough in a half moon.  Place in a bamboo steamer basket lined with baking paper.  Repeat with the rest of the circles. Use a little canola oil on your fingertips and gently crimp the edges of each parcel to make a decorative wave pattern.

Place steamer over boiling water.  Cover and steam for six minutes.

Repeat procedure with the next disk of dough while the dumplings are steaming.

Remove finished dumplings and place on a plate to serve with sweet soy dipping sauce. Or, cool and refrigerate for up to two days or freeze for up to one month.  Re-steam for 3 minutes to heat.

Recipe and narrative Copyright © 2010 by Victoria Allman.

Copyright © 2010 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

The NENTOA Nordic Tugs Flotilla in Essex, CT in 2010 - Photo Courtesy of Paul Tortora

If you’ve never been to an owners’ or manufacturer’s or dealer’s rendezvous, you’re missing a great part of the cruising lifestyle. Last weekend’s Northeast Nordic Tug Owners Association (NENTOA) 2010 Rendezvous in Essex, Connecticut, is a great example of how they work and why they’re such a wonderful experience.

The New Nordic Tug 39 Arrives, Captained by NT CEO Andy Lund - Photo Courtesy of Paul Tortora

NENTOA works closely each year with major sponsor Wilde Yacht Sales, the Essex-based Nordic Tugs dealer for the northeastern U.S. NENTOA is an active owners’ group and working with Wilde, they solicit support from industry sponsors and put together a long weekend program. In this case, which is typical of a well-planned rendezvous, the program had a nice mix of social and “educational” activities. Special guess this year was Nordic Tug’s new CEO Andy Lund, who talked about what’s new at the company these days. He skippered the brand new Nordic Tug 39 all the way from Michigan to the rendezvous. Pretty unique.

I asked Paul Tortora of Wilde Yacht Sales for a rundown on the weekend. Here’s his summary. I’m going to ask the couples who made presentations if they would share them with us here on OceanLines. So come on back to see those.  Here are Paul’s comments:

NENTOA Rendezvous Participants Talk Outboard Motors - Photo Courtesy of Paul Tortora

First day is pretty much reserved for arriving and settling in, getting your registration packet, socializing with other owners and culminates with a ‘Rum Party’ followed by a ‘Pot Luck Dinner/Barbeque’ and then a presentation by the owners of Seamantha ( John & Paulette Lee) who have spent the past year traveling on a Nordic 42, and another presentation by Celebration (Brian & Ellen Clarke) who took their Nordic 37 down to the Chesapeake from Essex, CT. Each set of the owners gave a presentation on their trip and experiences including photos and music.

NENTOA Nordic Tugs Rafted at Hamburg Cove - Photo Courtesy of Paul Tortora

Second day was filled with workshops like engine maintenance by Cummins, boat maintenance by Ben Wilde, electronic session presented by Bill Jones of Raymarine, ‘Going Green With Solar Panels’ & Vacuflush Maintenance by Phil D’Anato of Ship Shape, ‘Whats New At Nordic’ presented by Andy Lund (CEO of Nordic) and some other workshops like ‘Crafts on Board’ which was tailored for the Admirals aboard. The neat thing about the workshops this year is that we added several hands-on workshops which were a huge hit. They included ‘How To Properly Use A Fire Extinguisher’ where each attendee got to practice PASS – pull the ring, aim, squirt, side to side. Also Man Overboard drill presented by Bill Boyer and Deploying a Floatation vest which was demonstrated in the pool by Dick Seymour. This day ended with a formal dinner reception featuring steak and swordfish, open bar and then a raffle featuring some great prizes that include overnight stays at Brewers and Essex Island Marina, handheld VHF radios, Maptech Guides and more.

Part of the NENTOA Nordic Tugs Parade - Photo Courtesy of Paul Tortora

Third day was a presentation by Herb Nickles & Wendy Shepherd on their trip on a Nordic 32 – boat name is Snorri. That was followed by a parade on the CT River (all the individual shots of the boats where they are running) and then a raft-up in Hamburg Cove (pictures of boats on moorings, with dinghies, swimming).

The next morning (Saturday), 7 boats departed for a two week Tug Tour from Mystic to 5 ports in MA and then back to Block Island and Greenport, Long Island as the final destinations. Another group of approximately 9 boats went on to do the coast of Maine. (Editor’s note – This is one of the real benefitsof buying from an active, interested dealer like Wilde — these co-hosted rendezvous and group or flotilla cruise opportunities, which are really helpful if you’re a new boater or not used to longer trips.)

Farthest boat this year was from Michigan which was the brand new Nordic 39 at display at the Rendezvous and will be at our docks for the next month for viewing, sea trials and of course is available for purchase. That boat was brought here by Andy Lund himself (not often you see a president of a company roll up his sleeves and spend 14 days bringing a boat to its destination — really gives him an opportunity to test their design changes and interact with people IMO). Second farthest distances this year were from Barry Shapiro & Suzanne Claus on Spray (Nordic Tug 37) and they came from Nashua, NH while Richard and Shirley Righter of Keene, NH brought their Nordic 32 named Olive. We did have owners come from Guezpn, Ontario but they came by car as their boat is currently in the Turks and Caicos.

I created a gallery of some of the photos Paul sent along. You can see it here. Some of the picture sizes are rather large, which is good if you want to look at details on the boat, not so good if you have a slow Internet connection.

We’d like to hear about other rendezvous that took place this summer (or are still planned; we’ll help you spread the last-minute word). Drop me a line here on the Contact page or in the comments to this story and we’ll follow-up with you. Thanks to Paul Tortora and Ben Wilde of Wilde Yacht Sales for the photos and roundup.

Copyright ©2010 by OceanLines LLC. All rights reserved.

Baroque Depiction of "Seasickness" by Giorgio Bonola, Image from Wikipedia Commons

Motion sickness, to quote Dr. Patricia S. Cowings, of NASA’s Ames Research Center, “won’t kill you — you just wish it would.” She and a colleague have discovered that a regimen of biofeedback training is more effective than even the powerful anti-nausea drugs given to NASA astronauts — some 50 percent of whom suffer from airsickness during spaceflight. An MSNBC blog piece by Chris Tachibana cites the publication of this new research by Cowings and Dr. William B. Toscano in the Journal of Clinical Pharmacology.

Motion sickness has been a serious concern for NASA for a long time. The debilitating affliction can compromise the potential accomplishments of a spaceflight that is on a strict timeline with no allowance for downtime or sudden crew shortages. But I guess it should all make us feel better that half of all the people with The Right Stuff still get “seasick.”

The biofeedback technique discovered by Cowings and Toscano involves learning to control heart rate and sweating, principally using breathing techniques combined with high-tech biofeedback. It’s more than just relaxation, the techniques actually lower heart rates and diminish sweating, which have the effect of stopping nausea.

The scientists compared results of their Autogenic-Feedback Training Exercise (AFTE) with the standard NASA treatment of an injection of promethazine (Phenergan), and with a control group that had no training or treatment. The AFTE group had dramatically better results than the group that had even the highest doses of promethazine.

Until AFTE is available publicly, the recommendation from the study’s scientists is to focus on steadying your breathing, using two-second intervals for inhalations and exhalations. I can attest to the efficacy of this. On a recent offshore passage, we were beaten up rather stiffly by a confused quartering sea with a short period and every time I went below decks I had to race back topside and do some deep-breathing exercises while focusing on the horizon. Eventually I got used to the seas, as most people do, and I never actually fed the fishes, but I know there’s something to this new research. I’ll keep an eye on it for you here on OceanLines. In the meantime, suck on some crystallized ginger and do your breathing!!

Copyright © 2010 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

Vietnamese Elephant Ear Fish Deep Fried. Photo courtesy of Victoria Allman

—–

Elephant Ear Fish

By Victoria Allman
Author of: “Sea Fare: A Chef’s Journey Across the Ocean”
www.victoriaallman.com
Victoria on Twitter

“You have lunch today?” My guide asked.

“Of course,” I replied.

“Today is special,” Luc told me. “Elephant ear fish.

Elephant ear? I had seen so many different things here in Vietnam, but I had yet to come across any elephant ear fish.

We had been cycling along the mighty Mekong River for four days. I had rented a mountain bike and hired Luc to guide me through the Mekong River Delta, expecting to explore the countryside, get some exercise, and see what life in Vietnam was like. What I hadn’t realized was that we were, above all else, embarking on a culinary adventure.

Each day, we cycled past fertile emerald green rice paddies that stretched around us, as far as the eye could see. Vietnamese women dressed in the traditional long flowing white ao dai and conical hats, shielding their lily-white skin from the fierce sun, bent over the fields. We cycled past old crones, standing out on the side of the road, surrounded by rice drying in the sun. Around the next bend, we went by bamboo mats lying low in the sun with delicate round sheets of rice paper drying on top of them. We had cycled the small dirt roads to village markets where cages of turtles, mice and small puppy dogs were on display, all for that night’s dinner.

The morning we set out for the floating market to eat elephant ear fish was an early one. “Best time to see is between sunrise and 9:00 AM.” Luc told me as we started out. “After that the boats start to go away.”

We rode for an hour before stowing our bikes on the back of the long dragon boat that would take us to the market. A thin bony man stood on the back of the boat, rowing us past waterways overhung with dense vegetation. I settled in to the luxury of someone else providing the sweat for transportation. As we approached the market, I saw dozens of boats gathered together. Large barges anchored in the water, creating lanes, with smaller wooden boats rafted up to them. Villagers from up and down the river traveled through the lanes, their boats laden with branches of bananas and piles of mangoes. Sampans with overflowing baskets of coconuts and bushels of water spinach took over the view.

Each wooden boat’s bow displayed a long pole. “That tells what is for sale.” Luc pointed to a hand of bananas flying above one boat like a flag.

I pointed to the spikes of fushcia skewered through one pole. “How about dragon fruit for breakfast?”  Luc broke into a smile and asked our boatman to stop.

Later that morning, we were taken to see a floating fish farm of the Mekong. From afar, it looked like a one room cottage with a small veranda in front of a single door, the river delta its yard. Inside, a white-haired, hunched back Vietnamese man smiled a wide toothless grin of welcome as I entered the shack. He bent over a trap door in the center of the floor and lifted the hatch to reveal the water below us. His shaky hand was covered in raised veins like a chart of the delta. He reached into a plastic bucket beside the hole in the floor and produced a handful of fish pellets that resembled cat food. Scattering them across the still water, he laughed as I jumped in fright at the sound of hundreds of catfish torpedoing to the surface of the water for the feed. The catfish wrestled and wriggled over one another, creating a boiling pot effect in the water under the house. Within seconds the turbulent thrashing ceased and the water was calm once more.

“Large net under the house penning in the fish” Luc explained to me.

I was muddy, sweaty and sun burnt when we pulled into the guesthouse. I was too tired from a long day’s ride to look at the menu and was glad when Luc reminded me that he had already arranged lunch.

“Remember, elephant ear fish,” he said.

How could I forget?

We sat in the shade of the porch at a small rickety wooden table already set with the ubiquitous bowls of Vietnamese cuisine: nuoc cham, wedges of lime, and chopped chilis. A porcelain doll of a woman approached with a plate of fresh fragrant herbs. Mint, cilantro and basil explosively filled the air. She smiled demurely, her almond eyes cast downward as she placed the plate on the table in front of me.

As the girl scurried back to the kitchen, Luc explained “She make you salad rolls with elephant ear fish from the pond out back. Her family grows fruit for the market in the garden and they have fish for lunch and dinner. Fish being killed now.”

The girl returned a few moments later carrying a fifteen-inch fish shaped like a bass, which was standing straight up in wooden holders. The fish had been fried and its scales were curled and flaking off, creating something of a 3D effect. This piece of art looked as if it were still swimming through a sea of fresh herbs and carved vegetables on the plate.

The woman delicately picked up a pair of wooden chopsticks and expertly flaked the fish’s flesh away from the bones. She made a small pile of the white flaky fish and retreated to the kitchen.

Luc scolded me when I picked up my chopsticks. “Not yet, just wait.”

I looked again to the kitchen. This time the woman appeared with the same rice papers we had seen drying on bamboo mats. They had been softened in water and lay stacked like pancakes awaiting their filling. Again the woman picked up her chopsticks and with nimble hands layered a mixture of the fresh mint, cilantro, basil and fish in the center of one of the rounds. Using only the chopsticks, she tucked the filling in close and rolled the paper-thin wrapper around the contents like a cigar. She placed it on my plate and using hand signs indicated that I should dip the roll into the bowl of nuoc cham and eat.

Fresh and pungent flavors filled my mouth. The saltiness of the fish sauce, the heat of the chilies and the zing of the lime in the nuoc cham mixed perfectly with the fresh herbs and soft fish. The rice paper wrapper added a chewy texture that was so light and fresh I could not help but inhale the whole thing in seconds. “Wow!” I said.

“You like?” The woman inquired as she tucked a strand of her dark shiny hair behind her ear.

“I like.” I said as she giggled and began rolling another. Another salad roll was placed on my plate seconds after I had finished the last, not a minute before. You could not ask for fresher than that.

I was exhausted from the ride and dirtier than I had been in years, but I was being treated like royalty, my lunch being prepared in front of my eyes. Quickly the pile of rice paper wrappers vanished, as did the fish. Soon all that remained were the bones being held aloft by the wooden stand.

The exhaustion I had felt earlier vanished. I was refreshed and ready to tackle another afternoon of riding.

“You follow me?” Luc asked in his questioning command.

“Only if you are leading me to another great meal like that” I said.

He smiled “You like elephant ear?”

“I like elephant ear” I replied.

“Next, we try snake” he said, as I clasped my bike helmet and set off for another culinary adventure.

Vietnamese Summer Fish Salad Rolls. Photo courtesy of Victoria Allman

Vietnamese Summer Rolls

By Victoria Allman

• 2 pounds mahi-mahi, red snapper, or tilapia (flaky white fish)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 lime, juiced
• ¾ teaspoon sea salt
• ¼ teaspoon black pepper
• 1 package of rice vermicelli noodles (250 grams)
• 1 tablespoon sea salt
• 1 cup mint
• 1 cup Thai or regular basil
•  1 cup cilantro
• 16 rice paper wrappers, (have extra on hand in case you rip some)

Combine fish, olive oil, lime juice, salt and pepper.  Marinate 10 minutes.  Pre-heat oven to 350.  Heat a frying pan (or grill pan, if you have one) over high heat and sear fish for 30 seconds on each side.  Place in oven and bake for 10 minutes until cooked through.  Cool and flake the fish.

In a soup pot, boil 1 liter of water with 1 tablespoon sea salt.  Add rice noodles, stirring to separate.  Cook for 3-5 minutes until soft.  Drain.  Rinse with cold water and drain again.  Using scissors, cut into 5-inch lengths.  Set aside.

Slice herbs into thin strips and mix together.

Place 2 rice paper sheets in the soup pot and cover with 6 inches of lukewarm water to soften for 20 seconds.  When soft and pliable remove one carefully and place on a paper towel in front of you.  Place 1 tablespoon of the herbs in the center of the circle 1/3 of the way from the bottom in a rectangular shape (6 inches long by 2 inches high).  Place 2 tablespoons flaked fish on top and 2 tablespoons vermicelli noodles on top of that.  Roll the bottom of the rice paper up and over the filling, tucking the ends in to close, like rolling a cigar.  Fold both right and left flaps into the center, creating blunt ends of a roll.  Be careful not to roll too tightly or the rice paper will rip (which happens often until you get the hang of it).  Roll the filling gently towards the top of the circle, taking care to tuck the filling in to make a snug package.

Repeat with next sheet of rice paper and add 2 more to the soup pot to soften.

Serve with a ramekin of Nuoc Cham (recipe below) for dipping.

Makes 16

Nuoc Cham

• 1/3 cup fresh lime juice
• ½ cup fish sauce
• ¼ cup sugar
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon sambal olek (read about sambal here)
• ½ cup water

Combine all ingredients together and stir.  Taste and adjust flavors until you achieve a balance of sweet, tart, and salty.

Makes 1 ¼ cups
Recipe and narrative Copyright © 2010 by Victoria Allman.

Copyright © 2010 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

—–

Moroccan Meanderings

by Victoria Allman

The narrow streets of the medina tangled like veins flowing to the heart of the city. The souq (market) was where we were headed. Saffron yellow, burnt-red and tan spices mounded in barrels along the way.  Mule carts laden with bundles of fresh mint, coriander and parsley were parked along the side of the street.

Shopping in the Moroccan Medina - Photo by Victoria Allman

“Just look.  Just look.” Arabian men sat in front of endless stalls like auctioneers bidding us to enter their shops. “Ali Baba, come look.”  Patrick’s blond beard evoked the nickname we heard called to us everywhere.  It stood out as much as the red hair I tucked behind a scarf.  No amount of discretion in this Muslim country would hide the fact we were two pale-skinned people among a darker race.

Our foray into the labyrinth had meaning.  We had a destination.  The problem was we were hopelessly lost.

“Ali Baba, where are you going?”  A man asked.  After an hour of trying to find the correct alley we resigned ourselves to ask for help.

“Mechoui?” Patrick hesitated not sure he was pronouncing it right.

“Yes, come,” he said.  We shrugged off the anxiety of being lost like a shawl from our shoulders and gave ourselves over to the guide. 

Hazzid had the soft features of a Berber man.  His dark tight curls were trimmed close to the scalp, his skin a latte color.  His dress of black jeans and a Western jacket told the all too familiar tale of a man who left the mountain village to work in the larger city.  He wove us down serpentine alleyways and around corners.  He walked fast, glancing back to make sure we followed close. 

“Watch, Victoria.  Watch here.”  He pointed out every misplaced stone that maimed the street, caring for me like he would his own child. 

The hot smoky smell of roasted meat alerted us that he’d found the place. A row of tables heaving with cuts of lamb spread out in front of us.  Eyes stared at us from roasted sockets as we passed the first stall.  The second table was identical to the first, a mountain of legs, ribs and rumps.  The scent of cumin followed us from stall to stall. 

Finally we stopped.  “My family,” Hazzid introduced us to two men in white chef’s jackets, their bellies stained with grease.

“La bes,” I ventured a Berber greeting.  They laughed in unison.

“Hello.  Big welcome.”  Smiles erupted on their faces. 

Hazzid stepped behind his brothers and lifted a round stone from the floor. “Victoria, look.”  This time he wasn’t cautioning me.  This time he showed me how the lamb was cooked.  Through the manhole was a pit dug deep under the street.  In the center of the chamber embers of a long-burning fire glowed, lighting the space.  A dozen lamb carcasses hung from hooks above the coals.  Heavily scented smoke clouded the space, permeating the meat with its flavor.  The earth-oven had cooked the lamb slowly, for hours, melting away fat and leaving moist, tender meat.

“Mechoui,” Hazzid stated in way of an explanation.

“You try?” One of the men asked.

“Yes, please.”  This is what we came for.  He raised a large cleaver.  With one stroke he split the lamb in front of him through the backbone.  Another blow sectioned off a hunk for us.  Tendrils of steam rose from the chopping process.  Using the knife and his free hand, he scraped and scooped the meat onto one side of a scale, on the other he stacked weights.

The spices of the Moroccan Market Place - Photo by Victoria Allman

“One kilo.  Good for you.”  He heaped more meat than I could imagine eating onto a paper plate and loaded the top with two rounds of Moroccan pita bread.  I reached for the plate, but Hazzid quickly grabbed it from me.  It was clear he was now our host.  He carried the meat up the stairs to the open-air terrace above the stall.

We wasted no time.  Soft pieces of meat fell from the bones.  Custom dictated we eat only with our right hand; something that proved harder than mastering chopsticks.  We dipped the meat into dishes of cumin salt.  Succulent flavor filled my mouth and coated the inside with silk.  Hot juice glistened my fingers.  Patrick groaned.  This was good.  We devoured the whole plate and I wondered if Muslim customs would frown on a woman sucking the bones in public.  It took a great deal of inner strength to resist the urge.

Hazzid returned with a tray of tea.  He held the ornate silver teapot at a great height, pouring clear brown liquid in an elaborate show of service into the tiny glasses below.  The high pour brought new aromas to the air.  Fresh mint replaced the smell of roasted lamb making my mouth water again.

Hazzid held his cup high.  “Big welcome.” And with that we were left on our own to meander the streets home, our bellies pregnant with the flavor of Morocco.

Moroccan Mechoui

By Victoria Allman
Author of: Sea Fare: A Chef’s Journey Across the Ocean
www.victoriaallman.com
Victoria on Twitter

• 1 whole leg of lamb (or shoulder) on the bone, 6-8 pounds
• 4 tablespoons olive oil
• 4 cloves of garlic, minced
• 11/2 teaspoons sea salt
• 1 teaspoon pepper, or to taste
• 1 1/2 teaspoon cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon turmeric
• 1 teaspoon paprika 
• 2 teaspoon sea salt
• 1 tablespoon cumin

Trim excess fat from the leg of lamb, and make a dozen or more cuts deep into the meat with the tip of a sharp knife.

Combine the olive oil with the garlic, and spices through to paprika. Spread the mixture over the entire leg of lamb, working some into the incisions made with the knife.

Place the leg of lamb in a roasting pan.

Preheat an oven to 250°F (120/130°C).

Cover the lamb with foil, sealing the edges tightly. Roast the lamb, basting hourly and resealing the foil each time, for 7 hours, or until the juices run clear and the meat is tender enough to pinch off the bone.

Transfer the lamb to a platter and allow it to rest for 15 minutes before serving. If desired, the juices can be poured over and around the lamb.

Mix cumin with sea salt and serve in dishes on the side for dipping.

Recipe and narrative Copyright © 2010 by Victoria Allman.

Copyright © 2010 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.

New Blog Write On The Water

Chris is already a famous (to me at least) author of a great mystery series featuring the fictional tug captain Seychelle Sullivan. And Mike is a full-time writer living on his 36′ sailboat, Roughdraft. OceanLines’ own guest author Victoria Allman, who writes our “Sea Fare” series of recipes for the cruiser and who wrote “Sea Fare:  A Chef’s Journey Across the Ocean.”

I know from talking with readers of OceanLines that many of you are also writers. Remember, the definition of “a writer” is “someone who writes.” Don’t buy the stodgy nonsense that you have to have been published to be considered a true writer. Writers write. Period. And from what I’ve read, some of you are very good writers.

One definition of a good writer is someone who can tell a compelling story. Our community has those by the drove. People like Ken Williams, John and Maria Torelli, and others who have compiled their writings into books.  And others, like Milt Baker and John Marshall and a host of other current cruisers, tell great stories in their blogs.  Of course, there are also the classic “nautical writers” of the age of sail, like Melville, Conrad and Dana. They were all seamen before they were writers. Derek Lundy points that out in his great book “The Way of a Ship,” which is is a fantastic account of his ancestor’s passage aboard the Beara Head, an iron-hulled square-rigger, that took a load of coal around Cape Horn.

If you’ve written about your time on the water, we’d like to hear about it and share it with our other readers. Send us a link to your blog or a book you’ve written and we’ll put together a page with everyone’s links on it. I know you’re out there, typing away on some kind of keyboard. Let’s hear about it! And stop by Write On The Water when you get a chance.

Copyright © 2010 by OceanLines LLC.  All rights reserved.