June 1, 2006 - A Cruiser's Guide to Laundry
by Scott and Wendy Bannerot

I saw this little kernel of wisdom once, posted on a computer room wall at University of Miami: "It's not the mountains ahead that wear you down, it's the grain of sand in your shoe." Well, keeping oneself in clean laundry is certainly one of the most common of these figurative grains of sand in the shoes of cruising sailors. And hark gentlemen, particularly all of you guys who are doing everything you can to lure a woman offshore with you for that "cruise of a lifetime" - clean laundry is one of the things the ladies appreciate the most. If you're smooth on the laundry, you're more than half way there.

Here's Elan in pretty relaxed cruising mode in Vava'u, Tonga with a typical amount of laundry out to dry. In between stints of doing major loads of laundry, there's usually a beach towel or two hanging from the lifeline after the latest dip in the water. (Photo by Rick Cole.)

Here are a few secrets I'd like to pass along, ranked from ideal to acceptable. The best thing you can possibly have is a little washing machine on board. I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous, I feel like a sissy for even saying it - I never thought I'd say something like that - and to make it even more hypocritical, no, we don't have one. Nevertheless, with the new high-volume water makers and compact washing units available, this is worthy of consideration if you have the space. When you think of all of the effort it takes to hump laundry to shore or to do it by hand on board, over and over again, I'm convinced it's worth it. I also remember some twenty years ago sailing out in the Bahamas aboard Elan with a couple of friends, and observing this experienced-looking crew on a 50-foot motorsailor. As was my habit, I eased over in the dinghy and struck up a conversation with the skipper, taking note of the aura of relaxed happiness aboard as his kids and wife lounged around on the deck. After we'd spoken for a while and I felt it was appropriate, I asked him what he did to keep everyone so happy. He said, "It's real simple - I asked my wife what she required on board, and then I gave her every single thing she wanted, including a washer and dryer." I was shocked at the time, but I've never forgotten that guy. He was ahead of his time, and he had it all working.

I know a couple of folks now with washers and/or washer/dryers, and the mothership I work on at the moment of course has a washer and dryer, and I'll tell you, there's nothing like it.

Second option: the art of minimizing laundry usage, doing some by hand on board, and then humping the old laundry bag in to the laundromat ashore in the bigger ports. This is definitely the most common mode for modern-day cruisers. It's not so bad, and I've developed several twists you may find helpful.

First, it's entirely possible to live a simple, carefree life with very little laundry. A couple of fast-drying shorts, one towel, a t-shirt or two, and you're set. I lived for an entire year in the West Indies crewing on a motorsailor with limited facilities, taking exclusively salt water baths using Lemon Joy, and simply doing a quick soap and rinse on whatever shorts I had on and pinning and tying them on the lifeline before I went to sleep (usually on deck). The wind and sun would dry my few small items, and all of the impregnated salt eventually made them so stiff they were nearly capable of defying gravity if held horizontal. I got used to the starchy feel, and there's no way any bacteria could live in that fabric, so I was always clean although I had this salty sort of flavor and odor. It was "rain come wet me, sun come dry me, I don't care".

Consequently, eighteen years hence when I'd dropped the hook in Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva - one of the loveliest anchorages in all of the South Pacific - I couldn't figure out why my new wife, Wendy, was a little downcast. She looked up glumly and said, "Honey, I just can't keep up with the laundry - there's two full bags, and it's starting to stink." I smiled and waved my hands expansively, "Darling, it's nothing, believe me, and I will have every stitch of clothing on this boat absolutely clean, dry, and folded by the end of the day. I will have a wonderful time doing it...and I won't even bother leaving the boat, and I won't use a single bit of fresh water, and I don't want you to lift a finger." She just sort of stared at me. Well, I donned my straw hat from Panama that a friend had given me at Carnivalito, cranked up the reggae full volume, cracked open a cold beer, and between the dip bucket and a large cooler we had on deck for fish, went to work scrubbing, soaping and rinsing, using techniques I'd learned while living and working for a year in Antigua.

Now, for those of you who have never lived in a society that doesn't (or didn't) have many washing machines to speak of, I learned from my Antiguan friends that proper hand-done laundry is super-clean, cleaner than from a washing machine. A young lady there taught me how to scrub it, using the fabric in folds against itself, and also using a wash board. It works. So all you need to do seawater laundry is a bucket, a dip bucket, Lemon Joy, and a scrub brush. Simply hang it out in the fierce tropical sun, and it'll dry, despite rumors to the contrary. By mid-afternoon, Elan was festooned with an amazing amount of laundry. The only other boat in the anchorage dinghied over to see how we were getting all of this laundry done.

Now, before I leave this story, I must give you a bit of Wendy's side of it. Near sunset, I folded all of it as promised, but my standards as to whether each item was perfectly dry were less than pristine - after all, I was sipping a beer or two and listening to some of the greatest reggae ever recorded, all in the South Pacific sunshine, drinking in superb scenery and generally having a ball. The second factor was, as some of you know, the Marquesas anchorages aren't exactly crystal clear - lying in the region of equatorial upwelling, the waters are greenish with all of the plankton thereabouts, thriving on upwelled nutrients. As I scrubbed away, yes, the dirt disappeared but I did impregnate the clothes with quite a bit of microscopic seafood. When it came to certain items, like blue jeans, folded somewhat damp and then placed in drawers to, shall we say, ripen...well let's just say that not all of the results were perfect. Still, I'd successfully made the point that it can be done and that there's never a reason while cruising to let laundry (or anything else, really) affect your euphoria. Wendy consequently modified my rough-around-the-edges approach, using fresh water for the final rinse, and I must admit her results were superior to mine.

OK, now for the third option: this one is, until this article, virtually unknown to the world of cruising sailors, and I want you to remember you read it here first. Consider the following scenario. You've just completed a short ocean passage. You've checked in to the new country, and a couple of friends in the anchorage have invited you over for dinner. You're trying to air the boat out, but the cramped closet with your hanging items, um, smells a bit moldy. You put on a button-down tropical print shirt, but let's face it, like many cruisers, you stink. Not too bad, it's just that when your friends embrace you, you know their noses will wrinkle. Once more, Wendy was pointing this out to me early in our Pacific cruising years, and I spontaneously blurted out, on the spot, something quite personal: my secret "INSTANT LAUNDRY" protocol. All you need is a bit of moldy laundry, a spray can of Lysol Fresh Linen scent (several other scents work, but, trust me, none can rival the results of Fresh Linen), and the right attitude. This is somewhat embarrassing to admit - you really have to be there - I actually have an INSTANT LAUNDRY song and accompanying pirouette, which for reasons I don't understand annoys Wendy to no end (although many other crew members present over the years have died laughing). Anyway, with or without the song and dance, spread your smelly item out on a flat surface, give it a good, thorough, sweeping spray. Turn the item over and repeat. Put it on and you're ready to go.

One more little story just to prove the power of INSTANT LAUNDRY. One couple we know had this persistent problem with their hanging clothing. It actually smelled like sewage. Even after a trip to the laundry mat, no sooner would they take it out of the closet, and it would smell quite distinctly like a holding tank. After riding to the rescue on several occasions with my spray cans of Lysol (in this case Regular scent as a primer coat, with Fresh Linen scent overspray), we troubleshot the problem: the manufacturer had run the holding tank vent in to the closet!! And this is a major manufacturer, whose vessels form the basis of several charter fleets!! The point is, if INSTANT LAUNDRY worked in these trying circumstances, it will most certainly work for you.

Having covered the main laundering techniques, let's leave you with a few practical tips regarding strategy, drying, and, for lack of a better word, etiquette. If you choose to use a local launderer onshore, a fairly common strategy (at least in the Pacific Islands) is to count your items before you take them in, show the person the inventory or better yet, leave them a copy, and check it when you pick it up. It varies from island to island, but it's very common to lose items when you take the drop-off approach. Sometimes the launderer's neighbors slip over the fence and "borrow" things that catch their eye, sometimes the launderer gives your item to someone else by mistake (I once recovered a shirt a year later in Tonga from a fellow sailor who'd gotten it in his laundry and not known who it belonged to). If it's a Laundromat that does machine washing and machine drying, loss of laundry tends to be less of a problem even if someone does it for you (like in Majuro, Marshall Islands).

On drying, we suspend laundry lines inboard and midships longitudinally, and also tie on any items that have strings in addition to securing with strong clothespins. This way even if a strong wind comes along while you're away, you'll rarely lose items overboard (especially if you've installed mesh over your lifelines for kid retention). Also, when our full awning is up, we can dry items despite a little rain. When it comes to "etiquette", we've encountered the following: most marinas have a rule against drying laundry on board by hanging it out above deck. I haven't inhabited a marina yet where this rule was not largely ignored, and seldom enforced. However, here are the tricks. Never hang huge amounts out, and when at all possible be discrete - that is, hang items low, on the lifeline which is on the side away from the marina office. Bring them back in as soon as they're dry (don't leave them out for two weeks). Apply the same rules to anchorages within view of resorts. Legally they cannot in many cases tell you what to do, but as a practical matter, they can indeed enforce some rules, and in many cases they simply are asking vessels not to anchor in front of their hotel. There's a certain delightful aspect to pulling in somewhere and enjoying the same views as the millionaires - kind of like Viking laws still in force in Norway, where you have the right to camp out one night anywhere you want as long as you are at least 100 meters away from the nearest mansion - although from a business standpoint you can certainly understand a hotel manager whose living depends on selling an exclusive view not wanting some sailboat bum to park right in front of the waterfront, hang out a bunch of dirty underwear, pump out his holding tank, and start playing loud music. As with anything, a little discretion and respect usually goes a long way, and this applies as much to laundry practices as any other aspect of the cruising lifestyle.