Rather than write about the
passage, I decided to extract excerpts from my daily journal [comments added later in brackets]. I'll
try to cut enough so there isn't too much information [not sure I was successful with that], but still give family and friends a feel for
what those 22 days were like.
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Leaving La Cruz
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Day 2
Winds are holding so far; a little
bouncy heading into the swells but not bad, and making good time. Second Wind takes everything in stride,
I'm learning to handle Jeeves better [everyone
seems to name their automated steering systems; Jeeves is our windvane], and right now life couldn't be
better.
The Easter Bunny found us all the
way out here, plus we had a lovely ham dinner (took much of the afternoon to
prepare, but there wasn't anything more pressing to do).
Day 4
As a reminder of the importance of
walkabouts [our term for going out on
deck and checking everything--hardware, lines, etc.--every day], the bolt
holding a steel "bridle" onto the boom had almost completely come
out. The boom brake and main sheet hardware are attached to that bridle, so
it's a good thing Art got it fixed and reinforced in time!
Day 5
Second observation of the early
morning: an AIS check reveals there is, in fact, no one else out here.
Interesting that a device has been invented that confirms the metaphysical as
well as the physical: we saw and perceived ourselves as being alone in this
vast sea, and now we know for sure that we are.
[It turned out there were no other vessels within AIS range--at least a
few hundred miles-- from Day 3 until our arrival at Hiva
Oa; we saw nothing but the sea the entire voyage.]
Second Wind is like a thoroughbred, aging but still raring to go. She
is bounding through these large seas at breakneck speeds, often averaging 8
knots. I wish it were a little more sunny (though the cloud cover does keep the
heat down) and a little less rolly, but I sure can't complain about our
progress! (yes, smile is still intact)
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| Jeeves at work |
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Lowering the Mexican
courtesy flag |
Day 6
Favorite moment: Art bringing my
morning cup of tea up from below, the autumnal color and deep aroma and warm
ceramic mug a sensory delight. Simple, and perfectly fulfilling. It occurred to
me that if small moments like that are valued, then our lives can be full of
meaning.
No fish! We've never gone this
long without a fish! Art's trolling 2 lines & a flasher, and may even leave
them in overnight. We're eating well, but a fish would be fun.
Day 7
Mike does indeed have an
interesting relationship with fish. Last night he was at the stern rail and the
biggest flying fish any of us had ever seen hit him in the chest! Is it funny
or pathetic that a flying fish was the voyage's first catch? (Answer: funny.)
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Flying fish!
Yes, they really fly; I never could catch their
silvery bodies flashing past the boat |
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Relaxed on watch
(Jeeves is steering) |
Day 8
Today is the 1st day of the 2nd
week. I celebrated by changing shirts and french braiding my hair on the same
day. All spruced up!
Mike got hit by a flying fish again, but other than that, still no
fish. Art's trying lots of strategies, to no avail--though another lure got
snatched early in the morning (even from 200 lb. test line, when 80-100 lb.
test is all that's recommended). We've decided fish in this part of the ocean
must be fewer & larger.
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| Art & Mike setting up the spinnaker pole for... |
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...sailing downwind, wing & wing
(beautiful!) |
Day 9
Yesterday afternoon we saw a
terrific dolphin show! About 20 of them played at our bow for quite a while;
sheer delight! (Sadly, not an indication of fish nearby.)
We changed our (admittedly
arbitrary) waypoint for the ITCZ crossing from 10N 128W to 10N 127W--and like
magic, we were right on course! It's necessary to have goals, but sometimes
circumstances may make it necessary to alter them. Or: it's okay to change your
goals to meet your achievements. (A passage-making strategy? A life lesson?)
Distance to waypoint: 905 n.m.
Day 10
A terrific night of sailing! Winds
stayed steady at ~15k rather than 10, so we cruised through the night at
>6k, no sail changes while Jeeves held us on a perfect course. Wow! As we
said yesterday, who wouldn't like this?!
Day 10: any way you look at it,
we're at least 1/3 of the way through...
The trade wind sky is SO
beautiful! Very very blue, with very very blue water, and puffy clouds climbing
the sky. It's interesting to watch them bloom, expand, change color--not like watching grass grow, the
changes are fairly rapid and often have weather ramifications (so no, I'm still
not bored).
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I'm including 3 photos of trade wind skies
to (inadequately) convey the sense of sameness
(not monotony!)--the infinity of here. |
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There's always something that can be done
(:fix something, clean something, learn something"),
but usually we're content to just watch the water go by.
After all the busy-ness and stress of preparation,
having time for reflection is deeply satisfying.
(Pooh: "sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes I just sits".) |
Day 11
Art's projects du jour: move the gas cans away from the mast (so a lightning
strike wouldn't make us go KABOOM!!) and change the new forestay connection so
it's tighter.
I think we've found a good balance of work on this voyage. Not enough
projects can lead to lethargy, but too many is stressful. One or two per day
feels just right; the rest of the time fills with sail/line adjustments,
observations, maintaining personal energy...For me, planning, prepping &
cooking meals can be just about it--especially in exasperating galley
conditions (when the Galley Dance become Galley Survival?)--though I do try to
get to the journal every day, read at least a little, and practice violin if
possible. (Hmmm, maybe that's why the laundry hasn't gotten done?)
We've had a hitchhiker for a
couple of days: a green-footed boobie that Mike named Bob. Bob the Boobie rides
for hours on the bimini, pooping for much of that time (it seems, given the
look of the canvas). He leaves to fish, and comes back to poop some more.
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Bob's shadow through the bimini
(canvas awning) |
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| Our first ever wahoo--a terrific fish! |
YAHOO! A WAHOO!! Art pulled in a
beautiful 48" fish!
Now I know why the PPJ recaps in
Latitude 38 magazine list the number of fish caught by most people is 0 or 1. I
thought they were choosing not to fish, but now I know otherwise. Few of the
fleet are catching any fish; it took us 10 days--and this one is so large we're
not likely to fish again for quite a while (so we may end up with just 1!). [It turned out hardly anyone caught more
than 1 or 2 fish the entire distance--many caught none--and everyone lost lots
of lures. Since cruisers count on fish to supplement supplies, we were all
sharing disappointment stories in Hiva Oa.]
With winds picking up and squalls
possible, we put in a triple reef [made
the exposed mainsail area much smaller] and still flew through the night.
I'm consistently amazed at how good our sailing has been!
And the best part of the day
(probably even better than the wahoo): "when you see the Southern Cross
for the first time" (cue Crosby, Stills
& Nash)--gorgeous! Though it looked as I expected, the first sight was
still deeply moving. The Southern Cross off the bow, the Big Dipper & North
Star still visible at the stern, Jupiter casting light across the water to the
west...what a world we live in!
Day 12
Our navigational choices alter as
weather information changes (of course), and working backwards from the endgame
(where will we be in 2 or 3 days, and where do we need to be?) is crucial.
We've gone quite a bit farther W & N(W) than the other PPJ boats, and so
far (emphasis on 'so far') we've had better wind. We'll never know how much of
that is attributed to following
conventional routing advice, crafting & revising long term strategies, or
just plain luck.
No doubt there's been much of the
latter. On this entire trip, we've had worse luck than most in terms of prep
(problems, expenses), yet better luck than most when at sea. Since no one can
have good luck all the time, I'll take it at sea!
Sashimi for dinner! :)
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The message board has lots of purposes.
When fish evaded us, I started posting
dinner possibilities: fish or alternative,
in which case--until today--we always
had the alternative. |
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| Perfect... |
Day 13
The onset of very light winds and
some squalls indicates we have reached the ITCZ [InterTropical Convergence Zone, aka the doldrums]. First day of
extensive motoring, plenty of squalls, some rather large--but so far no big
winds, so it still feels lucky. And the rain is fun; it's a change (though VERY
hot below, with all hatches closed). Exciting in the cockpit!
The squally sky is as
gorgeous as the trade wind sky. Huge pileups of clouds, multidimensional towers
(it looks like we can see more than 3 dimensions, through and around the layers), every color from
bright white to dark gray, constantly evolving formations. Fascinating...
Jib out, jib in. Hatches
open, hatches closed. Engine off, engine on. Repeat. Actually, a very
interesting and enjoyable day.
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Squalls are unmistakable by day, but can be hard to spot at night.
Since moderate ones can shred sails and large ones can break rigging,
it's imperative to know what's coming. Here we're practicing using the
radar by day to see how squalls will look on the screen at night. |
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| A typical squally sky |
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| Getting closer... |
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...and closer!
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Day 14
I got to pilot my first squall of this trip last night. [More
squalls tend to come at night, usually after I got off watch at 10:00 p.m.
Mike's watch was 10pm-2am & Art's was 2am-6am, so they got to wrestle
plenty of them.] And for the first time all trip, we weren't reefed for the
night! We'd decided not to because the squalls had been mild, overall winds
were light and we needed the boost. Fortunately the squall was mild, less than 25k, and I hand steered it with no problems.
But it was a good reminder to overprepare; not doing so was how Richard &
Geri lost their spinnaker [cruising
friends whose spinnaker shredded, causing other complications, in a 50k squall
a couple weeks earlier].
Yet so far today, a little
below 05N, the sky looks like a trade wind sky again, the building thunderheads
are to the north of us, and the wind is SE. If (a big IF) the pattern of
yesterday & today continues, the ITCZ for us has been quite mild. Hope it
continues!
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| Happy at sea |
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| Art relaxing on the foredeck |
Day 15
There weren't any squalls
but we had to add a reef in the night, so I was up later than usual. The stars
were spectacular! Orion was still
there--my faithful companion on this entire voyage--but I could also see
Scorpio & its red beating (twinkling) heart (Antares = Ant-Ares = Not Mars;
very cool!), and see the angle of the Southern Cross change so its rotated axis
still pointed to the polar south. Well worth getting up for!
We are now past the ITCZ and
in the southern trades! No big squalls & no dead calms; we sure got off
easy. It's a rough ride now because the wind is strong & SSE (not SE or
ESE, as we expected) and we're trying not to get too far west; lots of spray
and slamming, NOT fun to cook [things
jump & bang all around the galley, including the cook] and very slow
going. Hopefully when we start to edge west (~equator), we'll have a better
ride.
Day 16
Puzzle du jour: when to
"curve the triangle" & shave the perpendicular dogleg crossing
angle to the west. Edge over too soon & we could face an uphill (upwind)
battle nearer the Marquesas, but edge over too late & we waste miles on 2
sides of a triangle. Will the wind be SE? ESE? SSE? With no crystal ball, we
decided to sail the best wind now, but have no fear of bearing more west (more
or less what we were doing all morning, but an acknowledgement was comforting
to yours truly, primary navigator). From this trajectory we set our second long
distance waypoint--this one to Hiva Oa! That
was a huge navigational "step"--the last big decision. Distance: 920
n.m.
Day 17
We are shellbacks! At 0847,
we crossed the equator at 128*51' W. Not only that, there was a rainbow just ahead of us as we were
crossing! How charmed is that?!
It really was quite moving.
Though for the last several months we've been surrounded by people planning the
same thing, the truth is only a tiny fraction of people sail across the equator
in their own small boat. It is a monumental achievement.
[Prior to crossing the equator, sailors are pollywogs; after they cross, they're called shellbacks. Crossing ceremonies can be quite elaborate, but invariably involve some sort of ritual, often with costumes, and a celebration. Mike was already a shellback and played the part of King Neptune, complete with crown & scepter, rising from the deep--aka the cabin--to anoint us appropriately. Unfortunately all I have of his role is a movie, but feel free to imagine it!]
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There are rituals associated with crossing the equator
for the first time, including shaving hair. Art would have shaved
his all off, but I was wielding the scissors and got as close-cut as I could
without endangering eyes & ears in rolling seas. |
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Before & after shots
(since he's always worn his long,
he just looks normal now--but with a bad cut!) |
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Though I've always had long hair, I didn't
even trim it for a year in preparation for this
event. I didn't want to shave it all off,
but I wanted to have plenty to offer King Neptune. |
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I put it in a ponytail and Art cut it off with just enough left to keep
it out of my face in the wind. We then ceremoniously
made our very personal gifts to the sea! |
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We also offered champagne
to King Neptune and each of the four winds
(plus sampled a little ourselves) |
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| Latitude 0 degrees, 0 minutes! |
Boy, but the water is rough & getting rougher! Mixed swell & waves, already 6-8' & building. We're double reefed & using the inner foresail for better balance [a smaller and therefore safer sail than the big genoa sail at the bow], but it's going to be an exhausting week if this keeps up. Buck up, have as much patience as possible in the galley, and start counting down the days!
Day 19
More lyrics: "Sailing,
Sailing, Over the Bounding Main!"
Or should that be
"Flying, Flying, Over the Pounding Main"?
We certainly are bounding--and
pounding! Winds 14-18k and swells 6-8', very vigorous! Noisy & bouncy, but
we'll have another great run.
Art is especially tired
& can't seem to get rested. The stress of responsibility is always there,
and lack of uninterrupted sleep with his particular watch schedule is taking
its toll.
168 n.m. in 24 hours--our
best run so far!
Last night, flying along in the dark, I leaned out the side and watched the bow slice through the waves. It
was a beautiful sight: almost but not completely dark (some starlight, a few dimmed
instrument lights), and there she was, Second
Wind carrying us strongly and swiftly on our journey. I wish I could have
seen us from a distance, the well-trimmed boat making her way across the sea.
Imagine fading back farther and farther and farther--each image striking, as we
become more and more a speck on the vast ocean...
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| Another spectacular sunset |
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| My favorite time, sailing as night begins to fall |
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| Perhaps 2 photos can help portray the change of light |
Day 20
Like trying to sleep on a
trampoline--or not sleep, as was the case. Last night we put in a second reef at
twilight; good call, because 18k was the norm, and frequent squalls gusted into
the 20's. As squalls go, though, we've still been SO lucky; no huge gusts, no
torrents of rain. Yet. Knock on wood! Plus the fast pace is sure making the
miles fly by. And really--though tiring--it is GREAT sailing! (Great sailing,
challenging living.)
We're past the latitudes of
hottest air, but with these crashing waves we can't keep any hatches open at
all, so down below is extremely hot.
I can't be down there for more than a few minutes without being drenched in sweat.
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| Stages of an approaching squall: |
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| Before |
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| During |
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| After (though we don't always get a rainbow) |
Day 21
Another night--and day to
come, so far--of big seas. Winds are now often up to 25k, and with some larger
& conflicting swells, easily 10', it's a rough ride. BUT: the endgame has
begun! After doing some calculations yesterday, we decided not to try &
push it to arrive Saturday at dusk (too risky), so we slowed down to 5+k in
order to arrive Sunday a.m. (A little disappointing, as I'm sure the day's run
would have topped 170nm--a record for us--but not worth a landfall in the dark.)
This afternoon was PERFECT
sailing!! Yes it's over 20k & upwind, yes there are now 12-15' waves with
plenty of spray in the cockpit, but it's sunny & warm, we're holding
ourselves to 5-6k for arrival purposes (3rd reef, furled genoa) so everything
feels in control, and it's MAGNIFICENT!
Art & I burst into song:
Wave over wave, sea over bow,
I'm as happy a man as the sea will allow.
There's no other life for a sailor like me
Than to sail the salt sea, boys, sail the sea...
There's no other life for a sailor like me.
[by the terrific sea chantey/folk rock band Great
Big Sea;
check them out!]
This was indeed one of the
best days ever. Stupendous sailing, gorgeous skies, great waves ("great
big sea")--what a high!
Plus Art caught a fish--a
small bonito, enough for a very nice meal tomorrow.
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| Art at the wheel in vigorous conditions |
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Southern trades (not much different
than the northern trades--though for us,
the wind & waves were larger) |
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| Great on the grill! |
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| Trying to catch some rest |
Day 21
Supposedly the day before
landfall--but wait! Today there is no wind. Gribs be damned. So with
20/20 hindsight, pushing until one day before a landfall, not adjusting 2 days
out, might be more reliable. On the other hand, if the gribs had been correct,
a vigorous 7k day followed by a rolling & banging 3k day [moving slowly in large swells is hard on
the boat & uncomfortable for the crew] wouldn't have been fun (our
rationale for the choice of 2 days @5k). No crystal balls, eh? So now we're
motorsailing, trying to keep the sails from flogging, and still hoping to drop
anchor tomorrow. I'm making pina colada mix for a party, just in case.
Day 22
At the end of the 22nd
day of sailing--almost to the minute--we arrived at Tahauku
Bay on Hiva Oa.
(It's so overwhelming that there wouldn't be enough exclamation points, so I
won't use any yet.)
It was amazing to see the shape of Hiva Oa appear out of the early morning darkness; I got chills. We'd done it--and not just once, crossing an ocean, but now three times. We can truly call ourselves sailors.
We knew somewhat to expect
from our landfall in Kauai, but this is even
more extreme: more remote, more intimate, more exotic. The bay is small,
surrounded by jagged folds of green hills & cliffs. There's a magnificent
peak at the head of the bay; I can tell already that its mesmerizing changes of
light & clouds will prompt innumerable photographs.
All 3 of us enjoyed multiple
celebratory rum concoctions (I don't even like rum, but what else would one
drink here?) then a long nap. I did cry a little, sitting on the foredeck with
Art. It was from relief, but oddly enough, not that the passage was over--as
passages go, it was as good as possible--but because all the preparation was
over. It was so very very hard, and
sometimes the obstacles felt insurmountable. But they weren't, and here we are.
There are many things to
attend to--the watermaker especially [turned
out to be an easy fix], and lots of cleaning & rustbusting--but now, finally,
we are on vacation. Let the fun begin! (oops, started with the exclamation
points)
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| Raising the French courtesy flag |
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| Hiva Oa on the horizon in the early morning |
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| Arrival celebration |
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| Anchorage at Atuona |
