Departure clearance
forms filed? Check.
Water and fuel tanks
topped off? Check.
Final provisions
stowed? Check.
Gear stashed and
lashed? Check.
Ready. Set. Set.
Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set.
Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set. Set.
GO!
No, that’s not a
typo.
Yes, we (and about
70 other vessels in and around Opua) waited over 3 weeks in New
Zealand for a weather window to head north. First a tropical
depression turned into Tropical Cyclone Donna, then along came TC
Ella—both appearing after the cyclone season was officially over.
Since it would be rash to depart when cyclones were circling our
destinations, everyone was stuck. Too bad I didn’t get a photo of
all the sailors in the internet room every day, wringing their hands
over the forecasts and tangling with New Zealand Immigration over
unexpected visa expirations--us included.
(At least the local
marine businesses were happy; people bought additional stuff because
they finally had time to get around to their B-list projects!)
By the time we left
NZ, it was the equivalent of late November in Seattle—and boy was
it cold! Photo above includes 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of pants, 2
long sleeved shirts, 2 jackets, a coat, a hat and gloves (and one
barely warm mate). After 4 days sailing north we started peeling off
layers and by the 6th day we were in shorts; we made
landfall in Vanuatu after 8 days, and knew we were back in the
tropics!
I’ve previously
posted plenty of blue water photos, so this post will talk about
time. As in…
PASSING TIME
 |
We keep ourselves on a short tether
(falling off the boat is an absolute no-no!) |
 |
| Good morning! Flying fish for breakfast? |
With 1 person always
on watch, we never get to sleep very long at one stretch, so much of
our time off watch during the day is spent resting and conserving
energy. Only 1 of us can lie down at a time and the liferaft needs to
be readily available on passage, so the raft shares half the bed.
Our first offshore
passage taught us that food slides off plates no matter how well
balanced our bodies are (a table is out of the question). Meals are
served in curved, easy-to-hold dishes.
 |
Oops! I forgot to take a shot of juggling food on a voyage.
So here's the dish; I'll swap for a real photo later... |
NIGHT WATCH
Our view at night:
the instrument panel
(In
order to maintain night vision, all extraneous lights are off; the
rest, inside and out, have red hues.)
The
reflection is from the hatch cover, which we keep closed so large
waves rolling over the deck don’t pour down the companionway.
(Does that sound like the voice of experience?)
Pictured,
left to right:
AIS (Automated
Identification System), the only device that doesn’t have a red
light setting—but we keep it very dim so it’s not intrusive. It
is showing our current GPS position, but its prime purpose
is collision avoidance, letting us know whether or not there is another vessel within a 48
nautical mile radius. As (almost) always, it says “No Targets”;
we are alone out here.
Time of
day, set in UTC (Universal Time Coordinated, formerly known as
GMT/Greenwich Mean Time)
Wind speed
and angle—information we watch the most, to be sure our sails are
set for maximum safety and efficiency
Course/Heading—our wind steering system keeps the sails at
the desired angle to the wind, an
angle we have set to take us
on our course. If the course changes, we know the wind has shifted
and we evaluate options for sail adjustments.
Not visible:
On the far right of the
instrument panel is the chartplotter, which we keep on standby to
conserve energy. When activated, it could look like this:
 |
| (it has a red light setting also, but that didn't photograph well) |
Following an exact route is
often necessary near land, but is less relevant in the middle of the
ocean on a long passage when weather circumstances will inevitably
change. In this example we are intentionally about 15 miles east of
the rhumb line to our destination—but strong easterly winds are
approaching in a day or so, which will gradually ease us back to the
direct course.
Not pictured:
Stars.
Billions and billions of
stars.
On clear nights they are our
friends, keeping us company, traveling as we do. On my first dark
watch, Orion lay lazily on the western horizon, Scorpio was in the
east, the Southern Cross was overhead. On my second dark watch 3
hours later, Orion had gone to bed, Scorpio ruled the center of the
sky, and the Southern Cross—still pointing south—had rotated down
and away. Rising and setting planets, rising and setting moons; the
night sky is a treasure for all voyagers.
So that’s a passage:
eat, sleep, chat, rest, handle
sails, watch...and LANDFALL!
