Tropics Bound

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 6^th 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!