Docile day turns into a stormy night - Day 20

It was another light air day with an easterly wind of 1-4 Knots most of the morning changing to 4-8 knots from the ESE by the evening.

At 8.45 am we took down the sails and Chris jumped into the warm ocean to swim and clean the bottom. There were gelatinous masses of gooseneck barnacles clinging to the propeller shaft, strut, all along the aft section of the bottom, and along the keel. It took him almost an hour to scrape the worst areas. I stood on "jelly watch". Last year a friend of ours had an encounter with a Portuguese Man O'War mid-Pacific and he suffered for days from the poisonous sting. Well, I did not see any jellyfish but screamed the alarm when a three foot long transparent animal appeared. It must have been about 3-4 inches in diameter, had a faint pink colour around the edges and was slinky-like in shape. I had no idea what it was but warned Chris to swim away as it seemed to be drifting in his direction. If anyone can identify what it could be, please let me know.

We flew our spinnaker from 10 am to 9 pm with a couple of hours of downtime mid-afternoon when the lack of wind and large swell forced us to turn on the engine. Taking advantage of the extra power, we made water and I started to wash laundry using a couple of plastic buckets in the cockpit. Soon we had our t-shirts and pillow slips flying from the life-lines and rat-lines while the smalls had their own line crisscrossing the cockpit. It all looked colourful.

After the sun had set I gathered up the larger clothes and we watched a bit of "television". At first watch (9pm), I asked Chris if we could take down the spinnaker as it can be a liability at night when only person is on deck. Since the wind was now 8 knots, he agreed and we put up the main and jib. I went to sleep on my fresh smelling pillows with a peaceful mind while he stood first watch.

At 11.30 pm, I was woken with a light kiss on the cheek and a request to assist with reefing the main. As soon as I poked my head out of the cabin, I could hear the wind howling. Chris shouted " There is no time to reef, I have to steer us downwind, dog-down the hatches!" I ran below to close the port lights in the cabin and was dismayed to see saltwater spraying over the bunk where I had been sleeping. Worse was the sight of gallons of water pouring over the v-berth from the hatch above it. I secured everything and rushed back up to the cockpit. It was a sickening feeling, watching Chris struggling to keep the boat under control with all his might. The wind was probably 35 Knots from the northeast, gale force, and Ladybug was screaming downwind at 8 Knots. Chris ordered me to furl the jib and that was hard even using the winch as there was so much force on the sails. The rain started to pour, so I passed out a coat to Chris and closed the main companionway hatch.

The radar showed a 4 mile radius of squalls but we could not dodge them even if we had tried as the NE wind forced us to steer SE to SW to keep the boat under control.

It was a nightmare that lasted for about an hour. There was one accidental gybe which caused damage to the traveller. A bolt attached to a tang at the end of the starboard traveller line sheared off and the tang was completely straightened out by the wind. Chris found it lying on the deck after the squall had abated. We shall see if it can be fixed in the daylight. Thankfully the traveller is still functional.

When the wind abated a little we double reefed the main and hove to, later we turned and ran southwest with the same configuration. The rest of the night was spent sponging off the salt from the contents of the v-berth, watching the radar very closely and, in my case, praying for a quieter morning.

At 1430 Zulu today our position was 01 33 S 132 11 W on a course of 205 degrees magnetic. Our 24 hour run was 93 nautical miles and we were 612 NM from Hiva Oa.

And we are now into sunshine with some blue sky ahead...

Champagne, rice, and prayers - Day 19

At 10 minutes to 9 last night we sailed into the southern hemisphere at a sedate 3 knots. All day we had discussed how to celebrate, settling on a nice mixed veg and soy/pea curry dinner, followed by Spanish 'champagne' and dark chocolate. We tried to capture this on film, realizing too late that you cannot snap a picture of the GPS at the equator and pour a libation over the side to Poseidon at the same time. So we went with Poseidon's drink and captured the GPS reading a bit south.

Rani made a traditional Hindu offering of rice - wrapped in a paper boat, which followed the champagne. I read Rani a short poem that I had written for her. Rani played a recording of the Sikh evening prayers and bowed her head in prayer. In all the rolling we spilled yet more bubbly, so hopefully Poseidon has been appeased. His friends - the various winds - must require something other than champagne because we have had little to no wind all day and night! This may change today, for I see a mass of black cloud approaching from the north as I type.

Our position at 14:30 zulu on April 8 was S 00 29 and W 131 19. We ran 73 nautical miles yesterday and have 695 more to go to Hiva Oa.

Comment on the Slocum post

My friend Kurt wrote an interesting comment on yesterday's post...

"Your comment on the Slocum factor was interesting, but I think you left out a very critical part. Old Josh sailed off in to a world which he knew to be finite and went from A to B because he was a ship's captain by trade. But for 99.999999% of the world's citizens then, a journey of 50 miles was huge. And any journey left you vulnerable to little or no contact with loved ones at your root. Another continent was unfathomable. I am sure that any desperate immigrants to the US and Canada had next to no idea where they were going. We live in a world that is not necessarily smaller, the usual comment, but rather our minds and awareness have expanded to encompass it, to say nothing of our technology. We "think" the whole blue marble into existence now, and see it as one thing. In Slocum's day any journey, even by rail or steamship, required steely nerve of overwhelming need. Today we can afford to think of a sail to the Marquesas as a grand adventure, a choice, even a bit of retro wind powered fun that sets us apart from everyone else, both literally in the moment and in another way permanently. In part we do this stuff in search of that feeling that says we are "different" and have "been there". And it makes us part of a smaller "family" than simply of "those who pay their taxes on time". But you still need to be excruciatingly careful!"

Thanks for this perspective Kurt - technology is probably not the most important factor in what we attempt or achieve...

Advantages over Slocum - Day 18

The ARC rally has just left the Marquesas en route to Tahiti. These sailors are part of an organized, 'guided' cirmcumnavigation that they will complete in less than a year and a half. This got me thinking about all the people like us who are out here cruising on small boats. Sailing boats across oceans used to be reserved for professionals and the occasional publicity or thrill seeking adventurer. This is clearly not the case any more. What has changed to allow an average couple to sail a small boat across the Pacific or around the world?

When Joshua Slocum became the first person to sail alone around the world at the end of the 19th century, he did so using tools and techniques that were hundreds, if not thousands of years old. He navigated via sextant and clock, used kerosene to light the interior and for running lights, and sailed in a boat that was built by hand of wood and iron. The radio had yet to be invented, let alone, navigation assisting satellites. He carried water and salted food in barrels and jugs. His sails were made of cotton canvas (or possibly flax) and needed constant care.

Here is a short list of technological changes that have made what we are doing feasible:

* Beginning in the 1950's Fibreglass and polyester resin enabled the mass production of sturdy cruising boats. Polyester and nylon also replaced cotton in sails and natural cordage in lines.
* Reliable small diesels made getting in and out of harbour or crossing the doldrums far less challenging.
* Wind vane self-steering, first widely used in the 1960's made short handed cruising infinitely more pleasant, reducing the need to stand at the helm staring at a compass for hours. Electric autopilots provided similar benefits.
* Radio and satellite communications made it feasible to obtain up to date weather information and stay in touch with other sailors and those who remain at home.
* Radar allowed us to 'see' over the horizon to avoid being run down, to move with more confidence in fog and poor visibility, and to enter strange harbours.
* Satellite navigation (GPS) removed the need to learn celestial navigation (although some still argue against over-reliance on this technology).
* Solar panels - another product of the space age provided silent 'free' power. Small wind and gas or diesel generators also provided power for the comforts of life that many of us take for granted.
* Refrigeration, propane stoves, and water makers brought the comforts of home on board.

These technologies are enablers - taking much of the risk and discomfort out of long distance cruising. I am sure it is no coincidence that dozens of people now complete circumnavigations each year compared to the handful who had done so before 1950.

Our position today at 14:30 zulu was N 00 41 W 131 16. We sailed only 93 miles (with 1 of those under motor this morning). Winds have varied from 1 knot to about 12 mostly out of the east and we had a decent spinnaker run in the afternoon. We also fixed a problem with the fridge thermostat by relocating it from the cockpit locker to the inside of the fridge. We hope to cross the equator sometime today, being only about 40 miles from it now! The champagne is chilling.

Peaceful Day on the Pacific - Day 17

We passed through a rather nasty looking ITCZ front of thick clouds, wind, rain and then total calm on Wednesday night and in the early hours of Thursday morning.

During the calm period, Chris turned on the iron jenny and we motored for about an hour. We called in our crew, Frankenpilot, to steer us but he packed it in immediately, feigning sick. Upon examination, it was found that old Frankie had swallowed some water during the squalls and it had gone the wrong way - into his electronic board. We undressed him and laid him out to dry out overnight while our newest recruit from West Marine, Stevie 2000, subbed in.

There was light at the end of the tunnel around 5am as a steady 3-4 Knot SE wind came up and we put up a full jib and main to push us along at 3 Knots. This light breeze continued throughout the day. The boat rolled a bit due to swells from the north and northwest but we put up the cockpit awning and relaxed "upstairs" under it's shade. The fresh breeze tickled the skin and Ladybug settled into an easy pace for the day.

I wished for dolphins and sent out telepathic messages. They appeared in droves. Well, at first there was a recce party of about eight. Then there were splashes and sleek bodies leaping out of the water everywhere for about a mile out. And they were headed our way!

Between 50 to 100 striped dolphins swam, dived and jumped all around Ladybug for about forty minutes. We encouraged them by filming and cheering them on. What an afternoon!

As predicted, we did not set any records this day, gaining only 101 miles over 24 hours. Our position at 1430 Zulu on April 6 was N 01 56 and W 130 27. After a strategy consult with our friend Mark on s/v Southern Cross, we changed our course from due south for the equator to 210 degrees true for Hiva Oa, 935 nautical miles out, so we cannot report the distance made good.

Our Little Universe

These days we live in our own little universe. It is an ever changing universe of mainly two colours - blue and white and all shades thereof. The ocean varies from the Royal Blue of a sunny day like today to the dusky indigo of the early evening. In the moonlit night it becomes molten silver and graphite grey. Night or day, it is always laced with white. It heaves and pulses like the living beast it is, the energy in it's belly speaking of unpredictable power.

The sky above is of different hues of blue. The baby blue at the sea surface deepens a few shades as one gazes higher. Fluffy cotton clouds hang picturesquely in this ceiling like the trail of a steam engine. On the horizon all around us they coalesce and are interlaced with grey. When the sun sets these same benign clouds will appear darker and evil. It is little wonder that mankind through the ages has worshipped the sun, the bringer of light and goodness.

Ladybug is bouncing alone in this universe like a puppy on a short leash. We know there are other other sailboats within a hundred mile radius but we have not seen any for 16 days. We live in a Water World.

Sunburn, spinnakers, and reverse osmosis - Day 16

The sun at 4 degrees latitude is dangerously strong. It has been so hot and humid that we are down to our underwear. I have rather badly burned the top of my legs after very brief (pun intended) exposure. We rigged the small cockpit awning that allows us to sail with it up to get some relief from the rays, but later had to strike it due to squalls.

The day began with very light NE winds, which pushed us along at 4 knots broad reaching. Our starboard water tank ran dry, so we realized it was time to bring the water maker back into service (it had been 'pickled' with sodium metabisulphite back around Christmas). The water maker does not like rough seas or fast sailing, getting air bubbles in the system. This causes the 800 psi pressure required for the reverse osmosis to work to drop to about 200 psi, so we sailed the whole morning at an increasingly sedate pace, making about 20 gallons of water in 3 hours.

Around noon we took another sextant sight. This time, the sun passed behind us as we headed south while I was taking the sites - a very strange feeling to have it go to the north of us. Our location was only within 7 miles of the GPS one on this sight - again our longitude was good (within a mile or to), but our latitude off. Not sure what I am doing wrong, but hope that further practice will get us a bit closer.

By early afternoon, the wind was down even further and we had perfect conditions for a spinnaker run. We hoisted the cruising chute for the first time on this crossing and our speed immediately returned to 4+ knots. We spent the afternoon rolling down toward the equator with the big red and white balloon gracefully towing us along. Unfortunately all good things must end and around supper time, we ran under another line of towering cumulus clouds filled with rain and wind. I held onto the chute until the last minute, raising Rani's blood pressure, but just before the first squall we doused it with its snuffing sock and re-hoisted main and jib.

All last night we had very light winds from the east and south east with a few squalls. The first major squall was enough for another cockpit shower - a welcome relief after sweating for 2 days in 90 degree heat!

Our position at 14:30 zulu on April 5 was N 03 19 W 129 33. We ran 99 NMs making good 93 toward our equator crossing point (199 miles to go!).

Squalls and Sunshine - Day 15

Monday night and the early hours of Tuesday morning were busy hours on deck as we passed through confusing systems of light airs with lightning and heavy showers accompanied by 20-25 Knot winds. Watches were unfair as I had to ask Chris to tend to the sail changes on my shift too. Due to the large frequent swells rocking the boat it was a tough balancing act lifting the heavy teak hatch door aside as we entered and exited the cockpit in the rain. I was happy that we had taken the pole down earlier in the evening - that would not have been a lot of fun in those conditions.

On the plus side, both of us took a refreshing rain shower to wash off the sweat and grime.

We continued on a westerly course. In the early afternoon we could see blue sky ahead and figured it was time to make the left turn to head south. We put in a new way point to the equator. Only another 384 miles to the line! The sunshine was a boost to spirits, the wind on the beam - God was smiling upon us again!

Our position on April 4 at 1430 Zulu was N 04 50 and W 129 11. We managed to sail 129 nautical miles despite the ITCZ conditions.

Squalls to the left of us, squals to the right of us - Day 14

Ladybug is definitely in the doldrums. We have spent the last 24 hours dodging squalls and listening to the rain pound the decks in a torrential deluge. The squalls sometimes pack a punch, with winds increasing to 25 knots or more, resulting in frantic sail changes- three of these last night in the wee hours. I did one sail change sans clothes and had a very effective shower at the same time. We found a leak in the cabin 'roof' where the traveller for the main sheet is attached and had to take apart the interior to find and fix this. In one of the squalls I sacrificed the rubber end of our flashlight to Neptune when the jib sheet was jerked out of my hands.

The radar has been a great help in squall watching - they show up as evil looking chunks on the screen in contrast to the elegant little blips that a ship would make. We are fairly near a shipping lane that runs from Panama to the Philippines, so the person on watch has to be doubly vigilant.

As of 14:30 zulu on April 3, we were at position N 06 23 and W 128 28. We ran 126 miles but only 99 of those in the right direction. Hot and muggy below with all hatches battened down.

The Doldrums

Being at approximately 7 degrees north and 127 degrees west, we are now officially in the doldrums or the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone as NOAA calls this area of rain squalls, variable winds, and lightning:

From the April 2 NOAA forecast:

INTERTROPICAL CONVERGENCE ZONE/MONSOON TROUGH...
ITCZ AXIS EXTENDS FROM 09N121W TO 04N140W. SCATTERED MODERATE
WITHIN 75 NM EITHER SIDE OF AXIS BETWEEN 129W AND 133W.

The GRIB (weather model) file shows a 1012 millibar gradient running north east to south west just below us, with a 1012 high to the southeast and a 1012 low to the northeast of that. Not sure how one can have a high and a low beside each other with the same pressure, but - hey - I'm no meteorologist.

Practically - this means that our 140 mile days are over for a while. The ITCZ should go somewhere else in a couple of days if the GRIB forecast files are correct, but it looks like we are in for a couple of days of frustrating sailing, dodging rain squalls and lightning.