Not all Dolphins and Rainbows

Last night dinner was interrupted when a pod of Atlantic spotted dolphins came to play in our bow waves. Even in the green-black waters of the Amazon River outflow we could see them as they streaked through the depths before surfacing for a tandem leap. I wanted to say then, that this has been the easiest passage we've ever had. Sailor's superstition means I can't say that out loud though. It's like challenging the gods to toughen us up and throw an 'adventure' our way. Perhaps having held the thought was enough though-with 100 miles to go we find ourselves beating into a squall; Poseidon demanding our reverence and caution by reminding us that ocean passages are awesome, powerful and sublime, but never simple or easy.

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Fish for dinner, the Amazon to port

To port lies the Amazon River Delta. Once in awhile the urge to abandon our plans and make a hard left turn kicks in. Sometimes we can yeild to the call of adventure-but this time the wild mystery of the Amazon is going to live as an unfulfilled yearning. I read once that it's not bucket lists that keep us exploring, but unfinshed travels. The sense that if we'd been able to go a little futher, stay a little longer, see one more thing-that the journey would feel complete. So we head out again and again; looking for a fresh view of the familiar, or a sense of belonging somewhere new. Only rarely do we get to stay until we're truly satisfied. We started fishing a few days ago. It is typically me who throws out the lures but with chronic seasickness, thanks to an ear infection, I haven't felt much like fishing. Plus we're in the Saragosso Sea--so sargassum weed tends to choke up a lure almost as soon as it goes in. But with almost 600 miles still to go a fish dinner would be a welcome treat. So I untangled the hand lines, tossed them over and this morning I had an immediate hard hit--which proved my lucky lure was no longer lucky because after the initial strike the line went slack and the lure was gone. Luckily the next lure did the trick and we now have four + meals of Dorado, to help stretch our provisions. Sailing continues to be easy. At night the seas are calm under a bright moon and in the distance a storied river sings her siren's song; urging us to come back. But we sail on.

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Sailing to Suriname day 14

We're starting to run low on fresh fruits and veggies; which means it's time to get clever with cabbage. We're not doing too terribly though considering the last truly well-stocked and affordable grocery store was in Port Owen in March. It helps that this is such an easy trip. It's complicated coming up with meals in rough conditions which go beyond 2 tins + 1 bag or box = dinner. Instead we have things like veggie burgers made from butternut squash and feta cheese or sweet and sour coleslaw with cabbage and beets. It really is all about food out here. We're now less than 800 from Suriname. We crossed the equator for the forth and final time a few days ago and changed times on the clock for about the 30th time since leaving home. What we haven't had to do on this passage is raise the mainsail, though we have changed foresail configurations multiple times. Mostly though we spend our days reading and pondering what to make with our diminished stores. Soon enough though there will be a new country and new cuisine.

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Halfway Day

At 2636 miles, the trip to Suriname is our second longest passage. Our longest was Puerto Vallarta to the Marquesas when Maia was 9. The difference between voyaging with a 14-year-old vs a 9-year-old is pretty huge. Last time I carried a supply of books, art and science projects and made a lot of playdough to keep her entertained. This time I just made sure our galley was well stocked with baking supplies. Still, 18 days is a long time to be at sea. Fortunately this is a pretty sweet passage. Nights are gentle enough and traffic minimal enough that Maia takes the midnight to 1am slot--giving both Evan and I a four hour rest. She also cooks some dinners, helps with sails and keeps up with school. But she's still a kid, and to ward off the 'are we there yets' I planned a few celebrations. Last night we hit the halfway point and along with a huge pod of porpoises which showed up to celebrate we had pizza as well as dessert crepes with chocolate mousse and berries. Dinner is often the highlight of a day on passage. We dream about ingredients we don't have and then try to make something tasty with what we do. Part of our daily check-in when crossing the Pacific was the recitation of each boat's dinner menu (Whatcha Gonna Do always seemed to have the best meals...). This passage is similar in that Crystal Blues and us compare notes each day. Halfway Day wouldn't be complete without a gift for Maia. I contemplated fresh playdough for nostalgia but instead took advantage of the wifi on Ascension to grab a new episode of a much longed for show. So we watched TV, ate yummy food and enjoyed the feeling of being halfway there. Next up: Equator Day

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Halfway Day

At 2636 miles, the trip to Suriname is our second longest passage. Our longest was Puerto Vallarta to the Marquesas when Maia was 9. The difference between voyaging with a 14-year-old vs a 9-year-old is pretty huge. Last time I carried a supply of books, art and science projects and made a lot of playdough to keep her entertained. This time I just made sure our galley was well stocked with baking supplies. Still, 18 days is a long time to be at sea. Fortunately this is a pretty sweet passage. Nights are gentle enough and traffic minimal enough that Maia takes the midnight to 1am slot--giving both Evan and I a four hour rest. She also cooks some dinners, helps with sails and keeps up with school. But she's still a kid, and to ward off the 'are we there yets' I planned a few celebrations. Last night we hit the halfway point and along with a huge pod of porpoises which showed up to celebrate we had pizza as well as dessert crepes with chocolate mousse and berries. Dinner is often the highlight of a day on passage. We dream about ingredients we don't have and then try to make something tasty with what we do. Part of our daily check-in when crossing the Pacific was the recitation of each boat's dinner menu (Whatcha Gonna Do always seemed to have the best meals...). This passage is similar in that Crystal Blues and us compare notes each day. Halfway Day wouldn't be complete without a gift for Maia. I contemplated fresh playdough for nostalgia but instead took advantage of the wifi on Ascension to grab a new episode of a much longed for show. So we watched TV, ate yummy food and enjoyed the feeling of being halfway there. Next up: Equator Day.

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Rescue at Sea

My mum woke me early in the morning, to point out an injured black noddy, a tern. It was perched on the roof, its legs entangled with polyethylene fibres. They're small seabirds, with a long hooked beak and sooty plumage. Apparently, they're very comfortable with humans, to the extent that they can be picked up off their nests. This one was not as sociable. We tried several times to capture it, because it was clearly having trouble flying. I approached it slowly, oven mitts protecting my hands, but it flew away. It returned in a few minutes, and we tried to capture it with a towel. It flew away. Luckily, when it came back, it perched on the side deck, an easy place for us to reach. My dad captured it, wrapping it firmly in a towel before returning to the cockpit where I waited with scissors. It took us a few tries to find the feet, in the towel, (we kept getting beak), but we managed it and took turns snipping at the plastic. It had wrapped tight around its lower and upper legs, but we didn't realize how bad the damage was until we cut away the trailing fibres. On its upper leg, a tight band of plastic was almost cutting off the leg, and it was badly infected. It took quite a while for us to ease the bloody polyethylene off, but we managed. The leg was almost severed, and removing the plastic made it start to bleed. I dabbed some antiseptic ointment, with a general numbing agent on the wound, and we released it. Hopefully, we helped it survive and possibly keep the leg. BTW this is Maia writing, in case you didn't realize.

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Injured Hitchhiker

Any advice on how to capture this little sooty tern? His feet are tangled in a longline net. Email Diane at dianeselkirk dot com. We tried grabbing him and can get within .25 meters. Next up we'll try throwing a light towel over him. Our calm night turned exciting when a squall came through. While doing 12 knots under spinnaker our AIS alarm went off telling us we were on a collision course with a freighter. Meanwhile Charlie found our sooty and kept sneaking out to visit him on the roof. Managed to snuff the spinnaker, avoid the freighter and convince Charlie that the sooty doesn't want to play. Light winds this morning.

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Abandon ship rations

In the old days if you had to abandon ship you probably took a cask of ship's biscuits and some salt pork. In more modern times maybe some MRE (Army prepacked meals). But unless you're getting the French rations with those little cans of duck pate, they can be unpleasant to eat. Lifeboat rations need to be high in fats and sugars. Protein is actually bad because it needs about twice as much water to digest. Fats are good because they are calorie dense. But nobody wants to drink a cup of olive oil or eat a stick of butter. You want good tasting food high in fat and sugar, that won't spoil and also keeps up your morale.

Have you guessed what is in our ditch bag yet?

NUTELLA. High in fats and sugar, very tasty, and definitely going to keep up morale. After a long passage you should also pull it out and eat it to make sure it is still good. Replace before next passage.

We could also eat Charlie the cat but that's only if we really got desperate...

Sailing by Starlight

Moonless nights can be intimidating at sea; all sudden sounds in the darkness. But this gentle passage is lit by constellations and bioluminescence. 1800 miles to go.

Sailing to South America

Around day 4 (or is it 5?) we lose count. We know the day we left (Sat June 4) and our daily miles average (155) but it's hard to distinguish one day from the rest. Routines help - having a nice dinner and watching the sunset, counting sacrificial flying fish (six), hitchhikers (two boobies, four sooty terns), counting the miles (2012 to Suriname) but mostly it's easiest to let the wind and waves wash the calendar away.

Boobies part two

A fly swatter finally convinced this one the cockpit was off limits but we decided the foredeck was neutral territory. 2362 nautical miles to Suriname.

Boobies Aboard

Calm seas and light winds mean we're making easy miles to Suriname. So easy that we've been carrying hitchhikers who'd rather ride than fly. The problem with boobies is they are indiscriminate poopers so we spend the day chasing them away.

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Foraging on 'hell with the fire put out'

 

From the sea, volcanic Ascension looks like it might still be smouldering. As the big swell explodes on the lava flows it’s easy to mistake mist for steam. Inland, it’s all cinder and rubble surrounding some 40+ volcanic craters. Someone once described it as ‘hell with the fire put out’. There is water, but prior to the desalination plant, every drop had to be carefully managed. The cisterns, one with the name ‘God be thanked’, are still found on the sides of the road with their pipes snaking to the settlements around the island.

 It’s not the kind of place you expect to find a lush forest, but thanks to a visit by Charles Darwin (who described it as an arid treeless island with a few goats, sheep and donkeys running about) and the ingenuity of botanist Joseph Hooker, there is a forest here—one that has a lush and ancient feel to it.

The plan was to bring trees to Ascension from all over the world. Starting in 1850, ships brought plants and saplings from botanical gardens in Argentina, Europe and South Africa. Norfolk pines, eucalyptus, yew, flowering vines, wild raspberries and banana trees now thrive in the world’s most unlikely forest.

It was the promise of raspberries and bananas which convinced us we couldn’t miss Green Mountain. Most days, the mountain has been shrouded by the dense clouds that Darwin envisioned when he dreamed up the plan, but on the morning we went up, the peak was clear.

We drove up past a lava flow and through a desert of mesquite and prickly pear (both were introduced about 50 years ago and are spreading more quickly than expected…). Then elevation took us into a eucalyptus forest straight out of Australia. When we hit the bananas, the fertile jungle-feel was complete. There were also coffee bushes, guavas and gooseberries, but we had our eye on those ripening stalks.

a feral sheep stalks the wild banana

Maia helped us search out the perfect bunches—braving the wild sheep, fluffy bunnies and steep slopes. Her main goal was to find the much-mentioned raspberries but they were higher up the hill—and bananas came first.

The raspberries are seedier and tarter than the familiar soft English berries. To us, they taste more like Salmon berries from home. But coming from a place that marks out the summer season by which berry is ripe—there’s something elemental about the fruit. It’s one of the foods we miss the most.

Maia was coaxed along a hiking trail with the promise of more berries on the route. The raspberries didn’t grow abundantly—but between them and the view she was content.

Later—when she returned home with the berries and bananas—a boat from the US freighter stopped by to offer up some surplus apples, cookies, chocolate and (rather delicious) ham sandwiches. Being in a foraging mood (and knowing how depleted the grocery stores are) she accepted the seemingly odd gift in the spirit it was given.

Foraging is a time-honoured tradition in the maritime world. The first sailors to islands like this dropped off goats and planted fruit saplings to help feed the crews in their wake. The tradition has had many missteps (we've managed to wipe out more than a few endemic plants and animals) and over time we've learned a few skills. But in subtle and important ways the belief that sailors should always leave something behind that will nourish those who follow is one we still hold dear.

Exploring Ascension Island

 Our plan was to have explored Ascension fairly fully by now—but conditions have conspired against us. A phenomenon known locally as ‘the rollers’ means a large northerly swell (combined with the standard S E swell) has made getting in and out of our dinghies at the pier soggy at best.

A couple of days ago, when we planned a day of exploring, followed by an evening at the 42-seat cinema, we braved the big swell. With an eye out to sea we timed our arrival at the dock and unloaded one person or bag per wave. Frequently a large set of swells would wash over the pier steps soaking whoever wasn’t lucky enough to have leapt out of the way and the dinghy would be forced back into deeper water. Eventually though, all of us and all our possessions were on shore and the dinghy was secured.

We had hoped to rent a cheap car through the petrol station in Two Boats—but learned all their cars were booked until July. So we went with the more expensive ‘new’ cars at the Obsidian Hotel (ours had 80,000 km on it) and set off on the island’s 40 km of roads.

Two hours into the journey we’d seen the old NASA base, the airport, the endemic land crab, a few feral donkeys, the grocery store at the RAF and scouted out the base of Green Mountain. Covered in heavy mist, Green Mountain was living up to its billing as a manmade Cloud Forest and rather than risking a rainy picnic we headed to English Bay for lunch.

The white sand beach is fringed with black lava and is popular with locals (the island has a population of about 1200 spread between the Royal Air Force station, US Air Force, European Space Agency rocket tracking station, a super secret intelligence facility and the BBC World Service Atlantic Relay Station) as well as turtles. Thousands of Green Turtles nest here from November to May every year.

While we were there one little hatchling charmed us by popping out of the sand. A Frigate bird had just made a meal of one of his siblings so a group of beach goers provided an escort down to the water’s edge.

Hatchlings are supposed to come out at night. And as we waved off the birds, and tried to make the little guy’s pathway as hazard free as possible as he flapped his way awkwardly through the hot sand, it was clear why hatching in the cool darkness makes way more sense. Finally though, the little creature made it to the water’s edge and swam off to the cheers of his honorary aunties and uncles.

A few minutes later he was in deep, clear blue water. Then a frigate bird swooped down, scooped him up and ate him.

Occasionally, nature is an asshole.

With our good deed ending in a Frigate’s gullet it was time to get back on the road and head up Green Mountain for an afternoon hike. But then the car broke down.

And so ended that adventure.