Sail to the South Pacific-Day 5: Internet Withdrawal

I'd like to google 'trade winds' right now. Just a general search to read about them. And I'd like to check everyone's facebook statuses, and see what's trending on twitter, and check the headlines at the NY Times, CBC and the Guardian, and do a search for a few new articles that should be out, and look for a few podcasts, and read all the blog posts of fellow cruising boats (even though I'm emailing several and talk with others on the SSB), and I'd like to read about Hiva Oa and see what other people did while there, and I'm clearly an addict in the throws of Internet withdrawal.
I believe I may be twitching.

Go ahead. Mock me. Point out that I'm sailing across a gorgeous ocean and had a pod of dolphins frolicking in our bow wave just a few short hours ago (okay--you don't actually know that part because I haven't written about how we first heard the squeals echoing in the hulls and then watched them leap through the waves to reach us. And OMG was the teeny, tiny baby cute...). And feel free to point out I was excessively stressed out before leaving and that a reading-break from civilization's imminent collapse is probably exactly what I need (have I mentioned the colour of the water out here? It's like looking into a velvet-blue night sky...).

When I calculate our daily miles I try not to think about the fact that yesterday we only sailed 148 miles closer to connectivity. Because that's not a healthy way to view life. Instead I should be pulling out the guide books we have aboard and dreaming about our destination. But clearly it's not the information I'm craving. It's the instant gratification of the click.

There is no instant gratification out here. Everything we have was planned carefully. Anything I want I need to make or prepare. Nothing is simple--but everything is oh, so simple.

We've stripped away details that once seemed so vital and are only working with the elements. The sun makes our power--which makes our water, which we heat for showers and cooking. The wind propels us, mostly in the direction we want to go, but we have no control over the speed with which we get there (although gliding along at 10 knots in these smooths seas is as close to heaven as I've ever been...). The only food we have is what we thought of and found before leaving or what we may catch (but do any lures work when we're going this quick?). The only contact we have with the outside world comes slowly through our radio and it's limited to prearranged nets--and 13 minutes a day is all I have for email.

But it is sublime, really. The sailing is dreamy. The seas are smooth, the wind is mostly steady. And maybe if we have a few more hours of this current version of our trip I will forget the Internet entirely and spend the rest of my life trying to recapture *this*.

The watch right before sunrise is my favourite. It's just me and the foredeck boobies. They brought a few new friends last night but Ev has decided to limit stowaways to three. They poop a lot. But I like the way their awkward red duck-feet clutch at the lifelines--I love it when they tip over. They seem to take it in stride though and right themselves then hunker back down to sleep. And poop.

We had hoped for a new speed record today and the first three hours saw us cover nearly 26 miles. But then we slowed back down to 6-ish knots during the night. We thought we'd have found the trades and turned south by now, but I guess they are further west again. I may regret our hurry to find them when the time comes though--this beam/broad reach in gentle swell seems to be what our boat was built for. We slip through the waves and make effortless progress--pulling ahead of all the much bigger boats. Not that it's a race;)

**Be sure to join our betting pool and try and predict when we will arrive in Hiva Oa. And keep in mind we can't read our comments until we get in (although we love getting them!!)
Position 1535UTC 15d05N 116d41W

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 4: Betting Pool

The sun is rising through thick overcast. We've had the clouds almost since we left. They burn off enough that our solar panels can keep up with our needs--but not so much that it gets sunny. Our night time passengers have flown off. We carried three boobies through the moonlight and I think they ate all the flying fish and squid that landed on the deck. Yesterday we had seven flying fish and two squid, today I see none.

The wind is soft and shifting and cool on my skin. Right now it's strong enough we're moving at 7 knots in flattish swell. And waves slap and gurgle against our hulls and then roll out of sight.
The sea.

There's never been anything but the sea... It feels timeless out here. Like I should be notching the mast to count each sunrise and keep track of the days. It could be the way we sleep and wake many times through the day and night for our watches--is is a new day, the same day, some magically ancient day from the time of the explorers?

It's hard not to ponder those ancient sailors as we make our way to the trade winds. Part of it is the wonderful book Maia is using for home schooling on this passage, "Tools of Navigation" was not only written by a writing buddy (Rachel Dickinson) but it's filled with the history (and several great activities) from early navigation. So while we download our weather, and have friends using multiple sources routing us, a GPS keeping us on track, an auto pilot steering us and news from boats up ahead to guide us--we read about those who relied on simple mechanical tools and the stars to find their way...

We're still heading west in search of the trades. The wind is light but consistently present and the seas are beautifully smooth. It's truly gorgeous sailing and we're making 6-8 knots. But we had our taste of flying faster--of roaring along and chewing up the miles--and I think, despite the comfort of these conditions, we're eager to hit the trades and turn south.

Part of it is just for the magic. We sailed in the trade winds in the Atlantic and both recall the steady wind that made little Ceilydh come alive the way no wind had done before. But part of it is going West feels wrong--rather than a straight journey to the Marquesas we're doing a route that is more like an 's'. So rather than the nominal 2700 mile journey that I was certain we had already sailed through over 600 of, we still have over 2200 to go...

Which brings us to our audience participation question: "When will we arrive in Hiva Oa?" Because of the complexities of time zones we're going to calculate in days and hours (as an example our friends on a similar cat called Savannah made the journey in 21 days and (I think??) 12 hours. Typical passages can be anywhere from 19-25 days. And we'll call the trip done when our anchor is down. The winner (if you're a landlubber with an address) gets a t-shirt. If you are a fellow nomad we'll buy you a drink somewhere:)

So add your guesses to the comments.

Things are good aboard though. We're all settled in. I'm gradually fighting off a nasty cold. Our veggies are holding out fine. And we've made enough of a dent in our fridge that we're ready to start fishing today. Hopefully we'll avoid the seven foot sharks that WGD had to contend with...

position at 1500utc: 16d20N 114d08W

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Sail to the South Pacific-day 3: water everywhere

It amazes me how land recedes to a dream-like memory when I'm at sea. 16 months in Mexico is reduced to memories I have to pull forward and examine one by one, while the ocean--as it grows alpine then later, as the wind drops, pastoral and shifts from deep midnight blue, to steely grey--is as real as anything I've ever known.

My presence is required out here. I need to be mindful of every step, every handhold. Every noise the boat makes, every shift in the wind hover at the edge of my awareness. "The boat seems happy out here. Doesn't it? The way it leaps from wave to wave." Maia said yesterday.

It seemed happy last night too--racing along in flatter seas under the moonlight. We had a boobie bird hitch a ride on our bow. I hoped it would be there in the morning--but then the seas rose and the wind followed and in the uproar of reefing sails and slapping waves our passenger flew off. Today the wind is gone again and I'm waiting for the lumpy seas to retreat. It will be slower today. I was enjoying our dash toward the trades. Watching the miles melt away. Dreaming about palm trees. But there were moments when I wanted it to last forever. When I found my rhythm so fully and felt so alive it seemed as if no life had come before and none could follow.

Seasickness still threatens for me--but day three has always been easiest for me. And we've never ventured on past day five--so we're sailing into new territory soon. I was able to cook yesterday and made lentil soup packed with fresh veggies. Today avocado is clearly going to be a big part of our diet as we have three that are way ripe. Maia will continue her start back to school today (yesterday she started a visual calendar and chart for our trip) and we'll look at establishing more of a routine.

We're still in contact with a few boats and were sad to hear Buena Vista is on their way back because of engine problems. Blue Moon is doing great though as is WGD, and all the other boats we've spoken with are enjoying our fast start (well maybe not this am's part as we all loaf along searching for wind...)

Position noon today: N 16d 50' W 111d 49'

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 2: Sea Legs

N17 54' W109 24' at noon today.

Haven't got 'em yet.
Sea legs that is. It's the term that means I could prance about the boat as if it were shore--not stumble, rather than step up the stairs, or hurl water at Maia, rather than hand it to her.
My seasickness does seem to be moderating--I can almost imagine doing more than stare fixedly out the window for miles on end. Almost. The seas are still rough though. And I have to say it's impossible for me to reread what I write so bear with me if this stops being clear. We have a 2m of confused swell and a dropping wind--which is almost the same as 2m of confused swell and a rising wind, just we're slower.

But despite the fact we are now only making steady 6-7's (we'll shake out some of the reefs when Ev is up...) We passed a boat early this am. The cool thing about having left with so many boats is we still have several around us--although we are all spreading out. But apparently we trailed Zephyr for hours early this am, then passed close-by at dawn. A detail Ev missed. Which is sort of amusing and sort of worrying considering the main part of watch keeping (aside from attending to all the various alarms that keep going off--more on this shortly)is to WATCH for other boats...

I saw Zephyr behind us though when I started my watch and chatted with him a bit then touched base with WGD and caught up with Blue Moon--we expect to lose the precious VHF connection in the next day or so though and be down to the daily SSB nets and email for communication.
About those alarms: We love our AIS. We have it set to warn us if a ship is going to pass within five miles (most sailboats don't have transponders so thus no warning alarm). It's gone off a few times--letting us know the course, speed and name of the vessel. Something that came in handy for WGD last night, when they had a freighter on radar (and right freaking beside them) but couldn't reach them on VHF. Ev looked up the freighter's name for Michael and Michael was able to call and get a response.

Our autopilot has also been beeping and complaining about conditions and we realize our new bilge alarm is set too deeply in the bilge--when we pitch and roll, the little bit of water in the bilge splashes it--making it go off. A detail Ev will remedy when it's calmer.

Day two's sun is just rising though-so there may be more to say later on (I'll add a position before we send and aim for giving 24 hour totals each day). Yesterday's 24 hr was about 155n.m and we're going to be a bit higher than that today.

Brad, if you're reading this we would appreciate weather advice when you can and have a fleet of 8 or so of us that will be sharing.

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Sail to the South Pacific--Day 1 Gingerale and Crackers

This sucks.
I wrote a lovely blog entry in my head yesterday--about our fabulous send off (complete with air horns and kids cheering on the pier). And how it brought to mind the glamour of old-time travel--when going someplace was an event.
But then we hit the miserable freaking weather system we need for our ride out to the trade winds (which better be wonderful after this...) and it's all I can do to write a few pathetic whining words about how much I hate beating into these northers.

See--I thought we'd turn south right away (I should pay attention to routes...) but it seems the strategy is to get away from the coast and follow our rhumb line--a fancy way of saying we're beam to in this crap. The good news is I'm not the only one who's currently disillusioned by our passage. We spoke with Zephyr (who seems more put out than us) and Whatcha Gonna Do by VHF a few times today and all boats report sea sickness and minor teething issues.

But we're averaging 6.5 knots and as of 2pm we've already churned away 130 miles in big swell and nasty wind waves. Conditions are gradually beginning to moderate as we move away from the coast and should improve at some point enough that I can actually venture into the galley and get hot food. Until then though blog posts will be short and irritable.

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Departure Day!

Today's the day.
I hesitated to say anything until we were out past Punta Mita, or maybe just shy of the equator, for fear of jinxing things. But if Barb on Whatcha Gonna Do can come clean about what they are about to do--well, I guess we can too.
So we're topping up tanks, taking out the garbage, sobbing and saying goodbye and doing all those sudden last minute things that can only happen when you are about to leave. At some point today we'll untie the dock lines and store them away and then set off on a very long sailing trip.
I'll be blogging as we go--so feel free to leave encouraging comments:) We won't be able to read them until we arrive, but they are always appreciated and enjoyed.
Adios Mexico!!

The Weather is Here

 It almost seems anticlimactic. We rushed and rushed to get ready, then the weather refused to cooperate—in a big way. But over the over the next day, or so, the winds will fill back in and a flotilla of 8-10 boats will be pulling out of La Cruz.

And we’ll be one of them!

A few people asked how it is possible for a bad weather report to factor into a 2700-mile (18-24 day) journey. The issue is most boats only carry a few hundred miles of fuel. The strategy tends to be to save fuel for the ITC zone, emergencies and arrivals—so having a 300 mile region of no wind right at the beginning, coupled with unusually light and fluky trade winds is a recipe for a very long, very uncomfortable journey…

So we waited.

Waiting is a tough thing to do when you’re staring at a long intimidating journey. Sometimes you need the adrenaline and excitement just to carry you through the natural anxiety. But yesterday I noticed my apprehension had grown, my excitement had peaked and I just felt tired and grumpy. I didn’t really care if we went anywhere. I just wanted the uncertainty to end.

But after a good nights sleep I’m ready for the adventure again.

The weather is here—I think it’ll be a beautiful passage.

PS—if you haven’t been reading my friend Monica’s blog THEY ARRIVED!! Check out Savannah’s blog for her (very amusing) perspective.

The Waiting

As I write, we’re checking out of Mexico.

Over the past week we’ve had more than a few Bon Voyage dinners; worked at the to-do list until very little left uncrossed off; and filled the boat full of (now rapidly ripening) produce. But thanks to an anomaly in the weather pattern we’ve sat in La Cruz waiting.

Contrary to the song—once you get over the fact you are powerless over the weather—the waiting isn’t the hardest part. Saying goodbye over, and over, and over is… But the flip side is I’ll take the bonus days with good friends when I can get them.

 But it seems our bonus time is coming to a close. The trades are filling back in and the wind we need to carry us out of Mexico until we hit them should arrive tomorrow night or Saturday. Which means (dare I say it out loud??) we should be getting out of here soon. Ish.

Rudder Or Not, We’re Nearly Ready…

This could also have been the Sleepless in La Cruz post. Or the Damn Weather post...

 

The worst part of this getting ready thing is the stress. I’m not sure how many times I startled awake last night thinking of one little task or another that a) I’ve completed but had a bad dream about; b) never planned to do anyway; or c) already have scheduled on my list…

The best part of the process though is the knowledge that we’re not completely on our own. Yesterday we met with the 10 or so boats that plan to jump off this week (something that is suddenly looking like later this week considering the Pacific High just went poof in a weird way…) We compared notes, exchanged info and generally discovered there are many, many ways to prepare for this journey and none of us is ever going to get it all done. The trick is to decide what your boat and your crew needs to be happy, healthy, comfortable and safe. And after all the boat stuff is taken care of—this pretty much means food.

Barb-checking out the produce

 Last night (before the weather report changed and shifted departures to later in the week…) we focused on food.

 There is a little produce warehouse in town that supplies the local restaurants and tiendas. Every Sunday and Thursday the owners head up to Guadelajara to get fresh produce. They return in the evening with lots of unripe, unrefrigerated food—which is exactly what we want for long term storage.

Barb and I headed over at the end of the cruisers meeting—and before the little warehouse knew what hit them, a dozen or so cruisers were swarming the place: squeezing green tomatoes, sifting through firm onions and selecting rock hard mangoes.

Whatcha Gonna Do and us with a bucnh of food and friends

 $996 pesos later ($80 or so…) and we had more produce than a typical tienda… And more than we could carry. Happily we also have friends who never cease to amaze me and with a few extra hands we got stuff home in record time. Now we need to store it away (and potentially share it out,  considering the crazy weather patter which has suddenly developed!)…

Still Rudderless, But Not Without Direction

So what do you do when you’re days from leaving for the South Pacific but still don’t have a rudder? Karaoke of course. But rather than singing the blues—I think we all cut loose a bit. “Born in the USA” is now burned into my memory banks—and may give me mid-ocean nightmares…. Sadly, I’m failing to carry the camera most places these days (I think the spreadsheets are taking up the spot normally reserved for it…) So to get a glimpse of our seriously fun night check out Barb’s blog.

something many of you might never have expected--Ev doing Karaoke (courtesy Whatch Gonna Do)

 As far as boat stuff goes the rudder repair is well underway—and we hope to get it back Monday am. And our other tasks are rapidly being ticked off the list thanks to the endless and unflagging help from Stew and Wendy (not to mention all our boating friends here who have taken up the slack with Maia and supplied me with chocolate for the South Pacific—Tami! I love you!!).

Ev, checking the repair with the machine shop guys

 This week saw us buy a bunch of stuff and sew a bunch of stuff including a galerider type drogue. Evan also finished installing super strong pad eyes for the storm anchor, put in new bilge alarms, painted a few things and did a whole bunch of random little things.

our version of a galerider type drogue

 Next on the list is filling the ditch bag, shopping for our fresh fruits and veggies at the market tonight and picking our weather window. Wednesday is looking good—which happily seems to correspond with our timing for being done…