Sailing in the South Pacific-Day 15: Smooth Sailing No More

Remind me again why I wanted steady SE trades? They kicked in yesterday. But instead of providing a gentle downwind sleigh-ride the emergence of a mirror image ITCZ just to the south and west of us means the trades have strengthened and are more south than east--which means we are close on the wind in lumpy conditions.

Despite the weather (and the fact that Blue Moon publicly admitted to having rabbit (aka the Easter Bunny) for dinner last night) the bunny found our boat. And being a little kid, Maia woke at dawn to search for chocolate, which was pretty much the time when I wanted to be asleep. Easter eggs are kind of round--and round things on a rolly boat tend to roll. Which made the hunt a unique one. Maia stationed herself in the middle of the cabin and simply waited for eggs to pass by.

We'll have to see how our plans for Easter dinner work out. I got some nice ham from Carne del Mundo and we're planning a few special dishes. The seas and upcoming squalls may have their own opinion about our plans though.

The days continue to zoom past though. Mostly they have been problem free but yesterday Evan noticed the sumbrella cover on our Genoa was starting to come unstitched and after a hard night's sailing it's in even worse shape. So one of the first details of our day is to do some repairs on it.
I'll keep this brief for now. Lots to do today and it sounds like it might get exciting weather wise. I guess the whole trip couldn't be gentle and benign but hopefully it won't end with the same conditions we started with.
650 miles to go.
Yesterday's run 144 miles

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Sailing in the South Pacific-Day 14: Easter Equator

It was kind of like a daylight version of New Years. We gathered around the GPS and watched the minutes & seconds count down. But instead of counting time--we were counting distance, watching for the exact point when we sailed from the northern hemisphere and into the southern: Noon local time, on our 13th day of sailing, Good Friday April 22.

Once across Neptune showed up with his trident and made all the Pollywogs aboard take a sip of a disgusting mixture of sea water, Worsetshire sauce, rum, then we popped champagne, made a toast to Neptune and Poseidon and as newly christened (and freshly tattooed) Shellbacks we dove into the South Pacific and swam in water that is four miles deep.

As celebrations go it was a pretty special one--we had wonderful gifts (more on a lovely (and uniquely fitting!) one from Hotspur when I can post the pics), messages to open, chocolate to eat & bubbly to drink. And when we were done celebrating we decided it was time to give in and accept the light air and hoist our spinnaker. Which would have been perfect, except we had left our fishing lines out, which sunk straight down, and while drifting with no sails the boat turned around. So when we started the engine to set us on the right track...

You see where this is going, don't you?

Back into the ocean went Evan. But it's clear, and warm, and blue, and he has a sharp knife. Within a short time our rudder and prop were clear and he was back aboard. Not long after that the spinnaker cracked full and we were again underway.

It always seems that the wind is stronger and the seas are bigger at night. And during this part of the passage it's true. Every night as we speed along under a waning moon and bright-star night I think we've at last hit the steady trades and we're back to 160-170 mile days. But then the sun rises and the wind fades away.

We won't make Hiva Oa as soon as I had predicted (I was hoping for 18-19 days) but we will be faster than two boats that are out (Gigi hitting 35 days and Aeolus on day 26). But as Michael on WGD says, it's not a race (mainly I think he says this because our little 40' boat pulled ahead of his 46' one but if they keep making faster days my guess is the race will be back on...)

We're into the home stretch though and I'm trying to commit the wonders of this passage to memory.
We made it to the South Pacific Mum and Dad!!

As an aside, it's Easter this weekend and Maia is trying to get a message to the Bunny. She wanted to toss him a message in a bottle, but we've failed to drink enough underway to free up the required bottle. So she's hoping some of you who may have Bunny connections could pass this along.

Dear Easter Bunny,
How are you this year? I bet you are very busy getting ready. I thought I would write you to tell you where we are. We are right in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But I know you'll find us. We are south of the equator and will be roughly 650 miles from Hiva Oa. Our boat is called Ceilydh. It is a Richard Woods design catamaran with blue and green stripes and a modified cabin.
I read in a book that there was not one but seven Easter Bunnys--so I hope one can be assigned to us. Remember when you gave me that huge chocolate rabbit? Please, please. please set up an Easter Egg hunt! They're so much fun.
I hope you are well.
Lots of love,
Maia

Details:
S 01 09 W 128 32
Yesterday's run 121 miles.
Last night we had the last of our fresh broccoli with our first non-fresh veg (corn), steaks from Carne del Mundo and homemade cookies for desert.
We still have plenty of fresh tomatoes, cabbage, onions, carrots, potatoes and chayote but most of the other fresh veggies are used up or became overripe. For fruit we have a few last pears and mangoes plus loads of apples, oranges (amazingly the little mandarins kept better than regular oranges), grapefruit and limes. Eggs are still fresh.
Kelly M--I'm sending you a separate email but my file of gluten-free baking recipes disappeared. Can you email me one for scones (I have a premixed flour) and one for buns/bread of some sort?

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 13: Crossing the Equator

Yesterday was our first irritable, grumpy, no good, very bad mood day. Actually beyond snapping at each other a few times and just generally each wanting a bit of peace, and maybe a long walk, it wasn't too bad. And mostly it illustrated how happy we've all been on the voyage.

The solution was to take a bit of time by ourselves and cool off. And by cool off, I mean physically-it's freaking hot out here (with morning air temps in the shade starting at 30 C and the water running at 27 C). Finding a cool space of your own isn't as tough as you might think--and didn't require anyone to go swimming. Generally we sit around the settee chatting, reading, eating or watching Maia play. Or we hangout in the cockpit chatting, reading, trimming sails or watching Maia play. But yesterday I hunkered down on the roof in the shade of a sail and then Maia headed up to the nets and played in her own personal water park for a while before returning to the cabin and asking for the 1000th time, "Are we at the Equator yet?"

We will cross the equator today (as will four of the boats we left with--which is super cool, sadly we'll all be 60+ miles apart so there won't be a big party, or yoga class...). But crossing the equator means we'll sail from the northern hemisphere into the southern (where maybe it will be cooler--seems how winter is coming down there...). I suggested Maia pump the head (toilet) as we cross, just to see if the coriolis effect is strong enough to set the water swirling the other way, but she's opted to plan a ceremony for Poseidon that includes stopping the boat for a swim (a slightly interesting prospect now that we're scooting along at 5-7 knots in a really large southern swell), dressing up, making an offering to Poseidon and drinking champagne.

Transitioning from Pollywog to Shellback at the equator is a pretty old tradition. And usually it's up to the Shellbacks aboard (experienced Ocean crossing sailors) to initiate the Pollywogs with tricks and torments. But seems how we're still a boat load of Pollywogs and we're all going to become Shellbacks together--we're opting for a friendlier initiation. One that includes gifts, a nice dinner and maybe something chocolate.

While we wait for the equator (we'll cross this afternoon)--we're taking advantage of the calmer seas (and power/water-making sunshine) to catch-up on laundry (we did one load last week). We don't wear much while out--Maia and I favour cotton PJ's while Ev leans towards his typical shorts and t-shirts. But daily showers mean our towels are piling up. So the 5-gallon buckets are full in the cockpit and I'm hoping some of the sloshing caused by the swell will do the work of scrubbing. It's the drying that's the trick though--we use lifelines as clotheslines but if we move faster than 7 knots things can get mighty wet out there--and dousing clean clothes in salt water sort of defeats the whole effort.

All is well aboard Ceilydh though. Maia's attention is equally split between our equator crossing celebration and getting the details out to the Easter Bunny about where to find her (she's hoping those who are further east might put in a word for her). Ev is enjoying a problem free sail and I'm turning my head back to work. It seems the assignment fairy can, and did, find me at sea and I have several deadlines waiting to greet me in Hiva Oa.

Yesterday was our slowest day yet: 126 miles. But we've come 1900 miles in <13 days, so we're not going to complain, especially because we just heard of someone who's been out for >30 days...
N 00 10 W 127 00
Update--couldn't get a connection this AM. but as of noon local time and 19:00 UTC our position was:
00 00 000 W 127 06
*note to Barb and Michael: Ev says that equator crossings are celebrated just like birthdays are. And be sure to pull in your fishing lines before stopping to celebrate. Just saying...

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 12: Blue Water, Lazy Sailors

The SE trades aren't steady yet--they still come and go and last night we were becalmed for hours and decided to motor. When the wind does blow it comes at 10 knots from just forward of abeam--just enough to move us at 6-7 knots on a close reach along our rhumb line. The overcast that marked much of our trip (until it was replaced by squall lines) has been replaced again by a bright blue sky and lines of puffy white clouds. The seas are a bit of a jumble--swell from two directions with wind waves from a third--but the sailing is sublime.

We've finally tacked the sails and are on a port tack now. We haven't done much with the sails really--we've furled the Genoa now and again and reefed the main, but we've moved steadily and quickly enough that we've not bothered at all with the spinnaker. I think we're all embracing simplicity and sloth out here. After chores and school we spend the day reading, or reading to each other (I'm reading Maia the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Ev's reading her the Hobbit) and for a while yesterday we blasted music through the outside speakers and danced crazily in the bounce. Once we were spent we resumed staring at the sea (we recently saw a bottle with a message in it float by but couldn't quite pull it together quickly enough to rescue it).

Our fishing gear seems to also be taking it easy--we lost the gaff overboard and stopped throwing out lines until we came up with an improvise. But now they're back out, nothing has shown interest in biting. I have mixed feelings about this--I'd love some of the fresh tuna we've been hearing about (seared and crusted with sesame seeds...) but I sort of just want it to show up--filleted and ready to serve.

My Internet twitch is gone--I guess I'm through the throws of withdrawal. In fact I think my withdrawal now will come when we see land. I can almost understand the choice Bernard M. made when he sailed on, ignoring the finish line at the end of first round the world race. I think it must be something about the water--so blue I can lose myself in it, so remote I wonder if anyone ever before has been at this exact place on the earth, so deep it has room for all my thoughts.

In our turbulant wake I see flying fish skirting the blue waves before crashing into sunlit froth. And then our wakes settles and there is no one left so see or hear the ocean. We leave everything behind.

A third slow day--yesterday we came just 140 miles.
We're currently just over 1000 miles from land so if you haven't placed your bet on our arrival time in Hiva Oa--do it soon!
N 02 12
W 125 40

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 11: The Family Edition

Well--it looks liked we punched through the ITCZ last night and this morning we're scooting along under a clear sky in the SE trades. The world looks like it's been through a good rain--which it has--and the humidity hasn't built yet so the morning feels fresh and clean.

Yesterday we had two reminders about how vulnerable we are out here. We had a line the holds our lazy jacks and stack pack up break at spreader level (this is the cover that holds our mainsail when we reef it). We were between squalls and it seemed calm enough at deck level so Ev decided to get it fixed and I hoisted him up the mast. Calm at deck level looks very different when you are 35' aloft, and as he tried to tie the broken line back to the assembly he began a free-swing--crashing him against the mast. We got him down with no more than a few bruises (& he managed the repair) but shortly later we heard from Blue Moon that Rob had been badly stung by a Portuguese Man of War jelly fish and had a severe reaction that they had difficulty getting under control. Rob too ended up fine. But these are the moments that can go any which way--and that remind us of the risks we take.

I was thinking you might be getting a bit sick of only hearing from me--so I asked both Maia and Evan to write something to celebrate our halfway day. So here you go:

Hi everybody! Maia here. We're half way there! Whoo hoo! I'm dancing with joy! We're half way across the biggest ocean known to mankind! THE SOUTH PACIFIC! Poseidon favors us. Not a sea monster in sight. Oh darn it all, a sea monster just poked it's big, ugly, head up. All right, all right, settle down, false alarm. I thought I'd take this as a opportunity to tell parents . . . IF YOU'RE DOING THIS, BUY GIFTS FOR YOUR CHILDREN! Buy 1 for your half way mark, 1 for equator and 1 for . . . LANDFALL IN PARADISE! I know, I know, I'm rather excited but . . . WE'RE CROSSING AN OCEAN PEOPLE IT'S A BIG DEAL! I know some of you have had questions about day to day life soooooo . . . . . HERE'S YOUR ANSWERS SO BE QUIET AND DON'T COMPLAIN! Here are some of my daily activities:

Taking a shower, discovering that the water's cold and then screaming.
Dreaming up new plots to get out of school work.
Trying to convince my dad to eat Play Do.
Dancing in the rain.
Now dear reader I think my dear mother is going to take over this blog post so . . . . . so long for now!

Hmm, go for a nap and this is what I wake to... You should see what we get when she gets a math assignment...

Maia's other activities include collecting up the morning's crop of suicidal flying fish and squid (she's returned 49 fish and 7 squid to the deep...)
Chatting on the kid's net first thing in the am...
Helping with chores and cooking—food is a highlight of our days.
Learning French by podcast with her parents
Listening to podcasts (Radiolab, Quirks and Quarks, The Vinyl Cafe and TED talks make for good family discussions)
Reading
Doing art

Evan here. Finally I get a chance to write. Here's my list of what broke so far:

- the "dripless" shaft seal leaked water in first 2 days seas. Maybe it needs to be re-broken in after our engine re-alignment. Hasn't leaked for days now however

- autopilot drive unit plastic end cap broke. Vince do you know anything about these? We have 2 spares from other pilots so don't need to fix just yet

- the U-bolt that secures the outboard motor lifting tackle fractured. Fixed with a Spectra lashing to nearby traveler track

- roller furler lower socket head cap screws nearly backed themselves out, even though riggers in SF had taped over them. Got to them in time so no drama.

- the extra long 1/4" bolt that secures the rudder head to the boat sheared off. Replaced with a spare I had just bought in PV :) I'll put in bigger bolts when we are not moving

- there was water in the engine crankcase. Probably from the exhaust system during our first 2 days of rough sailing. Changed the engine oil a few times and I hope no damage. I will have to fit an exhaust system shut off valve in F.Polynesia

- the rudder 'anti-clunk' fiberglass bracket popped off on one side. Other side had recently failed too but was re-glued in La Cruz. Again, it can wait for calm conditions to re-glue it on.

How about some lessons learned?
check weatherfax and saildocs forecasts beforehand when you have a fast internet connection, not at sea
hose test all hatches before leaving
have backups for your autopilot
pre-mark your reefing lines
have earplugs and sleeping mask for off watch
be flexible in your watch schedules if somebody is getting tired

We did all this; except hose testing a hatch which leaked a fair bit of seawater in rough seas (the hatch was under wave splashes a lot)

So yesterdays run was a slow one as well--150 miles with an hour or so of motoring through a calm. Now we're in the SE trades (which are fairly light still) we're making a good 7 knots.
N 03 46 W 124 38 heading 225-230T

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 10: Halfway There

We're headed due south across the ITCZ. We hadn't expected to turn south yet--our plan had been to continue to skirt the edge of the zone, moving southwest, then make a dash across it when conditions looked good. But the ITCZ had a different plan and moved itself north over top us, so considering we were already in it, it made sense to start south.

Last night, as the sun set, and we finished up dinner (pasta with lots of fresh tomatoes that were well on their way to becoming overripe tomatoes) we were surrounded by squalls. It felt like a game of pig in the middle: we had clear circle of sky above us but grey storm clouds menaced us from 360 degrees. After putting all our electronics into the oven (a low-tech Faraday cage) I went to bed knowing we had a long night of dodge squall in our future.

I woke a few hours later and found Evan outside--simply standing in the breeze. Above us the moon was full and the sky was clear--ahead the Southern Cross burned clean and bright, astern the only constellation visible in the moon-bright sky was the Big Dipper. The waves were smooth and glowing, and the wind was warm when Evan slipped his arm around me. I stood for a bit, leaning against him, recalling other moonlit passages and other sightings of the Southern Cross. We whispered about the beauty as we sped along in flat seas and light wind, "But where did the ITCZ go?" I asked. Evan shrugged. It was enough that it was gone and we had the gorgeous night.

This morning we have squalls all around us again. It's as though the clear night never happened. But we're still sailing at over 6 knots in so little wind the waves barely ripple. It's lovely and gentle out here. I imagine we have a few more squalls in our future--the ITCZ tends to be a few hundred miles wide and we're clearly not done yet. But after yesterday's rains the boat is cleaner than it's been in a year. I'm glad I never bothered scrubbing it too much before we left.

We've come over 1480 miles now and are more than halfway. We gave Maia a little halfway gift of glitter and neon pens and she's busy making charts so the Easter Bunny can find her this weekend. our fruits and veggies are still going strong-but I tossed the last avocado and some of our oranges have gone bad. Yesterday's run (as we dodged squalls and went through calms) was only 140 miles.
N 6 14 W 124 08

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 9: The Ocean is So Big

Last night Whatcha Gonna Do didn't check into the net. Kris on S/V Britannia called for them several times. When it came time to end the net and shut off the radio we were reluctant to do so. Not checking in is something like not showing up for a dinner party--there can be endless straightforward reasons for it to happen, but it's still a worry.

So all through the night I worried. As the wind rose and fell and thunder squalls moved toward us--dumping the most rain we've seen since...I'm not sure when we last saw rain--I pondered what might have kept them from checking in. I knew the weather was benign and assumed that like S/V Totem last year they simply had radio problems. I also know they have a SAT phone--so if they did have an emergency I knew they could call for help. So as the squalls moved away--sucking our wind and leaving us bobbing--I convinced myself all was fine and we'd just need to find a way to communicate. When my watches ended I slept--fitfully.

"The ocean is so big, my boat is so small." I've always loved this quote (or approximate quote...)--but as this passage continues the words shift and change meaning. This morning as we waited for the morning net--and tried unsuccessfully to download email (just incase WGD had sent us a message)--I realized that in many ways WGD's connection to the outside world is stronger than their connection to us. If you haven't been reading their blog you'll find it in the links at the side of ours--and if you read it, you'll know more about how their passage is progressing than we do--despite the fact we are in the same neighbourhood, so to speak.

The ocean between our boats is more vast than the hundred or so miles that separates us. And the life aboard each boat is a contained universe. We each have our routines: watches, school work, boat chores, meals... And the moments when we intersect are limited--occurring over scratchy radio nets where we give our positions, our weather and a brief description of how we are, before our voices are swallowed up by background noise.

But knowing that each boat is safe--and relatively near--is oddly reassuring. And when Michael's voice came over the radio this morning and he explained they had changed their clocks aboard and missed the net by an hour while changing headsails the ocean briefly grew smaller.

We are as far from land as we'll ever be right now. And the technology that keeps us connected is fragile. But this morning the sky is blue and the sun has the white tropical brightness to it that you only find as you near the equator. The seas are gentle and rolling, the thunderstorms have receded and all the boats in our little fleet are happy and well. We are turning childhood dreams and school geography lessons into life--an imperfect thing: filled with moments that scare us, ones that tire us and many that leave us in awe.

Yesterday's run was 150 miles and we've come over 1340 miles. We'll hit our halfway mark at some point tonight and turn south to cross the ITCZ and equator in the next few days.
N 8 36 W 124

Hi Folks, Evan the guest blogger here. First off, thanks to all who wrote with birthday greetings, letters, etc. I don't have enough email time to answer individually right away, but I appreciate each and every one. We ended the day with steak, sautéed shrooms (portobello mushrooms keep really well), salad, baked potatoes, red wine and Giardelli brownies. Mmm. My last memorable birthday at sea was my 30th, as we sailed past Acapulco on our last boat`in the moonlight. This one was better!

Here's a recap of the passage so far from my perspective: it's been going great. 1st 2 days were rough enough that I had to take seasickness meds (3rd time in 2 years) but after that the sailing has been easy. Our boat continues to impress me with how easy she is to keep speeding along. Even in the <10 knots wind we have today, we still see 5 or 6 knots downwind. That's good for a loaded cruising boat. I haven't been tempted to use a spinnaker because Ceilydh keeps on moving so well. Frankly I could push the boat faster and harder but why bother - it just gets noisy surfing at 10+ knots all the time when the wind is up. In the next day or 2 we will hit the ITCZ and it looks like`it might be fairly thin to get through. Our last time in the ITCZ was Panama/Costa Rica where it is much wider and parallels the coast more - the lightning went on for days and we even had water spouts.

I could get used to this passage making stuff. I think weather and sea condition wise we hit it good this year (though when boats nearby are complaining about the bumpiness that we don't feel we think some of it is because we're a cat).

Best to you all

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 8: Evan's Birthday!

If we had left as planned back in March, Ev's 45th birthday would be celebrated on a South Pacific beach--fruity rum drink in hand--cake shared with a crowd. We have invited the other nearby boats over for cake tonight--but oddly enough I think we're on our own. Something about 8' seas, squally winds, and trying to get someplace were the excuses.

We're sailing toward a bank of dark clouds and during the night we saw our first lightening. We were hoping not to be seeing signs of the Inter Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) so soon--but this squally patch of weather that distinguishes the change from the northern hemisphere to the southern pretty much does it's own thing. All we can do is watch the weather maps and do our best to pick our way through the squalls and doldrums (and hopefully come out on the other side in the Southern Trades...)

Unless of course the Southern Trades also went 'poof'...

Despite the change in the weather the boat is still moving quickly and comfortably. Yesterday much of the day was sunny and it actually started to feel like we were heading south (it's been almost too chilly to shower in the cockpit). I guess we're still in the honeymoon stage of our journey. None of us are bored. We're all getting lots of sleep. Our veggies are going strong--although we've eaten the last of the green beans and asparagus...

Evan's even started to research our destination. Yesterday he worked on a spreadsheet--trying to decide how many days and weeks we can spend in each location before the season will force us to move on. I'm not at that stage yet though. I'm still here--in the ocean, contemplating which meals to make, planning how to celebrate Ev's birthday, our halfway day, Easter, and the equator. There's still so far to go and so much to experience out here. I'm not ready for land yet.

As far as birthdays go I actually think celebrating a mid-life birthday halfway to the South Pacific might not be half bad. If a birthday is a chance to gage how life is going--ours is going well. The boat is performing better than Evan hoped (and is more comfortable than I had hoped). Maia is a wonderful crew and our family is a comfortable, happy team. There is part of me that would have loved to have thrown Evan a bigger birthday celebration--one that acknowledges all the years that went into getting us out here. Especially the ones when Maia was wee, and I was busy with her and my career and he put in so many long cold hours on the boat alone. But then again--maybe this is the best way to celebrate him, our family, and our goals--at least it should be memorable.

Tonight I'm planning special (aged!!) steaks (if you've ever bought meat in Mexico, you'll understand my glee) baked potatoes and our last big green salad. Depending on conditions we may even indulge in a glass of wine.
So I hope you'll join me in toasting him--out here in the ocean, living a dream.

N 9 39 W 122 03 Yesterday's run was 153 miles and we're averaging 6.6 knots

PS--we're over our transmission limit for email today--so while I'm longing to write personal responses to all the fantastic emails we're getting they will have to wait a day or two. Keep the emails coming though--we love them and they make our day.

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Sail to the South Pacific-Day 7: 1000+ miles...

Dawn was dreary. We haven't had a single spectacular sunset or sunrise since leaving--and certainly no green flash. And we've seen so little sun that our battery banks didn't have enough juice in them yesterday for Maia to participate in the kid's SSB net unless we charged them with the engine. So Evan tried to start the main engine.
Nothing.
Switched to the starting battery. More nothing.
We are a sailboat but our engine is pretty vital. It moves us, gives us power and adds a measure of safety. Having it not work is a bit of a worry. We have a secondary motor--but the outboard really is just for maneuvering. It has a really small alternator and it's pretty vulnerable in big seas. But we started it anyway--in the hope it would charge the batteries enough that we could start the main engine.
Meanwhile Evan started diagnosing the diesel. I stood ready--throttling up and down, starting and stopping while he did black magic stuff in the engine compartment. While he called out instructions I watched our progress--noticing the way the grey waves lifted us toward the grey sky, and the way they peaked to a brilliant, gleaming glacial-blue right before bubbling into snowy froth. I marvelled how we slipped down their face--at times disturbing huge flocks of iridescent flying fish into unlikely seeming flight. Then I would crank the engine again.
Eventually the engine caught--stayed caught--seemed all better--until alarms started to ring. It's been a few days since alarms rang. So we had to hunt down the source.
Oil pressure.
Evan had looked for water in the engine and hadn't seen signs, but now they were obvious. It must have come in through the exhaust during the rough first day. I switched off the engine and back into the engine compartment he went. Changing the oil, once then twice, with a third planned soon. Then we had the smooth rumble of a motor and together with the brief sun we charged our batteries.
We've turned south. The NE trades are too far west and we need to start toward the equator. The Genoa is poled out to one side. The main is prevented on the other. It's called wing-on-wing. If you were astern of us we'd look like an ungainly bird--hurtling down steep waves. Relying on our wide base to keep us straight. For four hours we averaged over 9 knots.
It's a comfortable motion--somewhere between a child's roller-coaster and a hilly country road. It sounds of surf. Spray soaks our decks.
We've come over 1000 miles and we're about as far from land as we'll ever get. It feels like I can go anywhere I've ever wanted to and I guess really, I am. I was five when I saw a boat that had recently arrived in Comox from Hawaii and I realized that little sailboats could cross oceans. I made a pledge then that someday I would cross an ocean of my own.

It's as magical as I ever dreamed.
N 11 35 W 120 22

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Sail to the south Pacific-Day 6: Safety Net

Last night Evan caught sight of a boat. It was lit up like a fishing boat but seemed to be drifting slowly along. Though the wind had dropped, the seas were still sub-alpine--but the bright moon made the whole scene seem friendly. He pondered the boat on radar and wondered if someone in our mini-fleet had pulled ahead during the day's high winds. When he called out on the VHF he discovered it was a sailboat on it's way to the South Pacific, but it was one we hadn't heard of yet. Passing within two-miles we wondered at the odds of encountering another boat out here...

One of the questions people (parents) frequently ask us is if we are buddy boating across the Pacific. 'Safety in numbers,' is the thought people have,'It's good to have someone nearby--just in case'.
The fact we left La Cruz with such a large fleet was a lovely fluke--it's an amazing thing to know that in our little 100-mile patch of the sea there are about seven boats, all heading the same direction. But we're all moving at different speeds and each handle the conditions in a different way and at this point we're probably a few hours sail from our closest neighbour.
We do still give each other an element of comfort--and our twice-daily informal radio nets (we haven't joined the main nets because the two-week gap in departures means there are no boats mid-fleet to pass on relays) give us the chance to give our positions, compare weather notes, ponder mechanical problems and crack a few jokes.
Essentially though we are on our own. And other than last night, we haven't had visual contact with another boat since the day after leaving. And even our VHF range (which allows us to talk when we like and not on a pre-arranged schedule) is only good up to 20-25 miles (at best).

The thing is--there really are no safety nets out here. It's up to each boat to plan for its own wellbeing. We have to assume that if something goes wrong there is no one who can come help. Every boat is its own little universe. And while we'd go help any boat that needs assistance--we really prefer knowing that we're out here with a bunch of smart, well-prepared people who won't need rescuing, because rescues can really mess up cruises.

But if you are our parents, and you're reading this, of course we're buddy boating.

Had a fantastically fast run of 178 miles yesterday--which is a new record for us. Won't be anywhere near that quick today because the wind dropped last night. Still haven't hit the NE trades and wondering if we ever will. We're not to concerned though. Conditions continue to be lovely.

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