Time Flies

The moon has been shining full over our heads for the last few days, and with it came the promise of crossing the equator. We passed this major "landmark" on Wednesday night, May 18th, at about 9:30. What day is it now? Hmm. I guess the days are more difficult to keep track of when your sleep is divided into three hour stints and scattered throughout the day and night.

Although our days have been passing quickly, and they may in some cases seem to merge into one, they are neither constant nor boring. A look at the ship's log shows that conditions have often changed with each new watch. We have been sailing through multiple transition zones since leaving the doldrums. Winds, current, and swell are all affected. I think we have even seen more squalls now than we had throughout our sail through the doldrums. The squalls develop quickly and send giant sideways raindrops. Sometimes, they bring welcome relief from the hot equatorial sun and weak breezes. Another plus is that now everything has been scoured clean by those rains! I guess we had picked up quite an accumulation of grime while sitting under the Coronado Bridge in San Diego for all those years.

The last few days since crossing the equator have been frustrating. We have been hand steering in light winds, with moderate-sized mixed swell, trying to make progress in a direction that is as close to dead downwind as possible. This is not a direction that our sails are optimized for yet. And the swell pushes us off course, constantly threatening to make us jibe (not a good thing to do if you're not prepared). The big colorful spinnaker sail flying at the front of the boat helps to stabilize our heading further downwind, but frequent squalls prevented us from using it. After hours of fighting the elements, we finally gave up. We took down our sails, lashed the tiller in place, and scurried below to rest for the night. This strategy had mixed results. We were no longer fighting an inane (and futile) battle with the tiller, but calling what we did resting is rather optimistic really. Can one truly rest while riding a whirly-twirly theme park ride? I cannot.

As frustrating as the last few days have been, the last 12 hours has thankfully been very consistent and comfortable. We are sailing slightly into the wind, with the sails balancing the steering nicely, and our speed is closing in on 7 knots in exactly the direction we want! We're less than 400 nautical miles from Hiva Oa now which, at this rate, we could reach in just a few days! Have we really been doing this for almost a month now? Gosh. Time does fly.

Our current position is S 05° 18.8'; W 134° 43.4'.

Position Update

First off, I apologize for anyone who has tried to email us through our "At Sea" email address. We have not been able to retrieve those messages, so we will get them when we make landfall.
We are now on our 19th day out of San Diego, and are positioned at 4° 55' N, 130° 40' W. This is about 350nm north of the equator, and right in the middle of the doldrums. We have been experiencing the expected light winds and big squalls for a couple of days now. This is where the radar really shines. During the daylight hours we can see the storms coming. At night we use the radar to pinpoint the location and intensity of the squalls miles before they get to us, so we can either attempt to avoid them or else prepare to ride them out.
Last night the autopilot died, so we are hand-steering the rest of the way to Hiva Oa. This is a big pain, but we have the sails balanced so that the physical effort is not that bad. But it does require round-the-clock attention to keep us on course.
On the radio net tonight we heard from several other boats, all closer to landfall than us. They are all experiencing very light to calm winds even outside of the doldrums. We will probably take a little longer to make Hiva Oa than our original estimate of a May 24 or 25 arrival if these conditions persist.

The Cheshire Moon

The moon has been scarce so far on this trip. The nights have treated us to a brilliant view of the milky way, shimmering bioluminescence, and a light show of shooting stars. I have lost count of how many wishes I've made on those now. Recently, the moon has appeared as a thin orange smile on the western horizon, setting soon after the sun. I found myself mesmerized by its motion in the rigging. It seemed playful and fun. The next night, Glenn asked me to hand steer for a while so that he could move some components of the autopilot around. I steered by the moon while it stayed, and then steered by the stars once it had gone.

Last night, the moon was hiding behind clouds, peeking a mischievous grin at us every once in a while. As we approach the doldrums, that smile will last longer and get wider, much like the grin of the Cheshire Cat. The doldrums are a notorious region in the Pacific Ocean, just north of the equator, where the weather can be rather unsettled. Mostly, there's just no wind. But, sometimes… there's too much wind all of a sudden. Glenn has been tracking the location and conditions of this area through large-scale weather report images that we get through our single sideband radio. We altered our course a couple of days ago so that we headed more west because the worst section of the doldrums seems to be occurring to the east (N10° W110°). We went back on a starboard tack, with 15-20 knot winds moving us along at 4.5 - 5.5 knots, west-southwest (260°).

This morning, we decided to make a break for the doldrums before the system that has been developing in the east shifts this far west. Our current position is N13° 18.5'; W126° 43.3'. We are motor sailing 6 knots to the south-southwest (205°). Winds are currently too light for us to make much speed in our intended direction without the motor, but tomorrow should give us better conditions for just sailing.

We are looking forward to sailing under a full moon over the equator in less than a week! Now, there's a happy thought!

Weather Girl

Listening to the weather report on the VHF radio used to be a stressful activity for me. That metallic voice, vaguely female, with her inflections out of sync with the rhythm of her speaking, would always inspire my heart to race. One of the first times I heard this report was during our sail from Friday Harbor to San Diego. We hit a patch of heavy weather off the coast of Oregon, and we were listening to the VHF to see how much longer this unpredicted weather was supposed to last. Bad news… more than a week of 40+ knot winds, seas building to 20 feet or more, and all the safe harbor entrances were closed due to severe wave conditions across the shallow sandbars at the mouths of the bays. I guess I took it personally. I decided I didn't like that weather girl.

Leaving San Diego, we listened to the VHF radio traffic so that we could avoid any activity by the Navy ships outside of the bay. Every once in a while, a woman from the Coast Guard would read off the marine weather forecast. This was a real woman reading the NOAA predictions, not a computer-generated voice. That was a nice change, except that this woman had obviously heard way too many VHF forecasts. The inflection errors were eerily similar to the electronc weather girl. I almost gave a laugh at the irony. "Small Craft Advisory," she said. I didn't laugh. I didn't like her either.

Glenn and I had been monitoring the weather forecasts for over a week. I don't remember anything about a small craft advisory as far south as San Diego and Guadalupe Island. We told ourselves that the advisory was probably aimed at the Channel Islands to the north. Surely, the weather would abate as we sailed further south. Well, that may have been the case, but the first few days out of the bay were a bit too boisterous for our bellies. All hands and paws on board were seasick within the first 24 hours.

Each of us seemed to respond differently to feeling seasick. Nemo's stragtegy was to bury his head in a pile of lifejackets at the very bow of the boat for a full day. I was doing okay until the seas got rough enough to dislodge Nemo's litter pan. I had been dealing with pots banging, drawers opening of their own accord, bags of pasta and bottles of shampoo on the floor… But, the litter pan sent me over the edge. I adopted Nemo's tactic. I laid down on leeward setee, threw the neareast blanket over my head, and didn't come out of my stupor for hours.

Glenn seemed confused by the onset of symptoms. Lethargy and weakness are not common feelings for him. But, then again, neither is seasickness. Luckily for us, his strategy for dealing with it was to stay outside in the wind, watching the horizon. At least one of us was watching!

On our trip down to San Diego, we had found that hard-boiled eggs were the best food to eat to help with seasickness. They are bland, filling, and easy to grab on your way out to the cockpit to watch the horizon. During the past week, apples were our primary food of choice. I had pre-made a bunch of meals, anticipating that I wouldn't feel like cooking, but I hadn't anticipated not feeling like eating at all!

I was the first of us to fully recover. I slowly picked up the rubble that had accumulated, and stopped the drawers from opening. I needed to make the area more kitty friendly before coaxing Nemo out of hiding. I also shoved a multitude of hand towels and canvas bags into crevices throughout the boat to stop things from sliding, banging, and clinking. These noises were tiresome to us, but downright alarming to Nemo. I then set to work building a new "nest" for Nemo to hide in which was in the main cabin area where we could interact with him better. At first, his disapproval of the situation was palpable. But, he was easily bribed into civility and relative ease with some spoon-fed homemade applesauce and a black fleecey sweatshirt to lay on. I later upped the ante with a helping of his favorite dish - tuna and egg! Mmmm. Purr.

Glenn's malady was persistent until, at last, he was able to go below and sleep it off. He awoke hours later ravenous. After eating only apples and drinking water for three days, he needed food. What did he find? Not another hard-boiled egg, but spicy nuts with chile and lime seasoning, of course! Not my first choice, but it worked for him.

Now we are settling into a schedule of sorts. I'm baking breads and preparing real dinners. I have to take stock of our produce supply - we're almost out of apples now! But, neither of us seems too keen on eating the remaining couple of apples anyway.

Our current position is N17° 07.6'; W120° 50.7'. We're headed slightly west of south now (190 °) in calmer seas (southward swell of ~2 feet) with force 4 winds pushing us along at 5 knots. It's starting to feel a bit more tropical. The air temperature is about 80 °F and the water temperature is 71.9 °F. Humidity isn't too high yet (52%). The sky is partly cloudy. The barometer reads 1017 millibars. Now, this is the weather I approve of.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Summary Report 5/4/2011

First off, sorry for not sending regular progress reports to this blog. The first week out was a tough one, which I'll describe below. But first here is a sampling of our position reports:

Date Time Latitude Longitude
4/26 0700 32° 41.5' N 117° 09.7' W
4/27 0700 30° 32.8' N 118° 33.3' W
4/28 1222 29° 16.1' N 119° 06.2' W
4/30 0415 26° 13.3' N 119° 34.9' W
5/1 1715 23° 33.0' N 120° 34.1' W
5/2 0814 22° 23.4' N 120° 33.3' W
5/3 0826 20° 21.7' N 120° 25.5' W
5/4 1800 18° 40.6' N 120° 30.8' W

The last entry is where we are as of this posting. In plain English, we are ~875 nautical miles southwest of San Diego and about 1100 nm from the equator. After crossing the equator we will have another 850 miles or so to get to Hiva Oa, our first landfall. We expect it to take 11 days to get to the equator, then another week to Hiva Oa.

Summary of our sailing thus far:
We left San Diego Tuesday, April 27 under a small craft advisory for the inner waters, and a gale warning for the outer waters (30 - 60 mi). We did not encounter any gale force winds, but the seas were very lumpy. All hands onboard suffered from mal de mer (seasickness) for about two days. Nemo didn't eat for at least that long, poor guy. This was followed by a couple days of beam seas and wind that, while allowing us to sail pretty fast, were not very comfortable. Next followed several days of 6' - 12' seas that allowed us to practice our surfing. Winds were generally 15-25 knots. Then all of a sudden we sailed into relative calm, 10 knots or less. The pace slowed way down, allowing us to catch up on some things, including this blog. Right now it is beautiful, sunny, and warm with low swell.

Mechanical issues:
We have suffered from several problems that caused a lot of scrambling to address. First off, we had a halyard tangle up on the main mast that I had to go up and clear. The mast was rolling like a metronome, and I was quite happy to get my feet back on the deck. Next the radar failed. This unit is brand new, installed just two weeks prior to departure. I mentally composed several versions of a nasty email to Raymarine, the manufacturer. I was unhappy that we would have to sail all this way without what I consider an important safety device for avoiding ship traffic. Turns out that my installation was faulty. After adding a ground wire to one circuit it has worked flawlessly ever since.

As a side note, we have found AIS to be more useful for ship avoidance than radar. AIS is a system that is required on all commercial ships, whereby the ship's position, speed,and a bunch of other data is transmitted regularly by the ship itself. With this system you know exactly where the ship is, what direction it is going in, and its speed. Our onboard electronics pick this up and, knowing precisely where we are, computes how close we will get to the ship and when we will cross paths. Happily, we again have both AIS and radar.
We also have ongoing issues with the windvane (a mechanical self-steering device). After several days of intense work on it we have it mostly fixed. We need to talk with the manufacturer later to really dial it in for this boat. We also had the electric freshwater pump fail. We have spares, so all is well. Most recently we had a bout of water in the diesel fuel that we had to deal with. On the plus side, thus far the new watermaker has worked flawlessly.

Life onboard:
Overall, quality of life onboard has been good, with the exception of nearly exhausting ourselves addressing the various mechanical issues and a big lack of sleep. Last night after sailing all day in very light wind and Columbine rolling incessantly, we decided to motor through the night. We struck the sails and fired up the motor. I did a fuel tank check prior to motoring ahead and found the tank had leaked in a lot of water. Water in the fuel is the death of a diesel engine, so we immediately shut it off and went to work cleaning up the fuel system. By 2am this morning we had the engine running again, but neither of us was fit to drive. Since there wasn't another boat within 200 miles of us, we left the motor running to charge the batteries and both of us went to sleep while Columbine just drifted. Today we played with a new sail combination and it turned out to be perfect for these light conditions: cruising spinnaker up front, mizzen stays'l aft. No more rolling, easy to steer, and easy to strike if necessary.
We are finally in tropical waters, so we now live in shorts and tee shirts rather than the heavy foul weather gear we had been using up till now.

I will try to be more regular in updates now that things have settled into a better routine.

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The Moment

This is the moment that I will always remember - the moment we cast our mooring lines from the buoy that has been our symbolic tether to our fast-paced land-based lifestyle. Now we will start in a new direction with our lives - a direction chosen together - that combines our passions for the sea, our desire to live self-sufficiently, and our interest in learning about other cultures and traditional ways of life. This new life will be challenging on many levels, but we feel ready for it, and we're excited to see how the experience will either change or solidify our personal philosophies.

Our moment came in the afternoon of April 25, 2011. I had just returned from my final walk around Corondao, getting last-minute items from the hardware stores and the grocery store. Our rneighbors had been visitng all morning to send their good wishes with us. We even received the latest copy of the San Diego Log ( a free local boating magazine) from our neighbor who has been special delivering sailing publications to our boat since we arrived in the mooring area eight years ago. Another neighbor decided to help us mark the occasion with a special "Countdown to Cast-Off" which he broadcast to the mooring area on his boat's hailer as though we were on a NASA space shuttle mission.

When the moment seemed right, I cast off our leash and I raised my hands in the air, as much a celebratory gesture as it was a signal to Glenn that we were clear of the buoy. Glenn engaged the throttle on our engine, and it died. Less than a minute after we untied from our buoy, we were tied up to a different one. Glenn spent the afternoon troubleshooting the fuel delivery system on the engine before he narrowed down the problem. It turns out that the same part that caused us problems last year before we hauled out was plugged up again. This time, the exhaust was plugged instead of the water passage. We didn't bother cleaning it out this time. We had the parts for re-creating this system, using common fittings from a hardware store, which was suggested to us last year by another neighbor in the mooring area - a very resourceful cruising couple who are now visiting the Pacific Northwest. The new system works great! But, by the time we got the engine running again, the sun had set, and our energy was rapidly fading too.

We spent one more night in the mooring area, and left quietly in the morning before most of our neighbors were awake. This was our moment, without all the fanfare of the previous afternoon, but we carry with us the support and good wishes our neighbors have given us for so many years. Thanks to all of you!

Now, we have been sailing for six days. We have lots of catching up to do with sharing our story, and we're sure to post more in the next few days. Our current position is N 23° 20.6'; W 120° 33.5' with 20 knots of wind pushing us due south. We're averaging about 5 knots, and all is well on board!