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Note: There are no pictures in this story because when I fell on my head in the sea ( see Galapagos ) I smacked the camera on a rock and could not revive it. Adrian’s camera was in his computer bag. We have no camera until we get to the Marquesas and I get the package my Mom has sent me with the new camera.
It’s a good story nevertheless.
VOYAGE TO THE MARQUESAS
March 26 – April 13, 2010
On Friday at 4 pm we were ready to leave for the longest leg of the journey around the world. As we were leaving the cloud covered peaks, green hills, and craggy coastline Adrian sighed and said he was leaving a part of him behind ( see Galapagos ). There is an old fisherman superstition about leaving port on a Friday being a bad omen so we will see how much of that myth is true.
This first day was sailing at 18 knts, off the beam, and gliding through the water at 8 knts. It was a lovely sunset with a few clouds to reflect the oranges, pinks, and purples. We had to motor during the night and the 3/4 moon set on my watch. It sunk below the horizon as a pomegranate ball glowing off the calm sea. By the time my watch was finished at 6am the sun had peeked over the horizon as a deep blood orange ball promising a day full of surprises.
This second day started to cloud up creating great winds and once again we were sailing off the beam in 15 knts of breeze. In the afternoon I saw one of the days surprises. Off the stern there appeared a square rainbow ( yes, square ) with all the usual colours but with the addition of vertical streaks in it. Dean and I tried to figure out how that could happen. Later as the sky continued to cloud we saw another surprise. Again to our stern there were two rainbows that looked like stalagmites sitting on the horizon twisting their coloured bands to a pointed top. The twins were very vivid and you could see the colours circling each other like DNA strands very distinctly.
Rally control felt that what Jimmy Cornell had to say about the route was worth our reading. Jimmy says to stay out of the rectangle of imminent turmoil and gives coordinates. Adrian had plotted the coordinates and we try our best to avoid the area. Everyone is in the thick of the rectangle because of the prevailing winds and currents. Most of the rally is several days ahead of us so it is useful information to help us plan our strategy. Blue Magic said they spent the night in a “carwash” and most people agreed. These boats are hundreds of miles apart and in the same “carwash”. There is no way for us to avoid entering the area so I drag out my foul weather gear and prepare for the worst. At 6 am I had had a dry night and when I was going off watch Adrian commented on how lovely the sunrise was progressing. I laughed and told him not to look forward or he would see the ugly squall that was ready to pounce on us. By the time I got up at 9:30 am the sky was sunny and breezy, the cushions soaking wet and Adrian looked as miserable as a wet puppy. The rest of the day was 16 knts of wind and we are clipping along at 7.5 knts on a beautiful, dolphin racing day.
Day 4 was quite interesting or should I say the night watch was interesting. It was the first night since we left port that we left up the bimini. There was no starry, Milky Way sky and the full moon was glowing behind a solid layer of clouds. It was the first night that I did not come on duty with a jacket; it was warm and balmy. It was the first night I needed specialty equipment for my watch….rubber gloves. My nose was assaulted by a strong fishy smell and I would soon learn we were being pelted by flying fish. I needed my flashlight to see the little critters flopping around the boat. Coming around the wheel to fish ( pun intended ) one small guy off the sole I put my hand on the seat and immediately encountered two slimy, slithering, scale shedding, much larger bodies. It startled me and Adrian thought it was funny….I didn’t because you cannot get the smell off your hands. Adrian also did not find it funny when he woke up and “a stiff one” was in bed with him. There was a slimy, smelly mess all over his bedding.
Hence the rubber gloves for the duration of my watch.
I was warned about the rising wind. It was blowing 16 knts and when it rose to 22 knts I was to get Dean out of bed and help me roll in the genoa. The boat has too much load on the lines for me to do it by myself. The first hour of my watch was spent trying to drink my tea and chase flying fish around the cockpit. At some point the moon peeked out of the clouds and I took notice of my surroundings. Behind me was a glowing streaked sky; in front of me was solid darkness. It had a distinct edge and as the clouds billowed up higher and higher it blotted out the moon creating a bright outline. Oh, Oh, I ran below deck and grabbed my sailing gloves, foul weather coat, and a towel. As the storm was maturing it sucked the energy out of the wind and it dropped to 10 knts. It kept building an inky darkness and soon you could make out the outer edges, port and starboard. It was like a black hole sucking up energy and condensing into a towering monolith. The sides began to move towards each other as the tower rose. The wind has dropped to 5 knts and is fluky, the wind direction needle going completely around the dial. Our speed dropped to 3 knts and you lose most of the control of the boat. I felt like the Britons of the 11th century watching the Scots organize for the attack. My stomach tied up in knots waiting to hear the soulful whine of the bagpipes and the beginning of the end. We’re listlessly floating and I am driving the boat trying to escape to the right edge of the storm. I don’t have enough wind and it’s coming from every direction but I have to try. I just can’t sit and wait. The only sound is the clicking of metal as I clip my harness to the boat so I am not thrown overboard. The water is gurgling around the hull, and there is a thick stillness to the air. I am afraid to move. Now I feel like the submarines of WW II sitting, not making a sound, listening to the sonar and the enemy ship passing overhead. The storm is now towering over the mast and has now twisted in the upper atmosphere and is forming a ‘V’. The rain is slamming into the sea and you cannot make out the horizon. Thankfully I have managed to get far enough west to skirt the drenching rain and the howling, sail-shredding, gusts of wind that accompany it.
As the storm passed to port the wind went back to 18 knts and we sailed along nicely the rest of the night. The rest of my watch is California rain – more of a heavy mist than the ‘carwash’ other yatchies have experienced. I woke Dean up 5 minutes early to deal with the diminishing wind and the slapping of the sails and went down to get my second half of sleep for the night. Adrian spent the night with another ‘stiff one’.
Today as I write this Dean is burning the edges of all the lines on the boat so they won’t unravel. Adrian is washing the sole of the cabin and every once in awhile I take my fan and give him the once over. Is this the good life or what?? I think I’ll make them a special lunch.
The days pass and nothing much changes. The wind goes from 8 knts and semi-sunny to 18 knts of torrential rains in a matter of minutes. Everything is wet; at least its fresh water and not sea water. Adrian looks like a wet cat and Dean looks like a Labrador Retriever. Hence Dean gets to sit all day in the rain and try to keep the sails from slapping. When we approached the west side of Jimmy Cornell’s coordinates it was like walking through a garage door; the rains completely disappeared and the sky had fluffy white clouds and lots of stars with a smiling 1/4 moon at night.
Easter Sunday was a glorious day of cool winds, calm seas, and lots of conversation on the SSB with the other yatchies. We had steak, fried potatoes, and chocolate bananas for dessert. That night in the light of the waxing moon there appeared to be popcorn popping up all over the surface of the sea. The tiniest flying fish would just shoot straight up out of the water about 4 feet with their scales glinting in the light.
Since we started the voyage we have kept a reef in the main to take pressure off of our genoa. We had it repaired by a shoemaker in the Galapagos and we cannot fault his craftsmanship. The repair does not conform to the shape of the sail and the leech is not intact. Now we really look like the old salts of yesteryear with the patches in the sail made out of flour sacks. On day 11, with not much wind, Dean noticed we have torn the genoa – not on the repair but below it. Adrian figures that the leech is not doing its job of stabilizing the sail. Down it comes and up goes the much smaller staysail. The winds continue to diminish and we decide it is time to take Damian out of his bag and do his job. We call the cruising chute Damian because it is the devil’s work and it finds ways of putting your life in danger. I’m at the wheel, Adrian and Dean have checked and rechecked all the lines and shackles, and it is time to turn into the wind to hoist the devil. As I start my turn we have 5 knts of wind. 10 seconds later we have 22 knts of apparent wind and with no forward motion. Adrian and Dean are begging me to turn down wind. I gun the engine but before I can complete the turn the bow slams into the waves. Huge green water waves tower over Adrian crashing to the deck to drench the boys. Buckets of water have rushed down the hatch once again flooding Adrian’s berth.
We spend the rest of the day drying out and deciding what to do about our slow speed.
Day 13 and Dean has spent 14 hours repairing the genoa because we are not going to let Damian out of its bag. The winds are 6 knts; we still have a reef in the main for stability. It is slow going but at least Dean has a smoother ride for his sewing. It’s disheartening going so slow and when we put up the repaired genoa there was not enough wind to fill it. So at first light Damien was let out of the bag and went up with good behaviour…not so good coming down. We had lots of commotion on deck with the sun setting off our bow.
We have not seen a single ship since 12 hours out of Galapagos but on day 17 that was about to change. Just as I was coming up on deck, at 6am, Adrian flew down the companionway and turned on the SSB radio. He had been tracking a huge cargo ship and they were going to run straight into us. The whole ocean and this ship was going to T-bone us! He hailed the Japanese commercial carrier who told us in the poorest English ever that he couldn’t see us on radar. Radar? Just look out the friggin window! To which they said “Do you have on your AIS?” AIS is the newest technology in radar and classify traffic as to name, size, destination, and home port along with any other information like speed and course. Adrian has decided that he is going to have to get one and get into the 21st century. Just goes to prove that someone needs to be on deck ( and awake ) 24 hours a day.
It’s been surprising that we have not seen any whales, porpoises, turtles, or jellyfish. The rock-n-rollin has not been conducive to catching any fish. What we have seen are all different types of flying fish and 2,000 miles from any landmass are birds. The larger flying fish can zoom over the water for long distances and use their tails for rudders.
During the night of day 18 I was on duty and had a large rock island on radar. There was no moon and it was a little scary just motoring away at 6 knts into the inky darkness. The horizon begins to come visible at 5 am and to my port is a landmass. We have reached the Marquesas and the island of Fatu Hiva. As the details of the island’s mountains began to emerge out of the mist I became mesmerized.
I didn’t see the sun rise out of the horizon until it was shining onto the green carpet of the cliffs.
Was it the most beautiful island I have ever seen or have I been out to sea for too long?
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