January 5, 2019

Day 93

Noon Position: 46 25S  45 16E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 7-8

Wind(t/tws): NWxN 22

Sea(t/ft): W5, NW3

Sky: Partly sunny; high cumulus; front to the N

10ths Cloud Cover: 5

Bar(mb): 1015, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 44

Relative Humidity(%): 63

Sail: Working jib, two reefs; main, one reef, reaching

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 137

Miles since departure: 12,737

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Days since Cape Horn: 36

Miles since Cape Horn: 5,093

Avg. Miles/Day: 142

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 19

Longitude Miles Made Good (at Lat 46 30S): 137

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 112 33

A large low starts to arrive tonight; first thrust will be NW winds to 30-35 between midnight and dawn. Late tomorrow, it will clock into the W phase and just as we make the Crozets, still some 212 miles E.

Winds have been 20 – 24 from NWxN for several hours now, in which Mo is reaching under reefed canvas and happily pushing 8 knots. Much of the time, skies are clear, the water has taken on that sparkling sapphire blue. In the cabin, it’s an unprecedented 64 degrees as I type. And there’s hardly any sea to speak of. Am hoping that holds for the stronger, NW phase of this low as I’d like to keep heading due E as long as possible.

Some Virtual Voyagers have asked about what I eat when not eating Shepherd’s Pie. So, today, I made a short video that discusses the first major food group, coffee…

January 4, 2019

Day 92

Noon Position: 46 18S  41 57E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 5

Wind(t/tws): WxS 12

Sea(t/ft): W 8

Sky: Overcast

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1018+ (steady since 10am)

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 68

Sail: Twins poled out full.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 156 (Would have been higher, but moved clock forward one hour.)

Miles since departure: 12,600

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Days since Cape Horn: 4,955

Miles since Cape Horn: 142

Avg. Miles/Day: 35

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 45

Longitude Miles Made Good (at Lat 46 30S): 155

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 109 14

Ran all night on reefed twins in winds WxN 18 – 25. Slept nearly eight hours. Felt safe as houses such that I didn’t even set the alarm near my bunk in the early morning. Up for the last time at 6am only because there is *another* alarm in the pilot house used to remind me to make log entries. It goes off every two hours starting then and ending at 8pm. My equivalent of ship’s bells.

Basic chores today. A little work on Monte’s aft pinion bushing. Re-lash a turning block to the rail. A can of penetrating oil has rusted through and leaked its contents into the aft bilge; now cleaned. Clean the stove top. Hang foulies, a towel, three pairs of socks out to dry in the two hours of sun this afternoon; hurriedly pull them in when it starts to drizzle.

Time marches on. Our lovely westerly is tapering off and beginning to veer N, as per forecast, and we are entering that unsettled time between lows.

I have decided to go S of the Crozets, still some 320 miles further on. To go over the top would have turned them into a lee shore during the coming northerly. Now we are edging a bit N of their line so that when the wind hardens at about NNE tomorrow night, I can ease Mo a point and head for a waypoint just south of the islands. We should be well under them just as the next low reaches its westerly phase.

I feel uneasy here. As I type, seas are pitching every which way due to (my supposition) a contrary current caused by our passing over a rise on this plateau. Seas are small, sure, but they have a wild motion uncalled for by the wind. Water here is less than a thousand feet where the deeper average is more like ten-thousand. We will be in that deeper water as the next low arrives, and winds are forecast to be in the 30 – 35 range, but what will this current do to the sea-state then?

From Prince Edward Islands to well past Kerguelen feels like a danger zone, and I’m impatient to be past it.

Standing watch now. A squall. Drizzle. Winds are nearly ENE; still very light. The sails slap and bang as we roll. Almost time to down the twins and raise the main. But not quite yet…

January 3, 2019

Day 91

Noon Position: 46 18S 38 12E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 7

Wind(t/tws): WxN 16 – 23

Sea(t/ft): W 10

Sky: Overcast

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1018, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 43

Relative Humidity(%): 71

Sail: Twins poled out, three reefs

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 142

Miles since departure: 12,444

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Days since Cape Horn: 34

Miles since Cape Horn: 4,799

Avg. Miles/Day: 141

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 24

Longitude Miles Made Good (at Lat 46S): 141

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 105 29

Fast sailing with poled out twins as we ride the top of a low. Winds have been 15 – 25 all day (low 20s on average) with my only complaint being that they refuse to go due east, which Monte and I would find more convenient for course making. Seas are chaotic and are producing a stunningly rough ride. I can only imagine what it would be like here in a full gale, and I’m pushing to be off this plateau before the next one arrives.

Mo passed over the Prince Edward Island group at noon today, some 321 days after passing under the same group. That first passing occurred on February 15th of last year at 8 o’clock in the morning. Our course then was ENE at 7; winds were SW at 20; the bar stood at 1023; the sky was total overcast; the cabin temperature, 50 and the sea, 38. My note in the log: “Big increase in bird life. Must be 100 birds; prions, white chinned, wanderers all buzzing around Mo.”

I wonder how many sailors have sailed by the these islands twice in one year on two different circumnavigation attempts.

Prince Edward Islands:

-Two, both small: the larger is Marion, the smaller is Prince Edward.

-Discovered by the Dutch in 1663 but placed at 41S rather than 46S; so, no subsequent Dutch sailors could find it.

-Discovered again in 1772 by Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne, who thought he’d found Antarctica (as yet undiscovered).

-Cook passed by in 1777, and as he had Marion’s charts (Marion had been killed by natives in New Zealand) and found the islands unnamed there, he gave them the names Marion and Prince Edward.

-None of the above were able to land due to bad weather; that didn’t happen until sealers arrived in 1799.

-The islands have a tundra climate; small lakes and bogs with little vegetation.

-On average, it rains 320 days a year; i.e. about 28 days a month. Temperatures are like what I’ve been reporting from Mo. So are winds, only the land form makes the speeds even higher.

-Summer and winter have similar climates. It can snow, sleet or hail on any day.

-The islands are aswim with penguins and most of the birds I report on this blog also breed there. Twenty nine species and up to 5 million breeders.

-In 1947, South Africa annexed the islands, which had been managed by the British to that point.

-There are no permanent residents. Only a meterological and research station and staff.

-Access is by boat or helicopter.

Both times I passed by, I hoped to get a view, even from afar. But the winds weren’t right on either occasion.

January 2, 2018

Day 90

Noon Position: 46 32S  35 05E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 5

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 20 – 27

Sea(t/ft): W 7

Sky: Squalls, one after the other with hail

10ths Cloud Cover: 5

Bar(mb): 1011, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 54 (48 when I woke)

Water Temp(f): 47

Relative Humidity(%): 70

Sail: #1 free to port, #2 poled out, broad reach.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 130

Miles since departure: 12,302

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Days since Cape Horn: 33

Miles since Cape Horn: 4,657

Avg. Miles/Day: 141

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 07

Longitude Miles Made Good (at Lat 46S): 127

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 102 05

I can’t believe I’ve been away from my wife for 90 days. I doubt we’ve been apart this long since our first date.

—

Poor day for mileage. Wind went soft but squally overnight, and that has not improved between sunup and this writing.

A frigid airmass is moving through, pushing temperatures in the cabin to 48 degrees by morning, a number not seen since Cape Horn. Condensation dripped from the port lights. Squalls have been huge and heavy and unrelenting and have dominated my day. This is because they not only bring high wind but they bend it beyond what can conscientiously be ignored.

The “true” wind wants to be about WxS at 25, and this is what we get between squalls if there’s enough room. But the squall turns that wind 50 degrees S and more; gusts are to 35 and 40 with hail. As the squall departs, wind goes 15 for a painfully long time. Then the cycle repeats.

Consequently, our course is a lazy S, no matter how much time I spend at the sheets. Am cold, tired and cranky. Have barked at Monte a few times when he fails to correct with alacrity. This, I have noticed, does not have any positive effect.

Part of the issue is that I’m nervous. We’re approaching a difficult stretch of water. Prince Edward Islands (Marion) are less than a day to the east, and 600 miles further on, the Crozets. As you may recall, it was a day’s sailing past the Crozets where Mo fell off a wave and stove in a widow in seas that were breaking for a hundred feet.

What makes this difficult water is a guess. The sea floor rises here, creating a high plateau for the islands to sit upon. Could it be that this generates upwelling which adds to the surface turbulence? Where we were knocked down was well past the Crozets and in deep water again. Does the plateau act like a big boulder in a vast sea, producing a return current in its wake? All unknown. The force of the sea is not unknown.

Arriving in the area with us are two lows, one with strong NW winds day after tomorrow and a full rotator low (NW, W, SW winds) a day later. I am usure how to handle these. Should I stay N of the Crozets in lighter winds but shallower water or stay to the S where water is deeper but winds will be stronger? Currently I’m edging N (at the behest of the squalls) with the intention of going over the top of Prince Edward. The coming northerlies will likely drive me south and just below the Crozets. That’s how things look at the moment.

Cold day … and cold feet. Nothing to do but press on and sail as smartly as possible.

January 1, 2018

Day 89

Noon Position: 46 45S  31 41E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 5

Wind(t/tws): NW 10 (within five minutes, WSW 25)

Sea(t/ft): NW 6

Sky: Rain, turning to squally but dry

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 997+, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 54

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 86

Sail: Working jib and main sail full

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 151

Miles since departure: 12,172

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Days since Cape Horn: 32

Miles since Cape Horn: 4,527

Avg. Miles/Day: 141

Longitude Degrees-Made-Good (degrees minutes): 3 40

Longitude Miles-Made-Good (at Lat 47S): 150

Total Longitude-Made-Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 98 58

New Year’s Day.

I woke to drizzle and thought the responsible thing to do was catch some of it. Winds were light (NW 18) and seas were down enough that they stayed off the deck. The night had see NW 30 – 40, so the workable sea state surprised me.

I guzzled a cup of coffee, got into foulies, raised the main and rigged my catchment system on the main’s cradle cover. Within three hours I had ten gallons of cool, crisp drinking water in the tank. That’s ten days at normal ration.

Capture started slow at first, due largely to my drizzle being mostly fog. But even fog blown against the sail filled the two gallon container in twenty minutes. When fog coupled with a light rain, it took less than ten.

Lesson: a) rain capture using the cradle cover is more successful in something less than a full gale; b) main at full is the most efficient (see a).

At the tail end of the morning, I experimented with the method previous owner, Tony Gooch, used, which was to build a dam of putty around the water intakes in order to capture deck water as it runs down the scuppers. This is a *much* simpler approach if the sea is down and the deck is salt free (it had been drizzling for hours, so it was). The single disadvantage is that it’s impossible to gauge how much one is taking in. Well, that, and it requires a quantity of putty, which I was barely able to scrape together. Putty wasn’t on the pre-departure list.

Somewhere in the middle there, I was able to break-off for a phone call with my wife, Joanna. We’ve only spoken twice since I departed. Once was Christmas day, and she was so surrounded by family I could barely get in a word. Today, just us two. For her it was midnight. She’d just watched the ball drop in Time Square. Nice way to begin the year for both of us.

Rain dried up by noon and wind went abruptly into the SW at 25. The sky looks menacing and wet. So far it is neither.

December 31, 2018

Day 88

Noon Position: 46 33S  28 03E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 7

Wind(t/tws): NW 24 – 28

Sea(t/ft): NW 8

Sky: Overcast, drizzle

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1008, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 45

Relative Humidity(%): 81

Sail: Working jib, 2 reefs, broad reach

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 163

Miles since departure: 12,021

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Days since Cape Horn: 31

Miles since Cape Horn: 4,367

Avg. Miles/Day: 141

The low came on overnight. I reefed the main down to the second position after dinner, the third position at 1:30am, and dropped it altogether at 6am. By that time winds were a steady 30 – 35 NW. Mo rides easily with just the small jib and is just as fast, and so I’ve kept that configuration all day, rolling out a bit more sail as winds ease; tucking it back in when they increase. Mo froths her way through the lumpy sea.

In the last seven days, we’ve logged over a thousand miles, and that’s the second week of such speed. This last week, 1,060 miles, and the week before, 1,045, to be precise. By way of comparison, that’s roughly the distance between San Francisco and New York City, and it only took us fourteen days.

Better yet, almost all that mileage was easting.

On that point, I’ve started tracking what I call Longitude Made Good. When the goal is to get from one spot on a circle around and back to that spot again (Cape Horn to Cape Horn), there’s only one direction that counts. And when on a boat that’s being blown north a little this week and south a little the next, the best way to track true progress is by how many degrees of longitude have been traversed in a given time.

For example, back on December 28, our noon-to-noon run was a solid 166 miles. But there was a fair bit of southing in there, and when I compared the beginning longitude with the ending longitude, we’d really only made 150 miles of easting. (In long form: Dec 28, 16 degrees 51 minutes East minus Dec 27, 13 degrees 19 minutes East equals 3 degrees and 32 minutes of easting. Most of that was at longitude 45, which has 42.42 miles per degree equals 150 miles.)

So then, today:

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 55

Longitude Miles Made Good: 163 (at Lat 46S)

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 95 18

That last one is the kicker. It’s a circle we’re circumscribing; thus we must pass through a full 360 degrees to get back to where we started, of which we’ve done 95 degrees and 18 minutes.

Long way to go.

I the afternoon, I punched through the gloom of distances yet to be traveled and the gloom of a gale with drizzle by making Lemon Pound Cake. After the success with brownies, my wife reminded me I have several boxes of this yellow delicacy aboard. Butter, water, packaged mix: mix: bake. Like a little (well ok, a big) bite of summer.  

December 31, 2018

Day 87

Noon Position: 46 19S  24 08E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ExS 7

Wind(t/tws): WNW 15 – 19

Sea(t/ft): NW 6

Sky: Low cumulus, solid mostly

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1012, falling slowly

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 44

Relative Humidity(%): 63

Sail: Twins poled out full

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 157

Miles since departure: 11,858

Avg. Miles/Day: 136

Days since Cape Horn: 30

Miles since Cape Horn: 4,213

Avg. Miles/Day:  140

Rode the twin, poled-out headsails all night and until late afternoon when wind went into the north and began to build. A low moves through tonight and tomorrow.

On deck mid morning I turned and saw a large patch of brown on the water less than a boat length to port. It glistened and gave the impression of immense muscularity. Visible above the water was the length of its body from its dorsal fin to its blow hole, but that section was moving quickly and away from Mo. Clearly, the whale had just spied us and was polite enough to give way; in fact, it seemed eager to do so. The visible parts of the whale appeared to be as long as Mo, and the fin I saw as the whale turned on a wave, was large and swept back in a crescent shape, a diagnostic feature of the Fin Whale. All over in an instant. I watched for ten minutes. Only one faint blow far astern after the initial sighting.

Today has been a lovely sailing day. By 10am it was clear and I set out wet things to dry (again–different wet things) and shot the sun three times for a running fix. In the afternoon I puttered at odd jobs, like tightening the fasteners on the port genoa car, which were working loose.

I’ve added a few more statistics above, miles and days since Cape Horn and our average miles per day in that time. We’re faster in the south than we were getting here. And recently that’s almost all easting!

December 29, 2018

Day 86

Noon Position: 46 20S  20 20E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 5

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 17 – 20

Sea(t/ft): nw 8

Sky: Overcast after rain

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1007+

Cabin Temp(f): 54

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 86

Sail: Full working jib. Waiting for wind to come west. Was on poled out headsails by 1400.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 150

Miles since departure: 11,701

Avg. Miles/Day: 136

Long day; short post.

Several hours of moderate rain this morning. Tried to catch with my main cover system. Caught little. Drains are in the wrong place with main down. Lost best bucket over side. Spilled half of catch. Drank other half. Didn’t die; so, that’s good. But need to figure better system and soon. In hindsight, likely trying to catch in a rough Force 7, decks awash, isn’t best.

In rain all morning. Discovered that my foulies have lost their waterproofness. And that a sailor’s waterlogged hands are pretty ugly.

Both water transfer containers broken. Fixed in afternoon, one with tape, the other with a bolt and plastic washers on each side.

The downhaul I replaced on the hydrogenerator two days ago chafed through today. My fault. I ran it as per the manual, this instead of the way my unique install requires. Fixed. Charging again.

Clear afternoon. Laid wet things out to dry. Two hours of sun is all we got.

Nice sunset.

Can of soup for dinner.

December 28, 2018

Day 85

Noon Position: 45 45S 16 51E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SExS 7

Wind(t/tws): NWxN 17 – 22

Sea(t/ft): W 10

Sky: Stratus; flat gray sky

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1011 falling

Cabin Temp(f): 63

Water Temp(f): 48

Relative Humidity(%): 66

Sail: #2 genoa to windward and poled out; #1 genoa to leeward and free footed. Broad reach.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 166

Miles since departure: 11,551

Avg. Miles/Day: 136

I let Mo drift SE overnight on twin headsails poled out, three reefs. Pretty fast, but wind continued to veer north, so mid morning I took the leeward pole down and ran that sail, the number one genoa, free for a few hours. This gives Mo another ten to fifteen degrees to windward while still running both headsails. In the afternoon wind increased to the high twenties and low thirties, and I’ve gone all the way down to the number two with two reefs.

Again, the lesson is that wind velocity is not the sole factor in defining how much sail one can carry. The sea now is a boulder garden; not high but steep and confused and flat on the quarter. It slaps Mo around as if she were the new kid in school and this is the first recess. Two reefs settles things a bit. Monte works less hard. Mo falls over less often. It is also not fast, which is painful to the skipper.

At least having the clew of the sail close allowed me to change out a chaffed sheet end.

—

I woke at 4am with a throbbing headache, an occurence now frequent enough to count as a pattern. The pain is like what one would acquire from having gone on a bender followed by a rolling hitch with several round turns for good measure. But my nightly consumption of adult beverages on Mo is limited to one beer followed by, every few nights, a small glass of red wine, which hardly throws one three sheets to the wind. The issue just has to be dehydration, but on this particular day, I’d been careful to drink my two full liters of clear water.

The word that woke me was scurvy. The question: is a headache an early symptom? The realization: I’ve not been at all careful about vitamin C intake this voyage. The double whammy: I’m not even sure how much vitamin C I have aboard.

I’ve made a few ocean passages by now, but they are rarely long enough to run entirely out of fresh foods; even the longest Figure 8 1.0 leg was only 68 days. So, I’ve never been forced to establish a vitamin C intake regime. But the Figure 8 2.0 is now approaching 90 days, and we’re just getting started.

In the morning, I went directly to the medicines inventory list. My first aid kit and medications were assembled lovingly by my sister, a retired nurse, for the first Figure 8 attempt. She did such a thorough job that I didn’t even glanse at, much less audit, these stores before departing on the Figure 8 2.0.

I scroll the neatly laminated five pages of alphabetized indications, also the work of my sister, till I reach “Scurvy.” The note states: “Ascorbic Acid deficiency. Take vitamin C.” In red next to this it says, “Randall says he will handle getting vitamins.”

I did?

I have no recollection of that or of “handling” it either. What an embarrassment, to have to turn for Cape Town because I’d forgotten a sailor’s most basic medicine!

I spent the next hour digging out any bottle or vile that contained the precious acid.

Upshot: I did handle it. Oodles of Airborne, multivitamins, dehydrated veg pills, etc. In fact, I have quite a treasure trove. The gotcha is that I should have audited these for expiration dates before the second departure, but even after weeding-out the expired and soon to expire, I could likely make it to Mars.

And according to Wiki, headache is not a early symptom of scurvy. So, I’m back to dehydration as the culprit without knowing exactly the cause.

Front Coming

December 27, 2018

Day 84

Noon Position: 44 32S  13 19E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SExS 6

Wind(t/tws): WxS 15

Sea(t/ft): Mixed to 3 feet

Sky: Puffy cumulus and moderate squalls

10ths Cloud Cover: 5

Bar(mb): 1014, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 59

Relative Humidity(%): 60 (dry)

Sail: Working jib poled to windward, main; full. Broad reach.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 129

Miles since departure: 11,385

Avg. Miles/Day: 136

Light winds and slow going these last two days, but that should change tonight. As I type, there’s a large front approaching from the W. Right now we’re racing under poled out twins; winds are W in the teens. Tonight they’ll shift to the N and bump up to thirty. I intend to ride these winds at an angle and slowly drop down a couple degrees of latitude so as to avoid more calms up here later in the week.

Today’s drama was that the Watt and Sea hydrogenerator down haul parted in the night. I came on deck to find the unit bobbing astern. The line had been fraying for some time, and I should have changed it out earlier, but the job is un-fun, and so I pushed for a few more miles. As it turns out, the parting occurred during fine weather, and thus my sojourn over the transom to rerun it avoided a dunking. For which I am grateful.

Finally got a decent shot of a favorite bird and frequent visitor in twos and threes: the white chinned petrel. The identification of this lovely took forever due to the name referring to a postage stamp sized patch of white under the beak, a diagnostic mark, that is only visible close up. These are the chocolate brown birds I’ve referenced before.

Speaking of brown, the brownies are gone. Just gone. Either the batch was smaller than the contents on the bag indicated or Monte has been nibbling when I’m not looking.

December 26, 2018

Day 83

Noon Position: 44 18S  10 20W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SxE 3

Wind(t/tws): ENE 7

Sea(t/ft): Mixed to 3

Sky: Rain

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 997, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 54

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 80

Sail: Close reaching under working jib and main.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 131

Miles since departure: 11,256

Avg. Miles/Day: 136

I kept the twins up overnight even though the wind went into the N in the wee hours. Switching from poles to main and jib in the dark is easy to rationalize as better done in the morning when one is full of hot mutton stew, fresh brownies, and a bit of red wine.

Besides decidedly cold and rainy, the day has been one of constant attention to the sheets as we work down through the center of a weak low. The wind has veered from N to E to, now, 20 degrees W of S. I even had to tack just after lunch. I shiver to think of it–to tacking in the open ocean!

I tried to catch water during the long but light rain episode around noon and only came away two gallons richer. My rain collector is the main sail. Water runs from here into the sail’s cradle cover, and in the cover I’ve inserted a hose fitting whose hose runs to the water tank ports near the gunnel.

For some reason I couldn’t get the fitting to drain much more than a dribble. I suspect this has to do with the reef the sail had and the water getting caught in the fold of the sail. By the time I went full sail, the rain had mostly cleared out.

This needs attention. With usage at roughly a gallon a day, we are now down 80+ gallons out of total tankage of about 200 gallons. Sure, I’m not running dry any time soon, but rain is catch-as-catch-can, and I need to catch it down here in the south. Most rain comes during a hard gale (main rapped up tight), so my opportunities for using this system are fewer than you might think.

In the afternoon, we were visited by five Wandering albatross flying as a loose group (I presume). I may go days without seeing one of these birds, and then they will appear in twos and threes, circle the boat and even, rarely, land in the water nearby.

—

I goofed during yesterday’s video in describing my brownie recipe as requiring butter and *milk.*  It’s butter and *eggs,* also something I stock in dehydrated form (see photos).

The batch came out nicely. The only zinger was that none of my bread pans were the right size, and I had to use a fry pan instead.

December 25, 2018

Day 82

Noon Position: 43 24S  07 34E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ExN 6

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 14 – 17

Sea(t/ft): W 6

Sky: Light Cumulus alternating to clear

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1006, steady

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 48

Relative Humidity(%): 65 (51 by end of day. Can feel the dryness in my hands.)

Sail: Twins poled out full. Dead run.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 164

Miles since departure: 11,125

Avg. Miles/Day: 136

Ran all night with two reefs in the poled-out twin headsails. Winds were mostly 17 – 25, but a few times we had squalls to 30 knots with light rain. Monte could just handle 30 knots with that set-up. Winds stayed SWxW until afternoon, pushing us a tad to the north when what I want is southing. But the speed it gave in exchange cancelled any complaint I might have had.

A clear day. After coffee, I put out wet things to dry. Then I baked brownies and opened Christmas cards from family and friends…

—

Christmas Day last year was memorable without being exactly celebratory.

At 8am Pacific Time on December 25, 2017, I made landfall W of Chile’s Bahia Cook after five days of hand steering Mo off the Southern Ocean, this just three days shy of Cape Horn. In the previous weeks, both the autopilot and windvane had failed, changing the course of the Figure 8 for that year. It wasn’t until 3am the next day, after motoring an additional fifty miles inside the Beagle Channel and running aground in a gale of snow and sleet, that Mo and I were finally safe, anchor down, Caletta Oja.

I knew it was Christmas, but besides digging for a box of Sees Candy my sister had alerted me to, I had no energy for the many cards and even gifts sent along by family and friends. They remained wrapped, and often water-damaged, in a moldy bag in the forepeak … until today.

Christmas Day 2018, and by coincidence, it is again 8am. The Horn is 3,400 miles astern, the weather is moderate, Mo is racing under poled-out, tightly reefed twin headsails, and I have had the extreme pleasure this last hour of having a proper Christmas. All cards have been opened and read; the gifts unwrapped, and many now decorate the lower part of the mast, where residers my “Christmas Tree.” I even have the required mess of Christmas wrap on the cabin sole.

Thank you to friends and family for thinking of me last year–and this year too!  It was heart warming to read the words of encouragement and just plain fun to feel connected.

Merry Christmas to all…

December 24, 2018

Day 81

Noon Position: 43 50S  03 51E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 6-7

Wind(t/tws): W 11-17

Sea(t/ft): W 10

Sky: Overcast (later clears, light fluffy cumulus)

10ths Cloud Cover: 10 / 5

Bar(mb): 998, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 48

Relative Humidity(%): 81

Sail: Twins poled out full, running

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 140

Miles since departure: 10,961

Avg. Miles/Day: 135

Slow overnight in moderate winds as we wait for the sea to subside. It did, and I’ve flown the twins today. Now we race on light west winds.

Today a longish video discussing Christmas dinner and why we won’t be doing any gift exchange this year on Mo.

December 23, 2018

Day 80

Noon Position: 43 21S  00 42E

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ExS 6+

Wind(t/tws): WNW 20 – 27

Sea(t/ft): NW W SW to 12

Sky: Thin stratus

10ths Cloud Cover: 4

Bar(mb): 1002, steady

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 50

Relative Humidity(%): 75

Sail: Double reefed working jib

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 153

Miles since departure: 10,821

Avg. Miles/Day: 135

At 0800GMT this morning, Mo and I crossed the Prime Meridian and in an instant passed from West to East. Marked on charts as zero degrees longitude, the Prime Meridian is a semi great circle that runs from the North pole to the South pole by way of a red line down the center of the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, England.

Yes, Mo and I have made it as far as the UK, although we’re a bit to the south.

Why is this line important? In a nut, everything having to do with time and place on earth is tuned to it. It’s officially where our day starts. All clocks that wish to be precise are set with reference to time at this place, called Greenwich Mean Time (GMT). The Nautical Almanac I use to work up my sextant shots knows exactly where the sun, the moon, the planets, and 58 stars are in the heavens for every second of every day, and the time it uses is GMT.

Of course the line could be anywhere. It ran, for a time, through Paris, and Moscow had its own line once, but by convention we have decided there should be but one Prime Meridian and that it should pass through Greenwich.

—

Rough times on Mo. The sea is heaving, and we roll and pound something fierce. Winds have been 25 – 30 much of the day, and our course, dead downwind, would be perfect for running out the twin headsails, but the sea is throwing the boat around so much that I’ve had to reduce sail just to make it easier for Monte to recover when we’re knocked on our ear. We’re running a twice and three times reefed headsail only.

I’m not sure where this is coming from (or why it fails to show up in my photos). The wind in these parts has been mostly west for days, which should lead to a consistent sea-state, but what we have is a mash-up of NW, W, SW swell that’s chaotic, steep and crashing, and though not dangerous, it’s some of the most intense we’ve yet sailed through.

The forecast for the next several days looks fair. I’m ready for that!

December 22, 2018

Day 79

Noon Position: 43 05S 02 45W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 5

Wind(t/tws): WxN 25 (40 in squalls)

Sea(t/ft): W 10 – 12

Sky: Clear, then squalls

10ths Cloud Cover: 8

Bar(mb): 1000

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 50

Relative Humidity(%): 69

Sail: Working jib full or reefs, depending on squalls

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 151

Miles since departure: 10,668

Avg. Miles/Day: 135

Winds were 35 gusting 45 by 3am. I’d gotten enough sleep early and didn’t mind being up, and dawn was on the make, so I could see. By 6am, winds had backed off into the high twenties, but the seas that filled in were tremendous. High and fast with here and there a gray beard casting his top third forward into a thundering, heavy, mash-you-up break.

Mo was caught only once, and as luck would have it, I was standing on the stern, holding fast to the radar arch when the wave piled up on her starboard quarter and then laid into her. She went over to the windows and scooped water into the cockpit. So, that’s what it looks like, I thought.

Below I found that the scissors had been flung across the cabin, but my grippy coffee cup hadn’t moved, so I guess the throw wasn’t that bad.

The day has been sunny but filled with aggravation. Mo rolls so terribly in this chaos of a sea; gunnel to gunnel, over and over with no pause. And though we have a very nice westerly at 25 knots, we are also getting raked by squalls every hour with heavy rain and winds to 45 knots. I’m having to run conservative sail, and even at that, I dash on deck when I hear rain to roll up more.

One fun exercise: my first sun sights since December 4th. Taking a sight in such seas and a heaving vessel is a challenge, so I was pleased to find the work showed where we were. I’m pointing to where we are in the photo. See?

A low develops right under us tonight. We’ll have 35 and 40 starting around midnight and through as long as noon tomorrow. The sea that’s running is already mature, so it could be a rough go.

December 21, 2018

Day 78

Noon Position: 43 12S 06 11W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 6

Wind(t/tws): NWxN 24 – 28

Sea(t/ft): N and NW to 10

Sky: Clear. Not a cloud. By 5:30pm, rain.

10ths Cloud Cover: 0

Bar(mb): 998, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 63

Water Temp(f): 52

Relative Humidity(%): 74

Sail: Double reefed headsail

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 147

Miles since departure: 10,517

Avg. Miles/Day: 135

I may have been hasty in calling these two lows back-to-back. The first cleared out overnight, and we had what I call “lovely sleeping weather,” that being moderate winds consistent in speed and direction. I was only on deck once, and that was to let out more sail.

The second has just arrived as I dug out the computer to type this report. It’s 5:30pm.

The day was clear, the sun brilliant. I hung socks and towels and hats to dry in the pilot house, as the cockpit still caught the occasional dunker of a wave. And they dried! What luxury, a dry sock. You have no idea how celebratory it makes the feet feel to go into a covering that is not clammy and cold at the start.

Now rain. Winds in the thirties from the NW. The cycle begins again.

—

The Loss of a Friend

Last night I went on deck to change Monte’s smaller “storm” wind vane to the lighter, larger vane that usually steers, a not infrequent task in mixed weather. As is my practice, I set the larger replacement on the aft deck, being careful to tuck it under Monte’s control lines so it wouldn’t blow away, and reached over to unfasten the vane in place. Mo took an especially deep roll to port, and the replacement vane slid into the sea.

I lunged and missed. I yelled, “No, no, my friend!”

The vane glowed in the light of the moon, the word MONITOR face-up and plain, as it trailed away on an inky swell. I couldn’t watch. I turned and faced the bow and was quite sad for some time.

That vane has steered Monte since the beginning, across the Gulf of Alaska, to Hawaii and back, all the way around the world. It has flown through the trades, drifted in the doldrums and even whipsawed in our first gale, 50 gusting 70, when I was too preoccupied with other tasks to change it out.

It has faithfully fulfilled its required tasks, and I have spent hours watching it do so.

But to call it friend? Later, that struck me as odd. Would a bicycle rider become so enamored of a tire? A basketball player, a shoe?

Nonetheless…

—

This afternoon and while waiting for this low to arrive, I prepared for the holidays by putting up the Christmas Tree; in this case, a photo my wife gave me of a red Ohia Lehua tree from Kauai. If you don’t know the tree, think it’s Pacific cousin, the New Zealand Christmas Tree. It warmed up the cabin nicely. And that will be the extent of decorations.

December 20, 2018

Day 77

Noon Position: 43 58S  09 13W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 7

Wind(t/tws): WxS 25 – 30

Sea(t/ft): NW and W to 15

Sky: Rain

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 995+, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 55

Water Temp(f): 50

Relative Humidity(%): 79

Sail: Working headsail, 3 reefs. Broad reach to a run.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 168

Miles since departure: 10,370

Avg. Miles/Day: 135

This low was kind. I expected the wind to come on overnight but it remained steady and fresh in the middle twenties, and I was able to grab good sleep, although in one hour increments.

In fact, as it grew light and winds were still moderate, I thought the low had slunk off to the south and would pass us by. But full morning disabused me of this fantasy. Winds were NW 35 by 6am and blew in the low forties until just before noon. Seas were high and confused; the break pitched forward, a blue-white mass. Often the W and NW trains would collide into a pyramidal shape and send spray skyward. This offering was immediately snatched-up by the wind and flung into the trough.

I expected a gradual backing of the wind from NW to W over the late hours of the morning, but at 10:30, a squall approached so dark that I put on foulie jacket and harness without contemplating why. When it hit, our forty knots of wind bent in an instant from NW to WSW and stayed there. Suddenly, Mo was turned around, exposing her flank to the sea.

What to do was not clear. To tack and take the wind on starboard would mean a course S of E and a dive back into the low’s rotation. It would also require shifting one of the jib sheets back to port. Not difficult, but not quick.

Rain pelted. The sea was white. For some time, I stood in the pilot house unsure what to do … and then realized that in the interim, Mo was sailing this new coures just fine. She took the seas beam on; she took her bumps and slaps and kept sailing. So, I did nothing. Within the hour, wind had veered to the W.

My day’s one error came in the late afternoon. Wind had moderated into the middle thirties. I wanted to unroll a bit of sail, so I dashed into the cockpit without my foulie jacket. We’d not been plastered in over an hour. Decks were dry. It seemed a safe bet.

Just as I finished, a curling sea took Mo at the stern and threw its upper third over the rail. I was slapped hard in the front and remained upright only because I’d been holding onto the dodger frame with both hands. As I drained, I looked down to find I was standing in a ten-inch puddle, and a sheet swept from its cubby had already knotted itself around my ankle.

Fair or foul, the water won that round decidedly, and I required a full change from base layers all the way to foulies, a not entirely bad thing as I’ve been wearing the same clothes since about 30S in the Pacific.

December 19, 2018

Day 76

Noon Position: 43 58S 13 17W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 8

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 25 – 33

Sea(t/ft): W 8, SW and NW smaller but apparent

Sky: Clear. YES, clear.

10ths Cloud Cover: 0

Bar(mb): 994, rising (we’re in between systems)

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 48

Relative Humidity(%): 69. By mid afternoon, 57%. My hands are dry; lips chapped.

Sail: Working jib with two reefs. Were between a run and a broad reach.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 131

Miles since departure: 10,202

Avg. Miles/Day: 134

Quiet overnight. We made slow way to the NE in drizzle. By dawn, wind had come into the N and I raised the main. Three hours later, it backed into the W, and I opened the large genoa on its pole. For a time we ran with a hodgepodge of sail, the working genoa and a single reefed main set for reaching, and the large genoa out on a pole for a run. Awkward but fast.

Then quite suddenly, the deck of cloud evaporated and wind went 30 knots WSW. I had to scramble to get sail in before we were lifted into the air.

It’s been two reefs in the working headsail ever since.

Crystal clear and dry. So dry my skin itches. I can’t recall such dryness–57% relative humidity. Just last night it was 80%.

In such weather, the crash of waves is blindingly white. The sea is Navy blue to black. The chocolate brown petrels are not drab but a rich blend of mocha and 70% bittersweet.

—

The first low is due at midnight. Winds will strengthen and go W, clock to the NNW and back to W by mid morning. That’s a lot of movement in a short time. Currently seas are mostly W, and so my tentative goal is to maintain a mostly westerly course till morning, to the degree the wind allows.

The routine:

-Dowse the main; lash it tightly to the boom to reduce windage.

-Move the windward (unused) working genoa sheet to leeward and set it up in a block well forward for a close reefed sail. This allows switching between sheets during the blow without having to leave the cockpit.

-Ensure working jib sheets are free of chafe where they contact the genoa pole. If chafe, renew.

-Lock the floorboards over the engine and close the diesel tank vents (if the engine has been run).

-Lay out drogue chafe gear (two large hoses lashed into their chock at the stern quarters).

-Ensure drogues are accessible (they tend to fall down into their locker).

-Close the sink valves.

-Close the head valve.

-Stow loose items.

-Ensure stock of freshly charged AA batteries (for headlamps).

-Move laptop to a locker up and out of the pilot house.

-Lay out dish towels at usual drip points.

-Pump all bilges.

-Check for chafe in Monte’s tiller line. If found, renew.

-Install the heavy weather wind vane in Monte.

-Try to take an afternoon nap.

-Make an especially large dinner.

-If planning to be up all night, put on an extra heavy fleece layer under foulies and change to dry (well, drier) socks.

See you in the morning…

December 18, 2018

Day 75

Noon Position: 44 44S 16 08W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 6

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 13 – 16

Sea(t/ft): W 6

Sky: Partly Sunny. Wow.

10ths Cloud Cover: 7

Bar(mb): 1005+

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 72

Sail: Twins poled out full. Dead run.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 155

Miles since departure: 10,071

Avg. Miles/Day: 134

It’s a testement to the complexity of weather down here that the low due in our quadrant tomorrow night (Wednesday) wasn’t even in the forecast until two days ago. In fact, it doesn’t exist at the moment; its first recognizable formation occurs tonight between here and South Georgia.

I’m trending N, an attempt to get into an area where winds are 30 – 35 by forecast, which usually means 40 – 45 plus gusts in reality. The goal is 44S and 13W by tomorrow afternoon.

On Friday afternoon, another, more powerful low drops in. For it, there is no good quadrant to shoot for. All latitudes are bad.

The challenge with these two is not just wind velocity but the changes in wind direction. Both are well organized but relatively small, by Southern Ocean standards. If I’m in the N half of the low, I’ll experience NW, then W, and finally SW winds as the system moves through. But because the storms are small, their wind circles are also small, and the changes in wind direction are fairly extreme.

This can become problematic when negotiating the seas. What course do you take when the wind shifts from NW to W? Answer: it depends on which wave train is dominant. My track record at picking the right wave train is poor.

In our favor is that both systems are fast moving. If we’re fortunate, the NW seas won’t have time to develop, and we can take the seas from the W at Mo’s best angle.

—

Today is day 75 of the voyage. Day 75 alone at sea. A record for me (68 days was previous longest passage). I wish I could give you a pithy assessment of my mental and physical well being, but it’s 7:30pm and I’m in want of dinner and an early go at sleeping. Winds are due to shift after midnight. Sail changes will be in order.

In passing, I’ll admit to feeling the weight of the marathon Mo and I are running. In the eighteen days since Cape Horn, we’ve ridden-out three gales with two more due by the end of the week, and we’re barely half way to Cape Good Hope.

On the bright side, we crossed the 10,000-mile mark today. That puts us roughly 1/3rd of the way to the Northwest Passage entrance. At our current pace of 134 miles per day, that’s another five month’s off.

Some sun today. Immediate warmth. Foulies and rugs out to dry. And our first sunset in memory.

December 17, 2018

Day 74

Noon Position: 45 01S 19 46W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 7

Wind(t/tws): W 16 – 20

Sea(t/ft): NW 6

Sky: Overcast. Sun broke out for five minutes today.

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 999+, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 47

Relative Humidity(%): 80

Sail: Twin headsails poled out full. Running.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 151

Miles since departure: 9916

Avg. Miles/Day: 134

Would that all lows were like that one. Just the right amount of wind for a broad reach with a heavily reefed headsail (28 to 36 knots with touches of 39) and all in the right direction. We’ve been making steady and fast easting for two days now.

News: the sun came out mid morning. The deck of gray burned off above us, and it looked like we were finally sailing into the clear. This lasted just long enough for me to wonder if I should take a sun sight. Then the sun was gone, the gray deck reestablished. We’ve had 10 out of 10 cloud cover with drizzle or rain since December 9th.

Mo is in desperate want of sun, too. By now all our rags and towels are damp or downright wet. I’m out of dry things to dry with. As it did not rain today, I put out some dish cloths to beat in the wind a bit. All I can say is that they did not get more wet.

A day of domestics. We are flying the twin headsails poled out, and so Mo is more or less level (when not rolling), which makes some tasks easier. The head and galley got a thorough cleaning as did my head and beard. The water for this latter extravaganza came from the bilge under the mast, which catches a surprising amount of briny rain water.

Two days to the next low, which looks to have winds in the 30s and 40s. Six days to the next Rio Low. It’s one after the other this year.

—

As stated earlier, my wife occasionally sends me your comments. Thank you all for your Cape Horn congrats, for following along, and for engaging in the comments section, which I enjoy reading.

Here are some answers to recent questions:

John asks:

I see that you have some plastic material over the original windows that appears to be bolted into the original frames. Can you tell me what this material is and how many bolts hold it in place?

–John, the material is a polycarbonate plastic, available at places like Tap Plastics. As you say, it sits on top of the aluminum window frame and is bolted in place with four bolts per window, one in each corner. The windows are sealed with silicon, so they not only act as impact protection but also as double pane windows.

Michael asks:

It’s fun to follow you on the tracker but since that’s real time and your posts are delayed, I’m left with guessing what’s going on, like figuring out why you took that big jog to the north. So far one I’ve pretty well, and that’s fun too, but why is there a 4 day delay?

–Michael, the jog north was because I got stuck on the back side of a low pressure system. I had gale-force southerlies for a couple days and had the choice of stopping or going with it. Re the delay, the Figure 8 shore-based team is two very busy people; they’re working on getting the posts moved forward very soon.

Rob asks: What is the gimbaled unit in the video with Handel?

–Hey Rob, it’s a compass. See photo.

December 16, 2018

Day 73

Noon Position: 44 38N 23 16W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SExE 7-8

Wind(t/tws): N 28-33

Sea(t/ft): N12; SW10

Sky: Overcast (has been raining hard)

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1000 (gets all the way down to 993 by evening)

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 85

Sail: Working genoa, well rolled up.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 160

Miles since departure: 9765

Avg. Miles/Day: 134

A short post as we’re still working this weather. We rode increasing northerlies all night that didn’t really get going until after I was up. But by 6am, winds were 30+ and have been 35 – 38 most of the day. Seas are an awful mashup of N and SW to 12; the N seas we take on the beam. Mo’s being knocked around pretty hard, but is handling herself well and makes good time.

Wind will clock around to the W tonight, so I’ll be pretty busy till morning.

Nice to be going E for a change.

December 15, 2018

Day 72

Noon Position: 43 21S 26 30W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 6

Wind(t/tws): NNW 12

Sea(t/ft): NW 2; SW 4

Sky: Overcast. Dull gray. Hard to remember anything different

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1023, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 54

Relative Humidity(%): 71

Sail: working jib and main full, reaching

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 66

Miles since departure: 9605

Avg. Miles/Day: 133

Becalmed soon after midnight. The sails could not hold their catch but spilled it and then rattled in disgust. I brought them in, switched on the anchor light and slept. Mo rolled heavily in the usual mix of southern swell, but my bunk in the salon is well below the waterline, and with a knee propped against a bulkhead for security, I barely registered the motion.

Wind again in the morning, but conveniently it waited until after breakfast. Light from the NNW. On it we’ve made respectable easting all day.

Another low will pass over us starting tonight, and as an experiment, I’ve removed the solar panels from the aft rails. One issue Mo has in heavy weather on the quarter is that she can slide slantwise down a sea and round up, even with just a small headsail flying. Monte always corrects this, but it can take him 10 – 15-seconds, and there will be a time when we don’t have that before the next roaring graybeard. By reducing windage aft, I’m hoping the correction can be quicker. All the panels are doing back there is catching wind anyway. We’ve not had sun since the Falklands.

In the late afternoon, wind went 20-knots and more, and as the sky began to look squally, I dropped the main in preparation for the night’s blow. Better to get it down and done before dark. I was rewarded for this bit of prudence by wind going to 12-knots, on which we now make a sluggish five.

Wind should fill in from the N by midnight and, with luck, we should have good winds for a week.

One Southern Ocean pleasure not found in middle latitudes is the constant avian companionship. Prions will spend hours fighter-jetting around the boat in flocks of twenty and thirty. Pairs of white chinned petrels will often join for a time. And from the outside, Wanderers swoop in for a long, slow inspection. But it’s the Prions that are the base-note these days, like chicks following Mo, the Mother hen.