November 21, 2018

Day 48

Noon Position: 49 18S  100 42W

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

Wind(t/tws): WxN 25 – 37

Sea(t/ft): W 14

Sky: Clear

10ths Cloud Cover: 0

Bar(mb): 999 slowly falling

Cabin Temp(f): 57

Water Temp(f): 43

Relative Humidity(%): 63

Sail: Tripple reefed working jib, broad reach tending toward a run.

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

Miles since departure: 6201

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

I stood watch until 3am. By this I mean I sat and watched and napped and watched as Mo worked through the gale. The sails were set; the course decision made; Monte had the helm. My job was simply to be at the ready should all hell break loose.

By dark winds were in the high thirties. By late night, low forties. By early morning, back down to high thirties.

My goal going into this blow was to not use the storm jib and to not deploy the drogue. In the first case, I reefed the working headsail down hard. Let’s call it the forth reef position. There wasn’t much canvas left by the time I got done rolling, but what there was must have been three times larger than the storm jib. Mo dug in and we slogged along at a good pace, but Monte was sometimes sluggish in responding to knocks, and the little jib gybed-over several times.

In the second case, I wasn’t tempted. Seas were large but not steep, and the breaking crests were lazy, falling back in on themselves. We didn’t even surf.

The day has delivered steady, hard winds and rambunctious seas, blue mountains heaving up, carrying Mo skyward, and then down, down, down. They are steeper now. The break is more exuberant. But Mo has only surfed once or twice and only gone over to the windows once.

I made two mistakes last night. One was to reef too heavily. I think this is my biggest heavy weather mistake: letting the boat slow. I am eager to find a set of sail that will last a blow whose upper wind velocities I dont know, but Monte needs water under the keel to maintain control. So, with winds edging again toward forty this evening, I’ve let out the “forth” reef. Now we’re at a standard three reefs. Mo pulls 7 knots easily, and (so far) Monte feels more in control.

The other was to let myself get cold. Dinner is a wonderful thing. Two big bowls of something hot heats me down to my toes, even in a cabin whose temperature is 45 degrees. But I sat on watch too long and let the fire dinner had made go out. By the time I’d seen enough, my feet were burning and I shivered in the bag. A sleeping bag can only maintain the heat you bring to it, and I brought none. The feet didn’t warm till the morning’s round of hot coffee. So, more clothing going into tonight’s “watch.”

The first layer of cloud is over us now. The front for this second low should not be too far behind.

November 20, 2018

Day 47

Noon Position: 47 45S 103 54W

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

Wind(t/tws): WxS 15 – 22

Sea(t/ft): SW 8

Sky: Some blue sky left, but squalls in long lines from the west.

10ths Cloud Cover: 8

Bar(mb): 1003, steady

Cabin Temp(f): 55

Water Temp(f): 45

Relative Humidity(%): 61

Sail: #2 genoa full, main three reefs; trying to slow down

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

Miles since departure: 6050

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

On the slow bell overnight. I haven’t wanted to dive too deeply into the coming low and don’t feel I have the luxury of running off to the east until such is actually required by the sea state. The Chilean coast is not exactly hove into view, but I can feel it there over the horizon, and I have no desire to tempt such a famous snaggletooth. So, we made 5 knots in the right direction until dawn. And I continued that strategy all day.

The morning came on brilliantly sunny and right away I got at the only job left on the prep list: change out Monte’s safety tube. A squall got me to drop the main, too early, I thought, and I then lashed it to the boom to decrease its windage and keep it under control. By then wind was steady at 25 knots. Still we made a slow 5 knots.

I’ve been tidying line and securing all afternoon, and now the wind is on us. A steady 30+ from the west; a steady 40 in the squalls. Mo is down to a triple reefed genoa and making 7 knots…in the right direction. Thankfully, the sea has, for the most part, followed the wind and is now westerly as well.

I really should pay attention while there is light. Things look to get intense around midnight, and I want to have a good feel for the sea. All for now.

November 19, 2018

Day 46

Noon Position: 46 31S 106 33W

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

Wind(t/tws): WSW 17 – 25

Sea(t/ft): SW 12+

Sky: Light cumulus and wisps of cirrus

10ths Cloud Cover: 2

Bar(mb): 999, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 59

Water Temp(f): 46

Relative Humidity(%): 60

Sail: #2 genoa, 2 reefs, broad reach

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 152

Miles since departure: 5919

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

Tomorrow afternoon, we will be overtaken by our first sit-up-and-take-notice southern low.

Actually, the whole package is two lows that will be merging into one during our experience of the system. Our entry point into the low is in the northern semicircle, which is forecasting for 30 knot winds in the initial phase (first low) and 35 knots in the secondary (the whammy we get as the two join forces). These don’t seem very intense winds at all. However, seas have been running quite heavy for days–making shooting the sun a special challenge–the low is very large and well organized, and the forecasts typically under predict steady-state wind by around 10 knots. Mine don’t cover gusts all. So, I’m preparing for two days of 40 – 45 gusting 55.

The immanent low has created a convenient completion deadline for the “Ready for The South” punch-list I’ve been working for a while. Here are the main items…

1. Close all dorade vents. All the dorades are sealed with a stainless steel cap at their entry point and stuffed with a rag from inside.

2. Seal hatches. Three of the smaller deck hatches have rubber seals that are worn, and they leak in heavy weather. An easy work around to replacing the rubber seal entirely is to line the rubber with coax tape.

3. Repack drogues. I’ve not been happy with how the drogues were packed (by me before departure). I have taken both out, run them out, and flaked the line in a figure 8 that’s tightly bound together, then folded over and then put back into its storage bag. This should ensure that the drogues can be unpacked and deployed without incident.

4. Finish “waterproofing” the electronics. Those who’ve followed for a while know that Mo lost most of her electronics in the Indian Ocean knockdown. Once home, I worked with Dustin at Fox Marine to either acquire waterproof boxes for gear or build protective boxes. Now the Iridium Go (used for the tracker) and the N2K network (which connects everything) are in off-the-shelf boxes and the Fleet Broadband (used for comms, photos, video) is in a home-built box whose edges needed sealing. In the event of water invading the pilot house, we should be in much better shape this time around.

5. Plug engine diesel tank vents. Again, lesson learned in the Indian Ocean. The port diesel tank vents into the cockpit (the starboard, into the aft storage locker). If the cockpit is under water, water is going into the port diesel tank. In the Indian, enough water got in to fill both engine filters and flow into the injectors. Some tape over the vent opening should stop that. But DON’T forget to remove the tape before running the engine! (I didn’t cover the starboard vent because I can’t reach it. Water does get into that locker but is frequently pumped out.)

6. Lock down floorboards. Mo has locking clips on the engine covers that hold those heavy pieces in place. I never bother with them above 40S. Other floorboards are bolted to the frame (except the two small ones in the galley).

9. Drain all bilges. Mo is blessed with four bilges that catch various kinds of water (the mast bilge catches fresh) This is a regular chore in wet or dirty weather but is especially important just prior to a blow.

10. Lock all food bins. Under the main cabin bunks are lockers stuffed with canned goods. Each lid has two bullet latches that I typically don’t bother with unless in difficult weather.

11. De-tut the cabin, with specific emphasis on stowing or lashing down anything that can fly when Mo starts pulling Gs.

12. Refresh Monte. One problem from the Figure 8 Voyage 1.0 was with Monte’s break-away tube, the tube that fits between the water paddle (that steers the boat) and the main arm of the windvane (that steers the paddle). The issue was that every few thousand miles I’d break a tube. It took months to figure out that in certain sea states, the paddle was getting wound around an emergency boarding ladder trip line dangling in the water. I have since shortened the line and have broken but one tube thereafter. THAT SAID, a fresh tube in Monte before we get to the rough stuff could do only good.

The only job from above not yet done is the last. It’s been rough, and water temps are not exactly inviting.

13. Extra credit. Zip tie all shackles. Tightened enough, shackle pins usually don’t budge. But usually rarely makes it this far south. Twice now I’ve had a shackle pin let go unexpectedly. The second time was yesterday, when a vang block fell from the sky as Mo came to attention at the bottom of a wave. Now all pins are locked.

November 18, 2018

Day 45

Noon Position: 44 48S 109 13W

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

Wind(t/tws): W 18 – 22

Sea(t/ft): SW 10 – 12

Sky: Stratus trending to clear

10ths Cloud Cover: 5

Bar(mb): 1008, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 61

Water Temp(f): 48

Relative Humidity(%): 64

Sail: #2 genoa and one reef in the main, broad reach

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 149

Miles since departure: 5767

Avg. Miles/Day: 128

By 8 o’clock last night, I’d dropped the main; by 10 o’clock, I’d changed down to the smaller of the two headsails. A little later, two reefs. The sky had come down as the sun set, but the moon shown through. The diaphanous cloud raced east with grim intent.

By noon today, it was nearly clear. The main flew again with one tuck in it and the genoa, full. We’ve frothed along all day like that as a big-as-city-blocks swell rolls under Mo’s keel, reminding that the gentleness of the moment is not to be expected for long.

The cabin thermometer stood at 55 degrees when I woke. Two hours later, it had risen to a balmy 57. Water temperature is below 50 and will continue its downward slide all the way to the land of icebergs. I expect the cabin to be in the mid 40s in a week.

I don’t heat the cabin at sea. So, the first, light base-layer of thermals went on today. Smart Wool, top and bottom, silky soft, smelling delightfully of laundry detergent, and immediately warm. My favorite albatross emblazoned “mascot” hat, the gift of Daryl Ridgeway of Hobart and actually the hat of the Cruising Yacht Club of Tasmania, hasn’t been off my head in days.

And new UG boots were dug from a forepeak locker, the boot worn in the cabin for comfort and warmth. That old pair were the go-to boots in the arctic in 2014 and all through the south last year, so they did their part. But the inner fleece was worn down to the rubber soles. Slipping into them of a morning was like sticking one’s foot inside a cold fish.

I’m starting to eat more and eat constantly. A full cup serving of oats loaded with nuts and fruit and three tablespoons of powdered milk followed by a Clif bar for breakfast, for example. Tonight’s dinner, last night’s leftover curry, which was intended to be two, full meals (all my dinners are designed that way), will have to be augmented tonight to do the job because last night I just couldn’t stop eating.

No more than one beer, though. I departed San Francisco with 184 cans. Must make them last.

November 17, 2018

Day 44

Noon Position: 42 56S  111 29W

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

Wind(t/tws): WxN 15

Sea(t/ft): SW 10; some much larger, but old.

Sky: Clear

10ths Cloud Cover: 1

Bar(mb): 1013

Cabin Temp(f): 64

Water Temp(f): 51

Relative Humidity(%): 66

Sail: #2 genoa and main, broad reach. #2 poled when wind comes aft.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 126

Miles since departure: 5618

Avg. Miles/Day: 128

A poor night for speed. I misread the forecast and thought I’d need to make sail changes overnight, to launch the poles when the wind came round. So, at sunset I flew just the #2 genoa, the smaller of the two, as a stopgap. Then I set the alarm for two hours and started sleeping. I slept well past the alarm and the wind did nothing but diminish ever so slowly as the night wore on. By the time I noticed we were making only five knots, it was 3am, and my desire for speed, I found, had cooled, while the bunk, I knew, was warm. I did not make more sail until sun-up.

All day a big, clear, open but cold-looking sky. The blue above is almost white and the horizon is blurred by a gray haze. The sun is warm, and appreciated for it, but pale. The blue of the sea, however, is as rich and royal as ever.

Wind has freshened in the afternoon and is now a steady 25 – 30 but has failed to veer north as I’d hoped. My sail plan bets on such a shift and is out of sorts. So, it’s back on deck for me after these notes.

On the way by, a shout-out to skipper Les Parsons, on whose boat I crewed the Northwest Passage in 2014. Les found revolting the idea of peanut butter and jam on bread, but thought peanut butter and *cheese* on bread a real delicacy. Well, at least reliable rib glue. He was right in that latter opinion. Made a good lunch today.

November 16, 2018

Day 43

Noon Position: 41 29S 113 31W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SExE 6 – 7

Wind(t/tws): NWxW 19 -21

Sea(t/ft): NW 10

Sky: Low, gray, solid, undifferentiated. Drizzle.

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1003+, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 63

Water Temp(f): 51

Relative Humidity(%): 76

Sail: Headsails poled out, deeply reefed. Running.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 167

Miles since departure: 5492

Avg. Miles/Day: 128

A good day for mileage and hard earned. I ran the headsails out after dinner and spent much of the night tucking them in a bit, tucking them in a bit, and then in a bit more as wind increased. By midnight winds were a steady 25 knots. By 3am, they were 30.

It’s an interesting fact that one’s ability to carry sail has as much to do with the sea state as the wind. By early morning, seas were lumpy and large and Mo labored. I rolled the headsails up as much as ever was possible and still have them attached to the poles, and we flew at 7 and 8 knots, but it was a rough ride. In a different sea state, I could have carried them much fuller.

Wind is coming west now, and I spent the last hour shifting the headsails from one side to the other. By the time I finished, the wind had already moved south of west. The poles will have to come down before dinner … and go back up tomorrow morning. Welcome to the ever-changing south.

This has not been a heavy blow at all. But it has felt heavy. Seas were bigger and harder than one would expect for 25 knots of breeze, and their crashing crests were ice blue below a featureless slate sky.

We have crossed under the 40th parallel of latitude, and things are changing fast now. The cabin was 55 degrees at dawn. Water temperatures are about to dip below 50. I wore the fleece hat all day and put on thermal underware after lunch. One sun shot at 2pm, but not another. Drizzle or fog most of the day. No birds yet.

I ate the last apple after breakfast. Forty-three days they lasted and through the tropics. Good on them. And I opened the first cheese packet. These were double bagged, buried deep and let alone in the tropics as they’d have been a goopy mess, but the time is ripe, and the manchego was tasty.

November 15, 2018

Day 42

Noon Position: 39 18S 115 45W

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

Wind(t/tws): N 18 – 20

Sea(t/ft): N3, S5

Sky: Low and gray but not dark

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1020, falling; 1017 by 5pm.

Cabin Temp(f): 66

Water Temp(f): 56

Relative Humidity(%): 65

Sail: Big genoa out full; one reef in the main; broad reach on port

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 90

Miles since departure: 5325

Avg. Miles/Day: 127

Apropos of yesterday’s mileage complaint, we were becalmed overnight. Second such in three nights. Mo made fine way in the evening, four knots of speed reaching on six knots of breeze, but even she gave up when that minimum went to two and three knots. Not enough to blow out a candle. I lowered sail just before midnight, and we drifted until dawn.

Then came this fine wind from the north, the result of a small low passing to the south of us. By noon it was a blessedly blustery twenty, and it has stayed that way. The forecast calls for it to back to northwest after dark and accelerate even more. I have the poles ready to go; I’ll run the rest of the low out on the twins.

After that we may see another set of calms, but soon now we will be entering the Roaring Forties, whose main westerly flow picks up between 43 and 45S. And man, what a train of wind it will be this next week. Look ahead on the Figure 8 tracker to Friday/Saturday and see that the nearly consistent westerlies to 30 knots cover an area of ocean larger than the continental US. Imagine the seas…practically infinite fetch and strong wind over an area of roughly 2,000 square miles.

Stunning are the fundamental differences between the northern and southern hemispheres. With so much land subtracted from the picture down here, wind and wave are king.

But we’re not there yet; not just yet.

A mid afternoon glance at the chart plotter revealed an interesting coincidence. On day 42, Mo and I passed within 30 miles of our day 41 noon position (blue X on the screen), just south and west of us. On that day, the old log says Mo churned out 163 miles. Compare yesterday’s 125 miles … not to mention today’s 90.

But as we’re about to get into the wind, it will be interesting to see who is first to the Horn.

November 14, 2018

Day 41

Noon Position: 38 13S 117 04W

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

Wind(t/tws): WxN 6

Sea(t/ft): S 5  W  1

Sky: Thin cloud cover looks like it will burn off soon.

10ths Cloud Cover: 8

Bar(mb): 1022, steady

Cabin Temp(f): 68

Water Temp(f): 56

Relative Humidity(%): 65

Sail: Reaching with #1 genoa and main.

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

Miles since departure: 5235

Avg. Miles/Day: 128

On this day, Noah began to move ashore. Happily hard aground and holding an olive twig in one hand, he was shooing off the two-by-two and contemplating which of the most bothersome kind might go well on the barbecue. It had been a real trial–40 days and 40 nights with no barbecue–the Ark had a strict “no open flame” policy.

But now… Well…

That Dodo was looking particularly plump. What a frightfully dumb bird, thought Noah. Didn’t even show up with his wife on departure day. “What, she’s not with you?” And then he’d asked which way to the food court before lumbering aboard. With the giraffes complaining about headroom and the hippopotamus wondering why they couldn’t find the pool, worry about Dodo’s wife hadn’t even made the list. Dumb bird. Really makes you wonder. Might as well eat the damn thing now before it goes extinct.

Meanwhile, on day 41, Mo and I are still sailing. It’s simpler that way.

—

Not fast, mind you. These are frustrating weeks where we can’t seem to string together even whole days of respectable mileage. Yesterday, for example. Lovely wind after 2pm; dead aft at 15. I poled out the twins and off we went. All night, same. When I came on deck at 6am, wind was 20; still dead aft, and Mo creamed along at 7 knots. We were all set for a 140 mile day. Until the wind died at 9am.

—

Today I got the last of the hatches closed and sealed. No more fresh air below until 30N in the Atlantic. Last year we had a problem with minor leaks in the tempestuous south. Hatch seals that didn’t seat properly; a mast boot seal that broke. Little drips here and there that were demoralizing over time. I’m attempting to get ahead of these this year.

One example is this excellent piece of kit, plastic “doors” that attach to the fabric dodger. They are very handy for allowing me to exit and enter the cabin without letting in rain and spray, and they generally help to maintain a dryer, lighter pilot house.

Problem is that in higher winds, the flaps can get carried away. For weeks I’ve been trying to work out a way to “tie” them down that doesn’t require tapping a fastener hole in the cockpit. I think I’ve struck on it.

A random piece of bungee cord; two hooks for Monte’s tiller lines that didn’t work out so well, and a tiny shackle whose pin went missing in some previous age. The hooks attach the bungee to the cockpit cubbies and the shackle was sewed onto the doors today. The bungee is easily slipped up and into the open shackle from inside and should serve to keep the doors in line. A prototype worked well during last week’s blow, so I’m hopeful.

November 13, 2018

Day 40

Noon Position: 36 35S  118 50W

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

Wind(t/tws): WNW 9 – 11

Sea(t/ft): SSW 8; W 1

Sky: Stratus on the horizon; otherwise clear

10ths Cloud Cover: 3

Bar(mb): 1022

Cabin Temp(f): 70

Water Temp(f): 59

Relative Humidity(%): 49 (wow, dry!)

Sail: Reaching with #1 and scandalized main.

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

Miles since departure: 5106

Avg. Miles/Day: 128

Becalmed.

For hours we had taken from the dying wind what we could, the sails softly spilling in the troughs some of what they’d so ardently gathered at the crests of that long, low swell from the south.

When I couldn’t feel wind on my face, I lowered the main, rolled up the jib and went to bed.

Midnight.

We have moon again. A yellow sliver behind a black veil of cloud, rising and setting late. For now, its aspect is sinister, but soon it will be gleaming.

Ten knots from the west at dawn. I set sail due south. Below us there’s a weak low passing to the east; if I can just get down to it, we’ll have plenty of wind for a day or two.

Forty days at sea. I celebrated by shaking out the cabin rugs and sweeping. How can I continue to track in dirt when outside is only water?

Then I saw that the batten pocket on the main had pulled out again. This is the same pocket that pulled off the track last year, and about at this position, the same pocket whose car I just rehung with new bearings a few days ago. The pin holding the pocket to the track is stainless steel and, over time, simply strips out the threads of the plastic pocket.

Light wind and a big sea is just murder on gear, but I can’t be dowsing the main every time the wind goes to 6 knots.

Plenty spares for this. Fixed by late afternoon, by which time we’d begun to pick up the NW winds of that low. I ran out the poled headsails and changed course to SE. Ever SE for the Horn.

One other worry from the day. When lowering the main, I noticed unusual friction on the halyard. It required much of my weight to bring the sail in. Possibly the line had slipped off its sheave. I don’t know, but the thought of a main stuck in the air during a blow is an unpleasant one. The halyard runs free now, but the issue is still open.

November 12, 2018

Day 39

Noon Position: 35 42S 119 39W

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

Wind(t/tws): SWxS 15

Sea(t/ft): S 10

Sky: Stratus clouds cover the sky, but there maybe blue to windward

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1016+, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 66

Water Temp(f): 61

Relative Humidity(%): 60

Sail: #2 genoa and main, reaching to windward (again)

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 139

Miles since departure: 5040

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

A warm, gentle day and welcome for it.

Wind held all night and was still 20 from the SW when I came on deck at dawn. But our luck has not held. The breezes that propel us withdrew into the heavens as the sun passed noon and are 8 knots SW as I type this evening. We are close reaching under the main and big genoa and so can eek out 4 knots of way, the only recompense for being hard on the wind again and still and since about 10N.

Even so, we have been getting in our easting. Today, day 39, we crossed over our Figure 8 Voyage 1.0 track for that day a year ago and are now further east than F8V1.0. For a passage that almost touched at the Marquesas, we’ve done a fine job over the last week of getting back on course for the Horn. The sad news is that with these two weeks of slow going, we’ve lost our two day lead over F8V1.0, which passed us up yesterday and was a half a degree of latitude further south by noon. For F8V1.0, it’s all brisk NW wind. Imagine such a thing!

Small chores. Replaced a squeaking block on Monte’s tiller lines. It went all the way around the world without complaint and has now been honorably retired. Did dishes–with a sink on port and a small gale from starboard, no dishes got done yesterday. Washed head. Rinsed and oiled the sextant.

And napped. As mentioned previously, most of one’s time in a blow is spent on watch, being at-the-ready but doing very little. Sail can only be reduced so much, and with boat motion being severe, normal activities are suspended. That said, it’s a moderately stressful way to spend one’s time. So, after a day of doing nothing, today I took it easy.

I record daily progress on a paper chart, which is a convenient way of getting an overview of progress and anticipating upcoming challenges (two things electronic charts do poorly!). What ho! Mo has finally moved from the chart containing French Polynesia to the chart showing South America and Cape Horn.

At average speed for this passage (130 miles a day), it’s 18 days to the Horn.

November 11, 2018

Day 38

Noon Position: 34 55S 122 07W

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

Wind(t/tws): SW 25 – 28

Sea(t/ft): SW 12

Sky: Rain. Low and gray

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1004, rising

Cabin Temp(f): 66

Water Temp(f): 60

Relative Humidity(%): 75

Sail: Triple reef in main and #2 genoa, hard reaching

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

Miles since departure: 4900

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

Ran all night on main and #2, both triple reefed, taking wind on starboard quarter as the low came on slowly and steadily. By first light, it was blowing a resolute 33 knots, and Mo was hard pressed with so much sail aft. I dressed and dropped the main. This eased Mo’s complaint, but without the pressure on the main holding us down, we rolled terribly.

The bar had been falling all night and now stood at 1001, its lowest this trip.

At 8am, wind suddenly eased into the teens and went south. The sky cleared. But all around remained a wall of dark cloud. The bar, 999. For an hour we sailed through the center of the low as if in a haunted place.

Then wind went strongly southwest, cycling between 26 and 29 knots, and has stayed there all day. We are traveling in the direction of the low. We may hold this wind for a while.

Am back to two sails, both as reefed as they go. We fight to keep our course southeast. A wet, rough ride as the sea is now a mature 12 feet and breaking on our beam. I should ease into the east and give Mo a break. But we don’t need more easting at this latitude. So, I’m pushing for some southing.

Since last sail change, this was before noon, I haven’t done much but pull Monte’s strings occasionally and watch, but it’s a tiring watch. Am dressed in foulies, ready to go. Just in case.

November 10, 2018

Day 37

Noon Position: 33 01S  124 15W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ESE 5 – 6

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 7 – 10

Sea(t/ft): S7 (big swell; not from here)

Sky: Broken cumulus and strato cumulus. A sky that means trouble.

10ths Cloud Cover: 8

Bar(mb): 1010, falling. 1006 by 6pm.

Cabin Temp(f): 70

Water Temp(f): 65

Relative Humidity(%): 55

Sail: Big genoa and main, plus the lowered cradle cover. Close hauled.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 128

Miles since departure: 4758

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

Winds are light from the SW, and into them we reach steadily SE. But the long, slow swell coming up to meet us is large enough to steal our wind when we’re in its troughs. Here the sails spill and go limp and then slap full when we crest. Over and over. Hard on the gear.

In the morning, I open the larger genoa and scandalized the main, now a favorite trick in very light going. All I do is lower the windward panel of the cradle cover, which adds about 30 square feet of oomph

To scandalize a sail is to lower it part way (without reefing) or raise it part way by raising the boom. So, technically, my trick is no sandal, but it is certainly unorthodox.

And the two combined actions gave us just enough speed to avoid some of the slap and bang.

—

By way of indicating how much more southing we need to make before weathering the Figure 8’s first big cape, here are some comparisons.

When we saw our first albatross the other day, Mo and I were at 30S, and I went on and on about how “we’re finally in the South.” But how far south is 30S?

Well, in northern latitude terms, it’s like being in Houston, Texas, which no one would consider to be very far north at all.

And, in northern latitude terms, how much further is Cape Horn?

The Cape lies at 56S. A good northern equivalent is Sitka, Alaska, at 56N.

Houston to Sitka is quite a road trip.

In other words, we’ve got a ways yet.

—

As un-south as this latitude may be, it is about to deliver our first southern blow.

Right in our path is a fast developing low that starts to come together tonight and really tightens up into tomorrow, when the forecast calls for winds to 40 at the low’s center. If Mo maintains current course and speed (now SE at 7), we’ll dive right through the middle of it.

And if one is in doubt about the forecast, he need only glance at the barometer (down four points since noon) and look beyond Mo’s bows, where sits a grim and foreboding sky.

My scandal is tidied up. The big genoa is furled. The #2 is rigged for easy reefing (both sheets to leeward and through separate blocks–one suited for full; the other for reefs).

Now we plough forward and see what happens.

Extra credit: I covered the dorade vents during a lull today. Each vent has a round, stainless steel cap that blocks the top opening and prevents water (and air, sadly) from getting into the dorage box. In very heavy going, the box can become overwhelmed by a sea and pump water into the cabin, which the cover prevents. It seems a bit early for this, except for the coming low.

November 9, 2018

Day 36

Noon Position: 31 36S 126 19W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): ESE 6 – 7

Wind(t/tws): SWxW 18

Sea(t/ft): W3, S6

Sky: Fronts rolling through. Low sky. Light rain.

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1011, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 70

Water Temp(f): 66

Relative Humidity(%): 67

Sail: #2 genoa, main, broad reach

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 116

Miles since departure: 4630

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

All sailing today. The sky is gray and low. Small fronts are blowing through, wave after wave from the west. Wind is 10 or 25. I’d reefed and unreefed the main four times by lunch.

No complaint. Reefing is good exercise and a small sacrifice for fast time in the right direction.

—

It is cooling quickly. For weeks I slept without any cover at all. Then a few days ago, a blanket. Now the summer sleeping bag.

I’m wearing a light jacket and warm boots as I type, this after two-thousand miles in (the same) tanktop and shorts. We’ve seen no sun all day. The cabin is 66 degrees. And I look at the following video, from just four days ago, with wonder. Was it really ever that warm? …

November 8, 2018

Day 35

Noon Position: 30 18S 127 49W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): E 4

Wind(t/tws): SSE 5 – 6

Sea(t/ft): S 6, not much else

Sky: Complex cloud formations. Feels like a front coming.

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1014, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 72

Water Temp(f): 67

Relative Humidity(%): 70

Sail: Big genoa and main, close hauled.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 106

Miles since departure: 4515

Avg. Miles/Day: 129

At noon I wrote in the log, “Light and contrary. Ug.” All night we ran dead downwind on poles and I star gazed through sparse, cottony cumulus before dinner. Orion is rising earlier; Cassiopea is sunk in the north and Cygnus is not far behind. I have yet to find Crux, the Southern Cross.

But the day brought change.

By mid morning, we were overtaken by a dark and squally system. Wind went from NW to SSW in a matter of fifteen minutes. Down came the poles, and we were close hauled in a 10 knot breeze.

By noon wind had gone SSE at 5 – 6.

At 3pm, the wind went NE at 8.

At 5:30pm, it went NW at 10 – 25 as a front moved through. Heavy rain.

Now it’s just N of W at 11.

That’s a powerful lot of sail changing for one day, and I doubt we’re done.

During a lull I was able to repair the main sail car that broke and spilled its bearings back in mid October. So, something besides line handling got done today.

November 7, 2018

Day 34

Noon Position: 29 09S 129 21W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SE 4-5

Wind(t/tws): NNW 6-8

Sea(t/ft): NNW 1, SE 2, S6 (big, old, dying swell)

Sky: Cumulus low and cirrus with mares tails

10ths Cloud Cover: 7

Bar(mb): 1018, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 79

Water Temp(f): 70

Relative Humidity(%): 52

Sail: All sail. #1 genoa and main rigged for a quartering breeze and #1 genoa poled to windward and sheeted way out.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 56

Miles since departure: 4409

Avg. Miles/Day: 130

Just enough wind overnight to keep sails full and quite.

The sea ran down to nothing and that old swell from the south was too long and slow even to be noticed below. I laid down on a flat and motionless bed and slept like a man at home while Mo ghosted, her bow wave nothing but a tinkling of glass.

More of the same today. Light but steady wind from the north under a fallstreak sky. Mo happily making gentle southeasting. I poled out the working genoa after breakfast and flew three sails all day.

No time wasted. Rigged the inner forestay and flew the new storm jib just to see it. (Thanks to Robin at HOOD for getting this turned around quickly during their busiest time.) It’s smaller and squatter than the old one, and thus it is more appropriate for downwind runs. But given its size, I can’t see using it in anything but the worst snorter. That’s fine. One conclusion I’ve come to regarding last year’s knockdowns is that typically I need to carry more sail in the big blows.

After lunch, I sealed the flue caps over the diesel cabin heater with coax tape. Water squirted down these during the knockdowns and rusted the diesel pan right through. Just a pin hole, but enough to be trouble. Had to remove the heater, disassemble, and hand to the Weld Shop at KKMI what must have been the smallest weld job ever. Plug one pin hole, please.

Finished removing and resealing the leaking plexiglass windows. Then did an end for end on the running back lines, whose covers are showing signs of being chewed on where they pass through the clutch.

The list is getting smaller…

In the afternoon, our first albatross, an immature black browed–a remarkable sighting and a sure sign, just as we are entering 30S.

Yesterday we were visited by a tropic bird. Today, the largest flying fish I’ve ever seen (over a foot long) dashed away from Mo over three wave tops. Water temperature is still hovering at 70 degrees.

But the albatross says we have entered the south.

November 6, 2018

Day 33

Noon Position: 28 18S 129 46W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): S 4

Wind(t/tws): ExS 7

Sea(t/ft): SE 2 (big old swell coming up from S, occasionally S @ 6)

Sky: Stratocumulus (Clear by mid afternoon.)

10ths Cloud Cover: 8

Bar(mb): 1019, steady

Cabin Temp(f): 77

Water Temp(f): 70

Relative Humidity(%): 54 (47% by mid afternoon; driest this passage)

Sail: #1 and Main, full; close hauled

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 105

Miles since departure: 4353

Avg. Miles/Day: 132

Everything today speaks of desert.

Dawn revealed a deck of mid-level stratocumulus clouds, flat and unmoving, clouds Alan Watts in his little *Instant Weather Forecasting* book associates with an inversion layer due to subsiding air and “tropical airstreams that have all dried out.”

In other words, we’d sailed into an area of high pressure. No big surprise; the forecast had been calling for it for days.

By early afternoon, winds had eased to four knots and the sky cleared to a soft, eggshell blue. The sea became still, save for a tired, old swell from the south that was shuffling out its last days in the Pacific basin.

The dry warmth, the lack of wind, the pale, cloudless sky; a calm sea gently rolling like deep blue dunes. The quiet. All speak to me of desert.

It is on days like today that the ocean feels vast. On other days I know it is vast, but if the wind is up, the seas create a sense of closeness, and one is busy sailing. Not today. Today, when on deck, I feel I can see forever. And what I see is an endless plain of the deepest, most engaging blue.

If I were to stop, to think of distances and the depths below and all that could happen between here and there, I might become anxious. But I don’t. Mo knows how to float and wind will return. And so I am free to enjoy the delicious solitude the sea offers up and to pretend that I am flirting with the infinite.

And then I go back to work. Today: dried out the anchor locker; rove the new topnlift lines; removed a plexiglass window covering that had fogged over; now dried and resealed; gave my head and beard a wash.

November 5, 2018

Day 32

Noon Position: 26 45S 128 59W

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

Wind(t/tws): SExS 10

Sea(t/ft): E 3

Sky: Altocumulus

10ths Cloud Cover: 2

Bar(mb): 1021, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 81

Water Temp(f): 73

Relative Humidity(%): 55 (dry)

Sail: #2 genoa, main, full; close hauled (AWA roughly 40 degrees)

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 125

Miles since departure: 4248

Avg. Miles/Day: 133

Wind has tailed off and gone SE. We’re cruising the top of a high, and, sadly, we’re giving up much of the easting made over the last weeks. Another day of this and then becalmed a day and then wind goes south, allowing a tack to the east. Within a week we should start to feel the tops of the big lows currently passing toward Cape Horn.

A friend sends me regular reports on the tribulations of the Golden Globe Race skippers, who have been experiencing knockdowns, broken masts, boat abandonments and at-sea rescues. No one’s escaped without being raked. I think at this point they are all through the Indian, but now Cape Horn looms.

Not encouraging reading.

All while Mo and I make four knots in the wrong direction. I’m in no hurry. Thus the #1 is still rolled.

On a cheerier note, below is a video of scenes from the SE Trades…

https://youtu.be/pYskd-lATQ8

November 4, 2018

Day 31

Noon Position: 24 44S 128 17W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SSW 6 – 7

Wind(t/tws): ESE 18 – 20

Sea(t/ft): E 6 – 8

Sky: Light Cumulus

10ths Cloud Cover: 5

Bar(mb): 1023, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 77

Water Temp(f): 74

Relative Humidity(%): 68

Sail: #2 three reefs; main 2 reefs, close reach (55 – 60 AWA).

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 146

Miles since departure: 4123

Avg. Miles/Day: 133

Henderson Island was hull up when I rolled out of my bunk at 7am. At eight miles off, it was but a thick and unmoving line atop the undulating horizon. This didn’t change much as we approached.

Wind overnight pushed us west such that I thought for a time we might have to take Henderson to leeward. But Mo hunted her way back, and even when, with daylight, wind went decidedly SE, we still made clear by six miles.

I had hoped to do a fly-by of Pitcairn, but Henderson is equally as fascinating, though for quite different reasons.

I’ll thumbnail the items of interest here (from Wiki).

-The Pitcairn Island Group is made up of Ducie Atoll, Henderson Island, Oeno Atoll, and Pitcairn Island, all of which are British possessions. At a landed area of 14 square miles, Henderson is, by far, the largest of the four. Compare Pitcairn, the only inhabited island in the group (by a 2014 census, the population was a small 57 residents) at 3 square miles. Henderson’s elevation is about 50 feet.

-Henderson is one of the last two raised atolls in the world that remain untouched by civilization (the other is Aldabra in the Indian Ocean). For this reason, the island was made a World Heritage Site in 1988.

-Henderson is lush and densely wooded. So, why no residents? Inaccessibility: it is surrounded by step cliffs that often cut away into the sea. Lack of water: there is only one brackish spring on the island. There is evidence of a 12th century Polynesian group living on Henderson, but it is presumed they were supplied by neighboring islands and went extinct with the others.

-Of the 51 flowering plants, ten are endemic. All four resident bird species are endemic (a fruit dove, a lorikeet, a reed warbler and a flightless crake). About a third of identified insects are endemic. Quite an accomplishment for such a small place.

-Henderson was discovered by the Portuguese explorer, Queiros in 1606 and named San Juan Bautista. It was discovered again in 1819 by a British Merchantman, Captain Henderson of the Hercules, who named it after himself.

-The crew of the whaleship Essex landed here in 1820 after their ship was rammed and sunk by a sperm whale (this is the story that inspired Meliville’s Moby Dick). They discovered the only drinking water on the island, a brackish spring available at half tide, ate up the easily accessible food in a matter of a week and departed for South America. Three men stayed behind and were later rescued. These men discovered skeletons in a cave that later proved to be ancient Polynesians.

-As a publicity stunt, American Robert Tomarchin and his pet chimpanzee lived as castaways on Henderson two months in 1957. He was rescued by the Pitcairners.

-Henderson is home to the largest plastics debris deposits anywhere in the world, a whopping 37.7 million items can be found on windward beaches.

That struck me as an interesting history for a small, uninhabited island 3,000 miles from the mainland.

—

The two anchorages are extremely exposed roadsteads on the west side and not the least bit tempting. But I did feel that pang to explore a coastline, to nose into a protected bay and drop the hook after a long passage.

Not now. Not for us. Onward for us.

—

Winds are easing but are still south of east. At best, we make south. In the afternoon, I had canned dolmas for lunch with what was left of last night’s lentil stew. Then I rewired the handheld VHF radio charger and drained water from the two forward bilges; then I backed up the computer and took a sun sight.

Work-a-day stuff. Henderson was the high point.

November 3, 2018

Day 30

Noon Position: 22 19S 128 03W

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

Wind(t/tws): E 17 – 21

Sea(t/ft): E 6 -8

Sky: Light Cumulus, sparsly distributed cirrus

10ths Cloud Cover: 4

Bar(mb): 1022

Cabin Temp(f): 81

Water Temp(f): 78

Relative Humidity(%): 70

Sail: Two reefs in genoa and main. Close reaching (60 degrees AWA is about the best I can do and maintain speed).

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

Miles since departure: 3977

Avg. Miles/Day: 133

This is the pattern. Days are steady and stiff with wind. Skies are mostly clear. But at night it all goes to hell. Squalls come up from windward an hour after dark, and they have their own idea of a howling good time. Amazingly I am in the pilot house again, this time at 3am, when we get T-boned. 35 gusting 40. Sideways rain so heavy I think it might take my skin off. I ease sheets, let Mo run off before it. An hour later, 15 – 20. That’s the worst one, but there are others. All by way of explaining why I ran with a tripple reefed genoa and double reefed main last night.

Monte: So, Senior, how are you feeling?

Randall: Feeling? About what?

Monte: Your most recent 30 continuous days at sea.

Randall: I dunno. It’s just a month. What do you mean?

Monte: Are you not from California? I thought all those of California were most obliged to be queried about feelings.

Randall: That’s OK. I just don’t know where you’re coming from.

Monte: Let us try again … you’ve been at sea for 30 days. How is your health?

Randall: Ah! Excellent, I think. When we departed, both my shoulders were soar and I’d pulled a vertebrae in my mid-lower back that was bad enough it would wake me up at night. These have both enjoyed a more active sea life. The back pain is gone entirely and the shoulders are mostly better. I woke with a splitting headache last week, and was worried for a while about tainted water or eating expired food or spoiled apples, etc., but I think it was just dehydration. The pilot house is a furnace during the day. I drank three liters of water that day and haven’t had a repeat. I sit too much and don’t do leg exercises the way I should, but my upper body is already much stronger than when I departed from all the work at the winches.

Monte: That is pleasant to hear. And how’s your appetite? Your menu is the same as it was a year ago.

Randall: Also good. I’m not a shy eater. Breakfast is one full cup of Muesli with powdered milk and dried fruit. Lunch is hit and miss, but dinner is always a one-pot wonder stew that’s enough for two meals (actually probably three, but I eat it in two); you know, beef curry and rice; polenta with salmon and stewed tomatoes; shepherds pie; chicken pasta…all hearty if not very diverse. There’s sameness aplenty in my diet, but I don’t mind that as long as the meal is filling. That said, as usual, I’d like more fresh bread and cake, but that will have to wait till a different tack and a might less wind and sea.

Monte: Bueno, bueno. And how about sleep. Do you sleep?

Randal: When I can. Winds this year in the SE trades have been pretty damned strong and incredibly variable, with the variability seeming to come mostly at night. I’m up frequently these days. I have relaxed my old pattern of one hour of sleep followed by a series of two-hour sleeps until morning or interruption. Now I focus more on two and three hour intervals. The further south we get, the less there is for the AIS to get bothered about, and the more we can sleep, weather permitting. It’s that last part that’s been an issue so far, and I doubt that’s going to get any better.

Monte: I understand completely. An how about activity. Are you keeping busy?

Randall: Again, it’s been a busy leg. The list of small chores that need doing before we get smacked by our first low is still long, largely due to Mo the Water Flinger making anything forward of the pilot house off limits, except for reefing. I still need to repair the broken car on the main, rig the storm jib, reeve the new genoa topnlifts. I’d like to dive the hull before the water gets too cold. Still need to close off the dorade vents and water proof the hatches and the stove flu (I use coax tape).

Monte: I sense a calm coming after Pitcairn. You will have your chance.

Randall: And, I’ve been navigating as much as I can. Navigating and memorizing stars. Am up to 25 of the 58 nav stars. I can give you a tour any night you choose.

Monte: Oh, many thanks. I need but one star to steer by and a tiny light on the compass. So, senior, now back to my original question. How are you feeling?

Randall: Ah. Ok, I guess. There’s not a lot of joy to be had when one is driving into stiff trades, and I know what’s coming further south. Last time there was a sense of anticipation and excitement. Now its just anticipation. I feel like a professional with a job to do, and I’m just trying to be ready. For example, I haven’t admired a sunset or gone all bug-eyed over a bird this leg. I miss the sense of wonder. But fear will do that to you… And it’s a big ocean and plenty of room for wonder later on.

Monte: Claro que si.

November 2, 2018

Day 29

Noon Position: 19 53S 128 21W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SxE 7 – 8

Wind(t/tws): ENE 18 – 21

Sea(t/ft): NE 8

Sky: Light cumulus low and cirrus high, mare’s tails

10ths Cloud Cover: 2

Bar(mb): 1020+

Cabin Temp(f): 82

Water Temp(f): 79 (down)

Relative Humidity(%): 67

Sail: Two reefs in genoa and main. Dancing between a reach and a close reach.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 176

Miles since departure: 3830

Avg. Miles/Day: 132

Wind stayed steady from the NE all night, if 18 – 21 with touches of 24 counts as steady. At 18, our rig, double reefed for close reaching, was perfect. At 21 – 24, Mo and skipper felt the press, though our hearts were gladdened by the frequent visits to 8 knots.

Seas have built to that boulder garden stage, and the sensation is that of sailing through a rock quarry just after the dynamite blast. Mo leaps and flings thick water everywhere. If on deck, one is guaranteed a drenching forward of the pilot house, but there is no safety anywhere but below.

At midnight we were T-boned by a squall. For reasons unknown I was in the pilot house when wind suddenly went to 35 knots. Mo laid right over. Heavy rain flew sideways. I eased the main and let Mo run off for an hour. Then back we went the wind to 18 – 20.

This has continued all day. It’s a fast but soul crushing ride.

Today’s story is about gimbaled stoves.

Mo has one, and a week ago the gimbal knobs on which the stove rests began to squeak. So I oiled them. Confession: I used a handy spray can of penetrating oil. A week later, I notice that the gimbal knobs are no longer turning with the stove as the stove swings. The penetrating oil has penetrated the threads of the fastener holding the gimbal knob in place, and the two are slowly working apart.

The stove is in danger of being set free to roam the cabin at will, an unpleasant emancipation for those on the down hill side of the boat when this occurs. Tightening the fasteners required removal of the stove top and grate and some delicate maneuvering between the burners. Not at all difficult in one’s home marina, but while riding Mo the Water Flinger as she charges into the great unknown…it was touch and go for a while.

November 1, 2018

Day 28

Noon Position: 17 09S 129 29W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): SExE 7 – 8

Wind(t/tws): NE 17 – 21

Sea(t/ft): NE 6

Sky: Mixed cumulus, occasional squall but without heft

10ths Cloud Cover: 3

Bar(mb): 1017+, falling

Cabin Temp(f): 84

Water Temp(f): 80 (slight drop)

Relative Humidity(%): 65

Sail: #2 one reef; main one reef; reaching.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 132

Miles since departure: 3654

Avg. Miles/Day: 131

Miles to Cape Horn: 3570

Twenty eight days to get half way to Cape Horn.

If we maintain this pace, we approach before the end of November. Part of me will be pleased if we can get all our southing in inside of 60 days–that’ll be an efficient run if we can do it. But part of me worries that we’re too early in the season. Jeremy Firth, a Hobart native and round-the-worlder I met while there last year, issued that warning. “Down here it’s all ocean,” he said. “Cold ocean. Seasons are slow to change. They’re at least a month behind what you’d think.”

This may be why most prefer to round the Horn nearer the end of December (except for Vito Dumas, who thought July was best, this according to Moitessier). It may also be why the South Pacific lows I’ve been watching these last weeks often have their centers in the mid 40s of latitude. Three cheers for a good blow, but Lordy, can I please stay above it?

Cape Horn timing. It may be one of the more challenging aspects to the Figure 8 route, which calls for two roundings of that famous promontory in one season. Mo just isn’t fast enough to get two in during official summer. An end of November approach (Northern Hemisphere equivalent: end of May) for the first pass puts me back at the Horn around the end of March (Northern Hemisphere equivalent: end of Sept). Imagine sailing the Gulf of Alaska or the North Atlantic in those months. Certainly doable, but not ideal. But any other timing risks being very early or very late.

Strange to cogitate on Cape Horn when the cabin is 84 degrees at sundown.

Wind today. Big wind and steady and exactly where Mo likes it best: flat on the beam. Squalls overnight to drive a sailor mental. Some were so big–a quarter of the sky, sometimes half–that they created their own wind patterns. I sat up until 3am as wind cycled between E and NW and 10 and 25 knots. Every hour or two, that pattern. Crank in sail; let it out; tap Monte on the left shoulder; now the right. Nap for 20 minutes in the pilot house. But sleep? Try it and you’ll wake to find Mo screaming toward the NE.

The morning showed a clear sky, not to windward, but in our direction of travel, and by an hour past sun up, we got there: wind filled in from the NE at 20 and hasn’t budged all day. Mo spends whole minutes having her way with 8 knots over the ground. Just grand.

October 31, 2018

Day 27

Noon Position: 15 13S 130 35W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): W 2

Wind(t/tws): E 3

Sea(t/ft): E 4

Sky: Billowing cumulus and giant roaming squall clouds

10ths Cloud Cover: 8

Bar(mb): 1017 falling (I hope)

Cabin Temp(f): 84

Water Temp(f): 81

Relative Humidity(%): 64

Sail: It doesn’t matter.

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 112

Miles since departure: 3522

Avg. Miles/Day: 130

Miles to Cape Horn: 3704

A day of annoyances.

The satellite equipment I use to send these missives has failed to work today. All lights are green, but nothing goes. Thus, no photos for this post. (This is being sent from the device that populates the tracker.)

Then the faint wind we’d nursed all night failed just after morning coffee. The trades, utterly gone, and Mo just at 15S. Nothing but the merest exhalations here and there from N and W while the sea frolicked at its release from the tyranny of the wind. For non sailors, what this means is that the crew is forever on deck adjusting sail, attempting to catch any wind that will keep the sails from slatting. Slatting is the death song of sails, and it is similar in its beauty to the death song of nails on a chalk board.

Only three of my five star shots from the night before came to anything worth discussing. True, those three did put us right where the chart plotter predicted. But what of Vega and Deneb? Why should they want us to be in the Med?

Then those trolls of the sea, squalls. Dark and wet, they came for us. I rigged the water catchment system and was humming along at the idea of a bath. I could smell the soap. What joy against the usual smells. But not a single squall was a direct hit. Though it was a veritable Noah’s flood just over there, and there, and there, we caught no rain. Salt crystals have etched their way into the paint, into the pilot house glass, into my skin. We all could have done with a fresh water rinse.

A note I’d seen the day before about the Golden Globe Racers being scourged with barnacles has put me on edge. I gave up tending sail and put a waterproof camera over the side. There, in the dark of the bilge and beyond the pelagic pale blue, a collection of Goosenecks have colonized. It’s only day 27. The words of my friend Gerd, ringing in my ear, “There is no good bottom paint for aluminum boats.”

I began to dig out snorkel gear and a putty knife. That colony would reap its reward! But wind came up from the NW. Off we went to the E.

I asked Mo to go SE. “It’s a Great Circle for the Horn,” I reasoned. But S was more to her liking.

I ate an apple. It was rotten at the core.

Then I ate an orange. Well, OK, the orange was fine.

I yelled up to a flock of passing Terns, “Anyone for Cake? I have Cake!” No answer. “Lemon or chocolate. I have both. Up to you!” They flew off.

Conclusion: Terns don’t like cake.