Day 35 
Noon Position: 28.01S 124.24W 

Course/Speed: SSE 4

Wind: E 6

Sail: Full

Bar: 1024

Sea: S 10; E 6 (old rollers), otherwise the sea is flat.

Sky: Mostly clear; some cumulus; occasional squall

Cabin Temp: 79! 

Water Temp: 75
Miles last 24-hours: 118 

Miles since departure: 4547

Silently Mo glides through a silent sea.

Those words most days would be a nonsense. But today we ghost on a steady zephyr and have done so since yesterday noon, moved noiselessly, one hour like the next.

No wind, and Mo bangs and rattles to drive one mad. In a good breeze the wind thumps the ears, the rigging thrums, white-caps clap and crash. One does not come to the sea expecting the stillness of a forest or one is disappointed. The sea is not a contemplative.

But today there is force enough in the small stirrings from the east to quiet Mo and give her momentum without waking the water.  
And then you realize you haven’t heard this, this…nothing…in weeks. 
The sensation: moving through an emptiness–except for the blue and the cloud–so vast that movement is irrelevant. Beyond boarder or threshold, beyond here or there. Beyond time. Beyond end. Wandering.
And there is a deliciousness to it I can’t explain. A feeling, but of what? Not of being lost or isolated, there is no impatience to arrive; today we are not fighting the sea to make miles. Today we are … home. No, not at home. Simply, home. Just boat and man and firmament. Here is the all that in them is. This is the most of the world.

A lone petrel cruising nearby, winged brown against blue, breaks the reverie. Ah, not quite empty. And then you see the swell from the south, a slow heaving, a gentle rolling of hills so large they prick the horizon, the space between, secluded valleys to be enjoyed for a moment and then gone. Ancient giants from a battlefield far away. Soon you will join their kin.

The sun sets. The full moon. Orion, no longer prone, but standing tall over his sky. And silently Mo glides through a silent sea.

Day 34
Noon Position: 26 17S 125 10W

Course/Speed: 0

Wind: S 3

Sail: Dowsed

Bar: 1025

Sea: E 2

Sky: Squalls

Cabin Temp: 86

Water Temp: 77 
Miles last 24-hours: 97

Miles since departure: 4429

“Damn wind!” I muttered to Monte this morning. We both sat on the rail staring at the horizon to weather from which came nothing but one rain column after the other, slowly, over a glassy sea.

“Senior, do not hate the wind; the wind is all that we have. But OK, you can hate these squalls that are like elephants, you know the elephant, Senior?, that suck the wind up into the sky. Damn elephants!”

“This…and the westerlies are still 600 miles south!”
“It is because you are impatient. You are eager for the challenge, but Cape Horn, it will be there when you arrive; it does not matter the day.”

“No, Monte, I am eager for the challenge *to commence.* Such a long way to the starting line.”

Thus to explain that were are going nowhere, again.

So, provisioning…

By the time I got to the Figure 8, I’d provisioned for several month-long passages, and in 2016, I provisioned Mo for an entire summer of sailing. But a year? That was a real mind bender.

Here was my approach:

1. The goal was to have 365 days of food aboard. That would leave me no cushion if the voyage did take that long, but as I intended a stop in the northeast, I could supplement the supply there as needed in or around month ten.

2. The organization plan was built on recipes for foods I eat on land. I’ve learned the hard way that, when stressed, the familiar is far more precious than variety. So, anchovies in fifteen flavors? No. Curried beef and rice twice every week? OK.

3. Meals needed to be simple to prepare. For example, most breakfasts are easy oats–oatmeal (hot) or muesli (cold). I struck gold in finding Kodiak pancake mix (one part mix to one part water) which now serves as my toast substitute for the beloved PB+J. Lunches are cold; cheese and crackers, peanut butter and cheese, various spreads. All dinners are batched to be two meals in one pot, and most are made in the pressure cooker. 

4. Foods needed to last without access to freezer or refrigeration as Mo has neither. Once you’ve wrapped your head around the lovely tin can, this is just not that difficult. Some items like Kodiak Cake Mix, NIDO Milk, etc., will push up against their “best by” dates by the time I get north, but my experience suggests this will not be a problem for most foods.

5. Supplementation. My caloric requirements will jump when it gets cold and rough, but by how much I do not know. Planned meal portions are already generous, but I wanted an easy way to goose intake. So, months ago I began experimenting with powdered meal replacement “shakes.” Most, I found, are protein bombs or low in calories or high in sugar (or all three) when what I wanted was a balanced meal. Enter SOYLENT, whose goal is exactly that. Each “meal” is 400 calories, i.e. 20% of the RDA of 2000 calories per day, and contains 20% of the RDA of nutrients. A white powder, neutral in flavor; add water, mix, drink. Bingo. Now MO has 400 meals of SOYLENT tucked away in lockers for when it gets cold.
6. Don’t cheat. Trust the math on the spreadsheet and avoid the urge to “shelfgrab” when shopping. In the end I did cheat a little. Extra coffee, milk, cookies, crackers, and fresh cheese found their way aboard (thank you Joanna!). 

7. All foods must be tracked, both where they are aboard and when they are consumed. (One last minute mishap: the printed tracking sheet I use on Mo is NOT alphabetized. It’s random and in a tiny font. Oops.)

I did not account for fresh fruit and veg in the inventory as they don’t last more than a few weeks.

Thinking it would be a big project, I began provisions planning *months* before departure. Good idea, as it turned out. 

I’ve included the tracking and provisioning spreadsheet for those inclined that way.

Wind kicked in a 1pm, so back to work.

Day 33

Noon Position: 24 54S  125 51W
Course/Speed: SE 6
Wind: E to ENE 10-14
Sail: Full working sail
Bar: 1025
Sea: E 3 and diminishing
Sky: Clear
Cabin Temp: 84
Water Temp: 75

Miles last 24-hours: 136
Miles since departure: 4332

Timeless. All day we’ve reached into light but unvarying trades. The sails, full, no thought of a reef; crisp-white and starch-still against eternal emptiness. The sea’s undulations, relaxed, each hour bringing less swell so that Mo slid along close hauled as if crossing a lake. The stern cobalt and obsidian blues, faded, the water taking on pastels from the sky where a Skua comes calling and infant cumulus form and evaporate and the wind blows ever the same. I have not touched line or tiller since sunup.

Which is good, because it’s been a busy make-and-mend day.

At some point after midnight, Lt. Wattsy (Watt and Sea Hydrogenerator) busted a seam. Wattsy is fussy. Good family, private schools, speaks five languages. Highly productive but a little too clever. Can’t quite be relied on. Tends to just let go.

I came into the pilot house in the wee hours for my usual check-in to find we were making no amps. Suspecting the problem I poked head over the transom, and there was Wattsy bouncing along on top of the water all crazy-eyed. The lanyard holding the downhaul low friction ring had parted. Again.

The first parting happened in the second week of this cruise. The factory lanyard, made of a small, uncovered, Dyneema-type line, had been spliced into a loop and the splice had slipped free. I made a new lanyard from slightly larger line and closed the loop with knots whose bitter ends were whipped down. This time the lanyard had lasted for nearly 100 charging hours before chaffing through where it passes through the generator body.

I had already tried replacing the lanyard with shackles, but didn’t have the right size. I thought of making a wire rope lanyard, but I don’t have wire rope aboard. Lacking other ideas, I reached out to Bruce Schwabb at www.OceanPlanetEnergy.com through my friend David R Kelton. He replied quickly, confirming this is a common problem without a bullet-proof bodger. He steered me toward lashing the ring directly to the generator. Which I have done. Looks good. Works well, today. But I’m dubious of the long haul.

In the afternoon I finished commissioning the Jordan Series Drogue. The lashings that will hold the bridle to the boat are made; chain weight is attached; and the line flaked down and ready to deploy.

We passed Ducie Island at 2pm, sixty miles to port. My inner Jack Aubrey and inner Stephen Maturin had tussled a couple days ago regarding making a close approach. Normally Maturin would win, and we’d sail miles out of our way…just to see. But I want none of that now; I’m all Jack. No distractions from the coming challenge. Keep pressing…down and to the left.

Day 32

Noon Position: 22 47S 126 38W
Course/Speed: SE 6+
Wind: ENE 10 – 15
Sail: Full
Bar: 1024 (wow)
Sea: SE 6; E 4
Sky: Clear
Cabin Temp: 83
Water Temp: 77 (finally trending down consistently)

Miles last 24-hours: 146
Miles since departure: 4196

Gray cloud filled in last evening and went horizon to horizon by dark. I prepared for a busy night of on-again-off-again squalls, but the deck was thin enough to allow a filtered three-quarter moon and winds stayed in the teens all night. I reefed down hard anyway so that if Mo did catch a blaster, she could work through it without my help.

I was reminded today of the quote Colin Putt used to describe Bill Tillman’s expedition strategy. “He knows that the best way of roughing it is easing it.”* The context is my sail strategy, which has done an about face in the last few weeks. Now the focus is on Mo and Randall comfort first and good, not necessarily great, miles second. Sure, we could go faster, but not that much faster; we could point higher, but not that much higher, and Mo would pound like a drunken piano player for the trouble. She pounds enough as is and many thanks.

Today cleared by noon and we’re back to powdery blue skies and a cobalt sea with less and less swell in it. We’re coming to the end of the trades and seem to be getting less of everything. Flying fish, birds, swell, wind…all dropping way off.

Which leaves me fretting over how we’ll make the transition to the westerlies. I don’t currently see any way “around” being becalmed for an unknown period about three days from now, becalmed right in the track of a repeating, tight low that develops every few days at about 30N/140W. In any case, the transition at moment looks neither smooth nor rapid.

Given light winds, I opened up the pilot house ports for some fresh air and just in time to take a five-gallon gusher through the portlight right above the nav station. I think I lost headphones and a portable speaker (not used since departure), may have lost the volt meter (not good). The laptop was in its case–toss a coin to good fortune. Flooded the cabin sole and the tiny rug down there with salt water. Rug is drying in the cockpit, but will feel damp now until can rinse in the rain.

Leftover polenta, black beans, and canned salmon for dinner last night; into which was added some leftover tuna and pizza sauce. Tasty meal, as it turned out, but the presentation had the vague look of pre-digested food; a charitable reviewer might call it “glop” before asking the waiter to return it from whence it came.

*Not always evident from Tillman’s own descriptions.

Day 31
Noon Position: 20 30.15S 127 12.03W

Course/Speed: S 7

Wind: E 15+ and steady

Sail: Heavily reefed, only because I’m working on a project with the tiller

Bar: 1022 (highest to date)

Sea: E 3 – 6

Sky: Clear

Cabin Temp: 85 

Water Temp: 78 (going down slowly) 
Miles last 24-hours: 159

Miles since departure: 4050

Day 31. It represents a “personal best” of sorts–as of today, the Figure 8 is my longest solo passage ever. By way of acknowledgement, the SE trades have been steady 15+ and clear all day! What joy.

It also represents my first full month at sea. 

So, what’s my take on the passage to date? 

The sum up would be that it’s been a far more difficult month of sailing than I would have anticipated, and in retrospect, I’m pleased with that, as it’s served to slowly toughen me up for what’s to come. 

Some detail for those interested…

-Progress. We got off to a slow start. Winds were generally light above the ITCZ and our daily average when we entered the SE Trades was a poor 120 miles per day. Though a beat, the trades have generally provided faster days and our average as of today for the entire passage just topped 136. We also topped (barely) 4,000 miles this month, which is solid progress and puts me “on schedule” if winds hold.

-Emotions stress. Leaving my wife and comforts of home on a venture with lots of question marks that will take months to resolve up or down…right before the holiday season…that was tough. Still is on difficult days, and I don’t think it will get much better before we are by Cape Horn and truly in the groove of the Southern Ocean. That said, at-sea habits have returned, and what a sailor loves more than all is routine. Coffee is at 6am after morning sail adjustments. Then some email. Then the ritual of sun sights begins. The afternoon is for projects, blogging. A beer at sundown. Then my scrumptious (to me) one pot meal dinners. Keeping busy is the thing, and at moment there is no shortage of things to do.

-Physical stress. The SE trades have been a physical work-out I didn’t anticipate, especially this last week of passing through the jungle of squalls. I’ve spent more time on the foredeck, much of it at night, since crossing the equator than all of last summer’s 7,000 miles getting Mo home from Alaska. All good practice! Can reef and un-reef blindfolded. Good; got it. Next? The foredeck work has also served to get me back up to passage-making strength; specifically it’s built callouses I desperately needed and fore-arm strength. And being upwind for so long, an uncomfortable ride at best, has served to build a kind of endurance I will be calling on frequently a couple weeks from now. I’ve read the Chilean weather reports. It’s going to be a ride! 

-Successes. 

  -The boat. She’s just a champ. Taking quite a beating this last week but just keeps chugging along. 

  -The Monitor (aka Monte). Other than early issues with the latch spring, Monte has been a joy. Takes no power; steers true; knows how to tell a good story. 

  -The HOOD sails have already proved to be tough and well crafted, and the Cove Cradle on the main is an absolute winner. Haven’t touched a sail tie since departure. 

  -Electronics. I’ve a pretty complicated system from my perspective. To date, all has worked as advertised; so, thank you to Dustin Fox at Fox Electronics in Richmond for all the recommendations. -Provisioning. I’m enjoying the food (!)–look forward to the pancakes with PB&J, the pressure cooker dinners. More on that later… 

-Gear. I’ve been surprised by some of the early gear issues–the Watt and Sea down haul tether parting after 24-hours of usage, the blown batten car pin on the new main, the Monitor water paddle latch opening (likely due to my failure to install the latch spring correctly), the leak in the anchor locker, the disintegration of the new plastic gasket separating the tiller from the rudder post (today’s project)–but pleased none has been critical and each has given me some bodgering experience early in the voyage and boosted my “I can fix it” confidence.

And the biggest success? We’re still going…

To celebrate tonight…a special desert Joanna turned me onto. Ambrosia. 

Day 30
Noon Position: 17 54.92S 127 11 22W

Course/Speed: SSW 5

Wind: E 15

Sail: Working jib, full

Bar: 1020

Sea: E 10

Sky: Squalls

Cabin Temp: 85 

Water Temp: 80 
Miles last 24-hours: 139 

Miles since departure: 3891

Difficult few days. Giant squalls, one after the other, still the norm, making wind variability the norm too. 9 – 25 the usual two, three hour swing. 

But now I have a plan. 
Three reefs in main (too many, but that way I don’t have to futz with it every few hours). For the working jib, I’ve run the port sheet to starboard and passed it through the block usually used by the big genoa. One sheet is blocked well forward on the track where its angle is best suited for deep reefs, and one sheet is blocked well aft for when winds allow full or a nearly full sail. The forward sheet/block also runs inside the capshrouds, allowing the sail to be hauled in nice a flat (not good for it, but can’t be helped). A piece of spare line runs from one sheet via a Prussic knot to the rail so that I can slack off and switch between sheets without having to roll up the sail. The switch is simple and fast. 

Except night screws with this excellent tactic. Again last night winds went immediately to 25 for several hours and then started increasing. Very little lightning and only in the evening (thank you!). Moon hidden by cloud. Thus I can only assume wind due to a large squall making a slow approach. When winds became sustained at 35 around midnight, I doused the main. Ran on a deeply reefed working jib rest of night so I could sleep. 

We were becalmed at sunrise for two hours. By 10am it was blowing 30. 

Aggravating beyond all description. Even Monte is silenced. 

None of this wind would be the least bit difficult if I could carry it aft of the beam. But we are on a perpetual reach and always seeking a little easting in this ever-changing east wind. 
Too busy to cook. Clif Bars and Soylent for breakfast and Chef Boyardee Raviolis out of the can for lunch. First time using Soylent on this trip. I’d forgotten how easy and filling it is. 399 Soylent meals left. 
Ate the last, somewhat leathery apple today. All that remains of fresh food aboard are two cabbages that have gone AWOL, onions and a few bags of oranges. Eggs in the forepeak are starting to smell. 

Day 29

Noon Position: 15 43.97S  126 58.95
Course/Speed: S 6
Wind: E 10 – 20+
Sail: You name it; I done it.
Bar: 1019
Sea: E to 11
Sky: Squalls
Cabin Temp: 86
Water Temp: 80

Miles last 24-hours: 154
Miles since departure: 3752

Frustrating bit of ocean, this. Inconsistency in wind and a growing swell the name today. Same name yesterday, just more of it now. Three minutes ago, 9 knots of wind; now 23 and growing.

Wind absolutely will not stay constant for more than ten minutes depending on what side finds us first. So I roll out and roll in the working headsail and worry I’ll wear it out before we get to the good stuff. The main I’ve left at two reefs all day. Will go to three tonight given last night’s experience.

Last night the squalls deepened and by midnight we had lightning. Not a happy sight. I grabbed what portable electronics I could and put them in a steel ammo box and then fought with a wind gusting 30. Finally just dowsed the main altogether around 3am, which left us wallowing, but allowed me to shoot some footage of what looks like may repeat tonight and I hope does not.

Day 28 
Noon Position: 13 14.94S 126 51.02W 

Course/Speed: SSE 6

Wind: E 15 but up and down 10 – 20

Sail: Various

Bar: 1017

Sea: E 6, some rollers to 10…something brewing east.

Sky: Cumulus, some thunderheads

Cabin Temp: 86

Water Temp: 81
Miles last 24-hours: 153

Miles since departure: 3598

“Hey Monte,” I said, coming on deck at 10am, “We’re about to have guests.” 

“Oh, pardon Senior, then I really must shave,” said Monte, making a shift to go below.

“No, not aboard. I mean, in the neighborhood. There are three AIS targets on the scope and they’re all bunched up together dead ahead.

Monte raised what I now refer to as the “eyebrow of doubt;” dark and bold, its peak pushes so high that it is said to get a dusting of snow on the coldest winters. 

I had another look at the scope. “No, five targets. I wonder who’d gather out here? 

“It is Pirates, Senior,” said Monte, as if announcing the results of a unanimous vote. “They have set a trap.”

“Pirates? Who would send a fleet of ships to nowheresville to set a trap. There’s nobody here but us.”

“Exactly. We are here; therefore it is a trap. Madre! What will I do with all my gold?”

“That’s circular…”
“I think you mean perfectly circular, Senior.”

“…no, that’s not a compliment! I mean your reasoning makes no sense.”

“Pfa!”

Pirates or not, it was a curious thing. I had just been remarking to myself that we’d not seen a ship on the scope since getting below Panama, and now … well, now there were ten targets, mysterious targets with numbers but no names, no hailing port, no vessel description, and all moving about this way and that at a knot or less.

I’ve gone through fleets of fishing boats at night off the Washington coast. But here? Peru was 3,000 to the west; Tahiti, 1,500 east.

Soon the AIS alarms sounded. The first target should be just two miles distant, said the scope, and dead ahead. I couldn’t see anything but bounding blue. 

I did a quick height-of-eye calculation–square root of my 8 feet off the water times 1.17–I should be able to see the vessel a solid 3.3 miles away–and that assumed it was flat as a pancake. Weird.

And what’s to fish for out here? 

Now there were thirteen targets and the closest one should be approaching within a mile.  

Suddenly, I saw an orange flash ahead. Faint. Several more waves passed; then again. And within ten minutes we’d passed a buoy topped by an antenna. 

And almost immediately, I saw on the horizon to the east what the scope called the Shen Gang Shun 2. Long, squat and gray, making way toward one of the outlier buoys to the north. 

Stranger still, it’s 6pm and we just passed another three on the scope. As I type, another pops up ahead. 

I set two reefs in the working jib and two in the main after nightfall, not because the average wind speed called for anything like it, but so that Mo could stay on track without my help when the squalls hit. After dinner we got our first biggie dumping rain and pushing winds to 25 knots. Mo rounded about 20 degrees, but then settled in. So, I went to bed.  

In the morning, winds were way down, so I popped reefs even before coffee. Within ten minutes, winds were east at 18 knots. 

Squalls have continued all day. Progress ok but wearing. Not my favorite leg of a passage.

Day 27

Noon Position: 11 10.43S  127 57.77W
Course/Speed: SSE 6+
Wind: E 11 – 25
Sail: Double reefed jib, double reefed main; apparent wind about 70 degrees
Bar: 1016
Sea: SE 6 – 8
Sky: Open, then squalls
Cabin Temp: 87
Water Temp: 81

Miles last 24-hours: 153
Miles since departure: 3445

“Senior,” calls Monte as I come on deck. Mo’s bow has just lifted a five-inch slab of water that rushes aft in imitation of a Colorado River rapids. “Senior, why so pinch?” He puts his thumb and forefinger together and then points to the sails. “Trying to make some easting, Monte. Gotta cut into the wind if we’re gonna go east.” “Yes, is fine, is very fine I am sure, but maybe it is not so lucky today because my shoes they are always getting wet and the sails they are very unhappy.”

Fresh but variable trades are the tiring norm, and I spend my day watching the evil eye (the wind indicator) and fretting over when I should tuck in or untuck the next reef as wind oscillates between 11 and 25 knots over the course of hours. The cost of not reefing is a mechanical bull ride and sounds below of death and destruction. The cost of reefing, we become a slug.

Poor Mo, stout as she is, bears the brunt of my waffling, gets pushed up, down and sideways as we muscle through the lumpy, unsettled seas, and every minute shakes off water like she’s a dog just finishing a bath.

Mo, however, does sometimes make me pay for my indecision. My Thanksgiving dinner was nothing special. As per above, it had been an active day. I threw together a quick hash of beef, last of the bell peppers, corn, garlic, and curry, all intended to top mashed potatoes. Dinner and bed, my only thoughts.

The hash had simmered for fifteen minutes and was smelling so delicious I didn’t mind the extra heat in a cabin already 87 degrees. I took the pan and began to toss it, restaurant-style. Then the wave, unseen. I missed my first grab and fell backwards. Then I missed my second grab. I threw my arms wide to keep from being flung into the head. The hash catapulted into the pilot house where its greasy succulence spread over the sole and cabinetry with better evenness than the best varnish. It took an hour to clean and the rest of a paper towel roll that needed to last to month’s end. I had granola and mashed potatoes for dinner and was in my bunk by 9pm.

Part of the problem is that the water has heated up again. By the time we’d gotten to the line, water temperatures had dropped to a surprising 73 degrees, which may have accounted for some of the current irregularities I noted in earlier posts. Since then, however, water temperature has rebounded. Today’s reading was 81 degrees. This has brought with it battalions of squall clouds, none with the leaden malice of those in the ITCZ; no, these are more the typical tropic cumulus grown to be neighborhood bullies.

But they are still frequent, phalanxes separated by an hour’s clear sky and clear air, and large enough to absolutely wreck the consistency of wind flow in this region.

On our 26th night since departure, we passed through 9S, which, by my reckoning, is roughly the half way point (in terms of latitude) between San Francisco and Cape Horn. When we arrive at Cape Horn, we will have sailed some 7,500 miles. To circumnavigate the Southern Ocean will require traveling nearly twice that distance, approximately 14,500 miles, at which point we will have completed just over half of the entire Figure 8 Voyage.

And here I am complaining about trade winds.

Day 27

Noon Position: 11 10.43S  127 57.77W
Course/Speed: SSE 6+
Wind: E 11 – 25
Sail: Double reefed jib, double reefed main; apparent wind about 70 degrees
Bar: 1016
Sea: SE 6 – 8
Sky: Open, then squalls
Cabin Temp: 87
Water Temp: 81

Miles last 24-hours: 153
Miles since departure: 3445

“Senior,” calls Monte as I come on deck. Mo’s bow has just lifted a five-inch slab of water that rushes aft in imitation of a Colorado River rapids. “Senior, why so pinch?” He puts his thumb and forefinger together and then points to the sails. “Trying to make some easting, Monte. Gotta cut into the wind if we’re gonna go east.” “Yes, is fine, is very fine I am sure, but maybe it is not so lucky today because my shoes they are always getting wet and the sails they are very unhappy.”

Fresh but variable trades are the tiring norm, and I spend my day watching the evil eye (the wind indicator) and fretting over when I should tuck in or untuck the next reef as wind oscillates between 11 and 25 knots over the course of hours. The cost of not reefing is a mechanical bull ride and sounds below of death and destruction. The cost of reefing, we become a slug.

Poor Mo, stout as she is, bears the brunt of my waffling, gets pushed up, down and sideways as we muscle through the lumpy, unsettled seas, and every minute shakes off water like she’s a dog just finishing a bath.

Mo, however, does sometimes make me pay for my indecision. My Thanksgiving dinner was nothing special. As per above, it had been an active day. I threw together a quick hash of beef, last of the bell peppers, corn, garlic, and curry, all intended to top mashed potatoes. Dinner and bed, my only thoughts.

The hash had simmered for fifteen minutes and was smelling so delicious I didn’t mind the extra heat in a cabin already 87 degrees. I took the pan and began to toss it, restaurant-style. Then the wave, unseen. I missed my first grab and fell backwards. Then I missed my second grab. I threw my arms wide to keep from being flung into the head. The hash catapulted into the pilot house where its greasy succulence spread over the sole and cabinetry with better evenness than the best varnish. It took an hour to clean and the rest of a paper towel roll that needed to last to month’s end. I had granola and mashed potatoes for dinner and was in my bunk by 9pm.

Part of the problem is that the water has heated up again. By the time we’d gotten to the line, water temperatures had dropped to a surprising 73 degrees, which may have accounted for some of the current irregularities I noted in earlier posts. Since then, however, water temperature has rebounded. Today’s reading was 81 degrees. This has brought with it battalions of squall clouds, none with the leaden malice of those in the ITCZ; no, these are more the typical tropic cumulus grown to be neighborhood bullies.

But they are still frequent, phalanxes separated by an hour’s clear sky and clear air, and large enough to absolutely wreck the consistency of wind flow in this region.

On our 26th night since departure, we passed through 9S, which, by my reckoning, is roughly the half way point (in terms of latitude) between San Francisco and Cape Horn. When we arrive at Cape Horn, we will have sailed some 7,500 miles. To circumnavigate the Southern Ocean will require traveling nearly twice that distance, approximately 14,500 miles, at which point we will have completed just over half of the entire Figure 8 Voyage.

And here I am complaining about trade winds.

Day 26 

Noon Position: 8 19.58S 127 29.95W 

Course/Speed: SE 5 – 6

Wind: ENE 10 – 12

Sail: All plain sail, close hauled to make some easting on this unusual wind.

Bar: 1016

Sea: SE 3

Sky: Clear, then some squalls, then clear

Cabin Temp: 85

Water Temp: 79
Miles last 24-hours: 142

Miles since departure: 3292

***A happy day aboard Mo, but we’ll describe that another day. Happy Thanksgiving all!***

Day 25 
Noon Position: 6 10.31S 128 12.99W 

Course/Speed: SSE 6+

Wind: E 10 – 15

Sail: Working Jib full; Main, two reefs 

Bar: 1017

Sea: SE to 6

Sky: Clear

Cabin Temp: 86 

Water Temp: 79 (note significantly higher then low 70s of last week. Interesting oceanography to explore there.)
Miles last 24-hours: 164

Miles since departure: 3150

My confidence in the anchor locker leak fix of yesterday impressed not at all the two gallons of water I pumped from it this morning. Though the answer to the problem is now clear (the windlass hause hole), it also seems impossible so much sea could leak past all my stuffing and glue. No danger to Mo, mind you. The anchor locker is separated from the rest of the boat by a watertight blunk head. But it does create a twice-daily chore, and I’m doing my damndest to reduce those as much as possible before we get too far south. 

So, will have a go at removing the shackle next break in the wind. This will likely mean cutting a link so I can work on removing the shackle pins at leisure back here on the bench in the pilot house.

I don’t use a great variety of knots on Mo. In fact, I doubt I could tie more than ten because what I’ve found is that almost all situations on a boat can be handled by five–half hitch, clove hitch, rolling hitch, reef knot, and bowline. I’ve taught myself others, like boweline on a bite and sheet bend, more times than I can count, but they go unused and so the technique fades. 

But this trip I’ve added two to the kit bag that are turning out to be very useful. One is the Prussic knot and the other, the Constrictor knot.

With wind up and down and sideways here in the trades, I’m having to reef and unreef the working jib frequently. In order to get good sail shape, this also means moving the sheet car. I’ve found that a Prussic around the sheet with the bitter end of the line run to the rail allows me to ease the sheet without dumping wind from the sail. In fact, I’m doing this so frequently, I’ve left the Prussic in place for days. True, a rolling hitch, or more likely two in line, also works, but a rolling hitch holds best under steady pressure, whereas the Prussic cares not.

I’ve admired the Constrictor knot as a genius way to keep trash bag tops from coming open, but as most of my trash bags have their own strapping, I gave it up. But I was browsing Toss last week and noted his praise of the Constrictor. Man, was he right! What a workhorse, grab-and-hold knot! It’s now the basis for all the lashing I do, and the best use yet was as a makeshift splice on the Monitor control line. This install took five minutes to tie (imagine how long whippings would take) and hasn’t budged since.

Day 24 
Noon Position: 3 29.46S 128 07.79W 

Course/Speed: SSE 7

Wind: E 11

Sail: Full working jib; one reef in main

Bar: 1016

Sea: SE 4

Sky: Partly Cloudy

Cabin Temp: 85

Water Temp: 77
Miles last 24-hours: 181 a) we went very fast; b) there must be a beneficial current in these parts; c) I turned ship’s clock back an hour to make calculating local noon more convenient. 

Miles since departure: 2986

I get satisfaction out of the practice of celestial navigation, whose principles I forget almost as fast as I learn them. Thus each (fortunately frequent) passage is a chance to dive afresh into Tom Cunliffe’s lucid and succinct CELESTIAL NAVIGATION. And as I began it this morning, I was reminded of the provisional nature of truth.

The book begins, “At school we all learn that the stars are plunging through space at various mind-boggling distances from us and that the Earth is travelling on an annual voyage around the sun. Whether all of this is true is of no relevance to the practical astro-navigator (for whom) the Earth…is a perfectly round ball swimming in a vacuum at the center of the known universe.”

I once met a man who thought the world was flat. I asked him what his theory of the earth explained. “That the earth is flat,” he replied. “But beyond that, what terrestrial riddles does it de-mystify? Why do you believe the world is flat?” I asked. “Because it’s true,” was all he could come up with.

But truth is provisional and is only as good as its ability to make sense of a great many things. Just so, the conception of our small world at the outer arm of one of untold galaxies helps us launch satellites and put men on the moon. And a universe with the earth at its center helps the sailor find his way home.

My first shot for latitude was out by twenty miles, and that’s the easy one.

Winds were light today, allowing me to make a course with some east in it and to get at a troublesome foredeck job. 

As noted earlier, the anchor windlass leaks water into the anchor locker when we are taking water over the bow, which is all we have done since crossing into the southeast trades. I have the anchor stowed, but the chain is still out due to an odd anchor shackle I can’t remove without destroying its locking pins. 

I’ve stuffed all the nooks and crannies under the windlass canvas cover with plastic wrap and laid over that a thick bead of silicon, but I’m still draining a gallon or so out of the locker each day. I think the stuffing job was pretty thorough, so today I attempted to seal the anchor locker hatch, whose small drains are working as they should but are overwhelmed and whose gaskets are old and maybe not entirely water tight. 

Now that the wind has returned (16 and growing) and we are back to pounding, I’ll have the opportunity to see how provisional this truth turns out to be. 

Day 23
Noon Position: 0 30 84S 127 58.85W 

Course/Speed: S 7

Wind: ESE 14 – 20

Sail: Double reef in working jib and main

Bar: 1015

Sea: Mostly SE to 8

Sky: Clear

Cabin Temp: 82 

Water Temp: 73
Miles last 24-hours: 158

Miles since departure: 2803

At 7:30 this morning Pacific Time, Mo crossed the line for Cape Horn and is now in the southern hemisphere. There’s something pleasurably exotic about putting an ‘S’ at the end of one’s latitude. Though still in the Pacific, one has definitively left home waters and has entered a world where there is far more ocean than land and where the lows turn around and go backwards. 

On the old square riggers, a hand who made such a crossing was forever more referred to as a “Shellback,” a term I am fond of and would entertain as a tattoo on some part of my person if tattoos had ever made the priorities list.

It is reported that Neptune, on such occasions, comes aboard for some festivities with the uninitiated that, to contemporary sensibilities, looks a lot like hazing. Workplace harassment protocols have not made it this far to sea. I’ve always crossed the line alone, and for some reason, the King has failed to note any occurrence.

By way of celebration, in the evening I popped a bottle of sparkling wine from my good friend Jim Walter at Amphora Wines. The cork lept from the bottle and must have sailed three boat lengths in a lovely arc before splashing down at the crest of a wave. Room temperature, shall we say, but fine and crisp. Thank you, Jim. 

Fantastic day’s run. 158 miles in the last 24-hours. Winds have been strong the last day and have finally backed more into the east as we’ve approached the line.

Can’t win for losing with reefs, though. Fail to put one in and the wind keeps rising; put one in, and the wind drops. Last night I rose every hour and fretted for a time as the winds crept up from 12 to 15 to 18 to 20 knots. I already had a reef in both working jib and main, but at about 18, Mo wants less canvas when reaching. Each time I chose sleep over kitting up and going foreward to the mast. We were, after all, flying! At dawn I put in a second reef in the main. Wind dropped immediately to 15 (though it did come back to 18 – 20 within the hour). In the afternoon a squall came by and winds dropped. Thinking this the effect of the squall, I waited two hours before going back to full sail, at which point winds jumped to 15 and have been creeping upwards since

Ah well, it all drives the ship ever southward, so I can’t complain.   

Day 20
Noon Position: 5 00.56N 124 55.59W

Course/Speed: SW 5

Wind: SE 20

Sail: Tripple reefed main, double reefed working jib, close hauled

Bar: 1013

Sea: SE to 6 and 8 late in the day

Sky: Clear

Cabin Temp: 84 (79 in the cabin when I woke. A first in days.)

Water Temp: 78 
Miles last 24-hours: 116

Miles since departure: 2408

The change from one day to the next can be startling. Yesterday, low cloud, squall and inconsistent winds. Today, clear blue sky and a solid and increasing southeast wind. 

The challenge today has been how to handle this newfound resource, which is to say, what course and what set of sail gets us where we need to go with some speed but without treating Mo like a junk yard dog.

Mo and I haven’t done much upwind work, so I’ve spent most of the day on deck. By noon we had 20 knots on the nose (NOT in the forecast), and I’ll just say that there isn’t all that much one can do to climb in such a wind at sea. I’ve now gotten us all the way down to a tripple reefed main and a double reefed working jib, and 75 degrees true with 5 knots or so of speed is about the best I can do. 

Plowing into the oncoming stream such that water gets down the dorades and falling off a wave onto one’s bilge such that Mo shudders as if she’s coming unglued has some charm, just not very much. It’s wearing, and the profit is disappointingly small, which gives me renewed respect for Chay Blythe, who went around the world in just such a fashion.

I’m very worried not to get too far west, as then lining up for the west side of the South Pacific high could be awkward business. I also want to start making up some of the average daily miles we lost dawdling above the ITCZ. 

At moment, I’m not getting either. I’m still cheating the course a bit too much, and every few minutes Mo pays for this sin by taking a wave over the bow and then falling on her side. She makes me pay by tossing my coffee in my face and then ensuring that the cookie I’m aiming for my mouth ends up in my ear.

We are in the relm of the Gadfly Petrel, which I now see in fives and tens cutting up the air like small Albatross. Also, the flying fish flush in herds down here. To starboard, a hundred will take to the air at once, a sprinkling of pale blue diamonds skipping over the obsidian water.  

Day 19
Noon Position: 6 28.43N 123 48.66W

Course/Speed: SW 4 – 5

Wind: SE 10 – 16

Sail: Double reefed #2; single reefed main

Bar: 1015

Sea: SE lumpy stuff to 5 feet

Sky: Overcast. Squally.

Cabin Temp: 86

Water Temp: 82 
Miles last 24-hours: 99

Miles since departure: 2292

Define trade winds. Here’s my definition based on the last day plus… 

Sustained winds (sustained equals 30 minutes to several hours) of 10 knots, 0 knots, 16 knots, 21 knots, 5 knots, 7 knots, 12 knots…etc. All from the south and southeast.

It’s not the fault of the trade winds. It’s that we’re under a massive, spread-out squall complex. I have no idea what else to call it. Most of the sky is overcast, just a flat deck of gray, but in any direction, one can see rain columns (indicators of thunderheads). At their leading edge, winds increase, inside, winds decrease. In between is anyone’s guess. This morning we were becalmed for two hours in perfectly clear conditions, except that on each side of us were these squall heads eating up the air. 

And poor Mo is pounding. How such little wind can kick up such a chop is beyond me, but water is flying everywhere.

It makes for a busy time on deck when one is trying to climb in conditions like this. Reef in. Reef out. Adjust sheets. Twig Monte to pull a little this way or that. 

Not much sleep last two nights due to such frequent wind changes. Or night before.

On the plus side, there is wind, and we are making steady, if slow, progress southwest. 

I spent time today recalculating the route to the Horn based on current weather/wind trends. Of course, things will change as we descend, but if the South Pacific high provides a lane of wind in its western quadrant similar to what I see now, Mo and I have 5,000 miles to the Horn. Could be there by Christmas.

It’s sobering to think on it.

Nov 15, 2017
Day 18
Noon Position: 7 29.17N 122 40.90W 

Course/Speed: SW 4

Wind: SE 9

Sail: Main and big genoa out

Bar: 1014

Sea: SE 3

Sky: Clear, squalls just ahead

Cabin Temp: 87

Water Temp: 84 
Miles last 24-hours: 97

Miles since departure: 2193

The image that I had been entertaining these last, interminably muggy days was that on the other side of the mountain, billowing trade wind cumulus would march over a crystalline ocean, and the wind would blow cool from abaft the beam, and there would be a stationary barge hull up just there, and it would sell us a burger and beer so cold it would crack your teeth.

Whereas, what we have on the other side of the mountain is more of what we had, except with a south wind.

We cruised slowly but steadily all night on a light easterly. The sky shown. Orion, reclining upon the sea, levitated into the heavens without waking, not even to roll over. Later, a sliver moon the color of ivory.

At dawn the horizon to windward was black. By mid morning the wind had backed into the southeast and then south without so much as slacking off. That’s all there was to the transition.

We fell in with the line of squalls by noon. I began to shoot a time-lapse video entitled “Going Into and Out of a Squall.” Except six hours later we’ve not come out. 

Rain. Heavy at times. I’ve harvested buckets of fresh water from the main cover cradle. It still tastes a too much like new sail cloth to be drunk but will be good for washing. 

And with that we have broken through the Doldrums and have entered the southern hemisphere (from the perspective of weather).
Mo is currently hauled as close to the wind as ever she will go. The immediate task is to make as much southing as we can while the winds are light and the sea relatively flat. Later, when winds go to 20, I want the option to ease off.

We have passed the first gate. Now we begin a chapter called “On Port Tack,” on which we will remain for some 2000 miles and more. But I’ve expanded my daily weather charts to include Cape Horn, because the next gate is that much closer.   

Day 17 (I said 18 in today’s video log. I’m losing count.)
Noon Position: 8 56.53N 122 31.87W 

Course/Speed: S 2

Wind: ESE 5

Sail: Main and big genoa out

Bar: 1017

Sea: SE, long and low rollers

Sky: Sunny, open, thunderheads to windward

Cabin Temp: 86

Water Temp: 83 
Miles last 24-hours: 115

Miles since departure: 2096

Variable wind makes for a busy night, and our steady wind went variable after midnight. 

I sat with Monte in the wee hours, taking the tiller when he dozed, which is his want in winds under 4 knots. Then I too gave up. I dropped the slatting main, left the big genoa flying, handed all back to Monte to do what he could, and hit the sack at 4am. 

At 8am I came on deck to find the big genoa had pricked some wind from the NE and Monte had us on course at 3 knots and 6 miles to the good. THAT is a first. 

At 2am, I found a storm petrel had flown in through the open main mast hatch above my bunk. Pinned, spread eagle, to the forepeak bulkhead like a crucifix. Returned, open palm, to the night. 

Daylight showed us on course for some towering squall cells. By 10:30 were flat becalmed and by noon were under a most lovely, drenching downpour. Everyone got a bath, not a shower. I found the font! It’s the aft end of the cradle cover, which catches rain by gallons and can be turned on like a spigot.

In the afternoon, laundry. 

Then, flying out of a thunderhead, a snowy egret (or similar). It circled Mo thrice and took off for the south. That makes two land birds we’ve seen this leg, the other being some sort of swallow. How, when Panama is over 2000 miles to the east? It is common for land birds to become lost at sea. But to have traveled such distance–and to be lost still!

I too am of the land and must admit today to feeling far, far away–and at the same time, still approaching the very cusp of the beginning of this enterprise. The doldrums are the first gate, but once opened deliver us only to the SE trades, which we will ride for a month, and only then will begin the true challenge of the Figure 8.

Dinner: a fry up of zucchini, bell peppers, canned salmon over mashed potatoes. Breakfast: coffee, two danishes (too hot for else). Lunch: Crackers and cheese and a bell pepper spread. In the afternoon, a cookie with black coffee.