July 5, 2019
Day 240
Noon Position: 45 57N 55 31W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 5.5
Wind(t/tws): NNW 7
Sea(t/ft): NW 2
Sky/10ths Covered: Clear/0
Bar(mb): 1017+, steady
Cabin Temp(f): 63
Water Temp(f): 47
Relative Humidity(%): 62
Sail: Big genoa and main on a port reach; back on spinnaker by afternoon .
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 133
Miles since departure: 31,605
Leg Halifax to St John’s
Days: 3
Miles: 353
Wind continues light, shifting from NNW to W and back again. As I type, we’re riding the spinnaker on a breeze of six knots just south of west. A beautiful sail, the spinnaker; it hangs in the air with the magic of a soap bubble; each moment one expects its delicate perfection to burst at the seams, and it does not.
Light wind, warm sun, a flat sea. It’s a pleasant and relaxing run north. Except for the mechanical issues…
Around midnight, the wind went so light I decided to motor for a few hours. As it does, the engine fired right up, but after the usual interval (about five seconds), the alternator failed to engage. Several starts later, the pattern continued.
I have slowly come to realize that on a boat that gets such hard usage as Mo, not to mention water everywhere, a check of electrical connections should come first.
The cables at the alternator were good and snug, as were the cables at the main engine switches, and all the fuses were intact. Sleepy and out of ideas, I let us motor toward St John’s without charge until morning.
By then I recalled to check the connections on the charge regulator, an external device mounted in the engine room, and its relay switch. Though well out of the bilge, their location puts them in harms way on a ship whose mast has been known to dip a wave. This is why I was careful to slather the connections with dielectric grease in Hobart after the big Indian Ocean knockdowns.
This care can only be chalked up to a failure of memory, for when I disconnected the relay, its pins appeared to have been bathed in salt water … and then ignored. I found no salve upon them whatever.
Luckily, and with the help of my friend Kelton, I’d arranged from mid Atlantic for a new relay and new regulator to be added to Joanna’s suitcase of Halifax spares. I spent the morning cutting wire, pressing on connectors and torching heat-shrink. Ditto the regulator.
As it does, the engine started right up. And after the usual interval (about five seconds), so did the alternator.
July 4, 2019
Day 239
Noon Position: 45 18N 58 33W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 5.5
Wind(t/tws): WSW 11
Sea(t/ft): WSW 3
Sky: Clear
10ths Cloud Cover: 0
Bar(mb): 1014+, rising
Cabin Temp(f): 66
Water Temp(f): 49
Relative Humidity(%): 59
Sail: Twins poled out full, running
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 120
Miles since departure: 31,472
Leg To Saint John’s
Day 2
Miles 220
Wind is light and variable but is mostly aft, and we’ve been running with the twin headsails for the better part of a day. Not a fast passage, this leg to St John’s, but it’s pleasant sailing.
—
Except for certain, key equipment failures…
I’ve been wrestling with Mo’s AIS system*–an essential tool for the singlehander–which made every sign of packing it in once we were at sea. In harbor, it passed pre-departure checks by picking up targets aplenty, likely with the aid of the Halifax Coast Guard Radio network. But once we escaped that umbrella, things got strange.
First, my companion boat, Dutch, went off scope yesterday just as she turned for shore, a mere five miles to the northwest, and later a large racing sloop, Challenger, didn’t register until she was within a mile. Then a fishing boat went by with no target on the scope at all.
I tore into the VHF cabinet, checking connections, swapping antennas–to no avail. I called Challenger on VHF as we both ghosted along the coast. No answer.
Frustration. I need things that have functioned well for months to keep doing so. The work list is long enough already.
That night I ran with the radar as my primary watch stander.
On the next day, Mo and I began to pass through a loose fleet of fishing boats working the banks. Now I had a visual on four boats, though only one showed an AIS target. Again, I checked the system’s connections and then tested for signal strength and noise on the line. Nothing out of the ordinary.
As the closest fishing boat made for port, I called on the radio. No answer. Then I called Halifax Coast Guard radio. No answer. (We were 25 miles off shore, so my expectations were low.)
Then, “Moli this is Blaze of Glory.” Loud and clear.
“Blaze of Glory, Moli.”
“You wanted somethin?”
“Yes, I’ve been troubleshooting my AIS system. Do you see me on your scope?”
Pause.
“Yep, there ya’re. A nice bingo. Four miles t’the east.”
“Odd,” I say, “cause I don’t see you.”
Pause.
“Well, that could be cause I had the damned thing off.”
That night we again ran on radar. Fewer than half the fishing boats we passed threw a target, presumably so as to stay invisible to the competition.
Only today, at around noon, did I get confirmation that the AIS system aboard is working normally. We picked up our first ship of this passage on the scope, a strong target at 18 miles to the north.
So, why the mixed signals over the last two days?
For one thing, it’s clear that not everyone in the local fishing fleet cares to be seen. And for another, small vessels, like other sailboats, won’t have nearly the signal strength of a ship, making them harder for Mo to see.**
But it is a relief to tick this problem off the list.
—
*What is AIS? Short for Automatic Identification System, AIS transmits vessel type, position, speed, course, and other data over VHF radio frequencies, allowing any vessel with an AIS interface to see other vessels with AIS that are within his VHF range.
**Considering that the VHF signal is line-of-sight and projected in a direction (mostly) perpendicular to the antenna, a small vessel moving in a seaway and/or heeled to the wind and with an antenna mounted close to the water (as is Mo’s) will have a much shorter signal range than that of a ship, whose antenna installation is high and whose platform is steady.
July , 2019
Day 238
Noon Position: 44 40N 61 15W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): ENE 3.5
Wind(t/tws): WNW 3-5
Sea(t/ft): 2, various
Sky: Altostratus shifting to clear
10ths Cloud Cover: 6
Bar(mb): 1010+ and rising
Cabin Temp(f): 63
Water Temp(f): 52
Relative Humidity(%): 69
Sail: Spinnaker and main on a port broad reach
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 100
Miles since departure: 31,352
Avg. Miles/Day: 132
Dutch, an aluminum expedition boat sailed by my friends Sebastiaan and Rhiannon, meets Mo at the breakwater, and together we turn towards the sea. Dutch and family are out for a few weeks of summer cruising. Like Mo, they are headed north.
The day is sunny. I am in shirtsleeves. The brisk wind off the land allows Mo six and seven knots. I commission the new Monte and shut down the autopilot. Suddenly Mo becomes a thing alive, a sweet sailing ship buoyed along by nothing but the elements.
The two boats charge off, and Mo holds her own against Dutch until the wind softens. Now Sebastiaan unfurls an indigo blue reacher of stupendous size and rare beauty. Rather belatedly, I launch Mo’s white asymmetrical spinnaker, but the moment is past and Dutch is far ahead. 
In the afternoon, Sebastiaan eases shoreward for an anchorage, and Mo continues on towards her first night at sea in a month.
We run gently along in the dark on the spinnaker and main. The sea is flat; the wind, so light, I can barely feel it against my face. There is Jupiter still in Scorpio to the south and to the north, the Big Dipper.
Natural wonders to one side, the night is uneasy. We are closer to the coast than makes for good sleeping. Moreover, not all the fishing boats going about their business on a moonless sea are want to give their positions away. The AIS registers but half the boats for which I can see lights. I switch on the radar and am up every hour.
Rain in the morning. Water streams from the spinnaker. By afternoon, full sun. The wind dies. I start the engine.
Eight months following wind and sea succeeded by one month tethered ashore. Neither seems real; in both cases,
As is the case wherever Mo touches, here we have been the recipients of much kindness. Tony and Connie, Wayne, Rob, Sebastiaan and Rhiannon, Ben, Rich, John, Sandy and Hagen are just a few of those who have helped to ready us for the next leg.
In fact, Mo was ready yesterday, but her skipper was not. He chose to dally, futzing with this and that bit of stowage, and in the evening and after the rain ended, taking one last, long stroll to see the town and her fireworks.
The dingy will come aboard after this note. And then we will be on our way to St John’s, on our way to the rest of the story…
As I ready Mo for her jump from Halifax northwards, I am reminded of her first Northwest Passage attempt, summarized here by Clark Stede in a 1991 article in Yachting Monthly.
Posted by The Figure 8 Voyage on January 17, 2017
Aboard Moli is a small hardbound book titled Rund Amerika, the story of my boat’s initial adventures with then owners, Clark Stede and Michelle Poncini. It’s in German. I can admire the photos, like the one above, but I can’t read a word.
So, I was grateful to receive this week the below Yachting Monthly article from 1991 where Stede/Poncini, in translation, describe their Northwest Passage in Asma.
By way of reminder, Asma (then Taonui, Gjoa, and now Moli) was commissioned in 1989 from Dubbel and Jesse, a renowned German yard specializing in custom aluminum sailing yachts, for a specific adventure–to circumnavigate the American continents. At the time, the number of private expeditions to successfully transit the Northwest Passage could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and no one had attempted a complete loop of the land mass that included, at its southern extremity, Cape Horn.
There are many things to note in the article, the halting nature of progress in a world of floating rocks, the rapidly changing weather, the confined spaces with little room to hide, the cold…but what grabbed me was the advice of one Inuit, “Patience and energy–that’s the power that will bring you forward in the Arctic.”
Having done with the greasier mechanical systems, I moved on to restoring Monte.
Soon after our Halifax arrival, I reattached the vane pendulum* and went for a test sail to see how the frame, bent upwards on starboard when wrapped by the drogue bridle in a gale, affected the vane’s functionality.
Could Monte sail Mo when so out of level? On test day, the winds were light, but the answer was that, yes, he could. (“Level” is a funny concept on a vessel that is moving in three dimensions within two mediums, water
This is the point of the story at which I get to mention (again!) what a spectacular human being is Mike Scheck, owner of Scanmar International, the maker of the Monitor Windvane. Monte could sail as is, if with a bit of a limp. Moreover, there was a chance that his frame could be straightened by a metal shop in Halifax–with care, given the bend in the tube included a fold. Even so, Mike offered to send a new frame along with Joanna’s carry-on luggage. The phrase, “in for a penny, in for a pound,” comes to mind.
Wanting easy access to Mo’s derrière, I moved us back to the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron for a few days and went stern into a slip. Sadly, this maneuver didn’t keep me from being all thumbs. Over the course of the long afternoon required to complete the exchange, and even with Monte hanging mostly over the dock, I was able to drop into the water: five pinion bearings, six stainless steel shims, a rubber mallet, a 1/2″ spanner, a 10mm Allen wrench not required for the job but just lying around, a #2 Phillips head screwdriver, and a wooden dowel. The last of these, at least, floated, but it immediately swole to an unusable dimension and a spare had to be fetched from the forepeak.
*
“Can you please write a blog post?” asked my wife.
“I’m busy,” I say.
“But it’s been four days with nothing from you. You’ve posted every day for almost a year. People expect an update.”
“After such a flood, I’d think those people would like a break.”
“Then stop thinking and write a post.”
Over the last week, Mo and I have been holed-up on Ben Garvey’s dock in Purcell’s Cove, which is well outside of town. This has two benefits. One, it makes me hard to find, and so the number of visitors has slowed to nearly zero. Two, the pleasures of Halifax proper are too far away to be conveniently reached by foot. These together have increased my focus, and now work progresses well.
This next leg of
Servicing the anchor windlass…
Note from Joanna
Here’s where things get fun!
If you’d like some Randall ink, Nick is giving away 4 bottles together with signed original artwork to 4 lucky winners. All you have to do to enter is like the Figure 8 Voyage Facebook page and leave the words ‘Good Luck Randall!’ in the comments section below. We will announce the winners here on Monday 15th July 2019.
As of yesterday, provisioning for the next leg of the Figure 8 Voyage is complete. Foods have been purchased, loaded aboard and neatly stowed, and once again, Mo’s lockers are full-up.
This time around, provisioning was largely a function of re-establishing par levels for core foods. H
Below is a list of foods that were consumed during the 237 days it took to get myself and Mo from San Francisco to Halifax.
–
Open-and-Eat Canned Goods
Soups and stews, 108 cans
Baked Beans (Heinz), 12 cans
Eggplant Ragout, 12 cans
Giant Baked Bean in Tomato Sauce, 22 cans
Ravioli, 30 cans
Dolmas, 16 cans
Canned Vegetables
Black Beans, 30 cans
Carrots, 8 cans
Corn, 20 cans
Peas, 14 cans
Tomatoes Stewed, 40 cans
Tomato Sause (for pasta), 16 cans
Canned Meats
Chicken Breast, 28 cans
Beef Ground, 22 cans
Beef Roast, 29 cans
Pork, 8 cans
Salmon, 26 cans
Trout Smoked, 15 cans
Dairy
Butter, 8 cans
Powdered Milk, 35lbs
Whole Dried Egg, 1.25lbs
Cheese (fresh and dried) 6lbs
Grains and Other Starches
Crisps and Crackers, 15lbs
Corn Chips, 10lbs
Muesli, 62lbs
Polenta, 3lbs
Pasta, 15lbs
Potato Flakes, 13lbs
Potato Hashbrowns, 3lbs
Quinoa, 12lbs
Nuts
Roasted Almonds, 5lbs
Roasted Cashews, 2lbs
Roasted Peanuts, 13lbs
Bars and Chocolates
Cliff Bars, 360 ea
Chocolate Bars, Lindt Dark 3.5 oz, 52 ea
Chocolate, M&Ms (peanut), 10lbs
Dried Fruit
Blueberries, 3lbs
Figs, 5lbs
Prunes, 5lbs
Apricots, 3lbs
Beverages
Coffee (ground) 23lbs
Beer, 186 cans
Wine, 30 bottles
Toilet Paper, 54 rolls
–
Lessons
- What Didn’t Get Eaten
Polenta. During the Figure 8 Voyage 1.0, I had a hankering for polenta (polenta, black beans, stewed tomatoes and salmon was a favorite dish) and had run out. So, for the 2.0 attempt, I stocked up. But my tastes shifted from polenta to quinoa on the 2.0 attempt, and so, Mo still carries several pounds of polenta aboard.
Hummus. I departed with 30lbs of hummus aboard in small-portion tetra packs. But I’d ordered this sight-unseen, and found, once at sea, that the brand I’d purchased was not to my taste.
Peanut Butter. A favorite breakfast ashore is toast with peanut butter and jam. But as I baked far less often at sea than anticipated, little of the peanut butter was consumed.
2. Ease of Preparation
I overestimated my ability/desire to cook while underway. As the months rolled on, and especially in the south, I gravitated toward the easier-to-prepare meals, and, during the last few weeks, I was eating foods right from the can with no preparation at all. This means I used almost none of the 40lbs of rice aboard, which, compared to quinoa, was too difficult to prepare. This issue applied to baking as well. I baked bread and cakes fewer than ten times, whereas the budget called for once a week.
3. Successes
-Bob’s Red Mill Muesli is hearty and healthy. I ate this happily every morning.
-Costco canned meats are of excellent quality and were consistently enjoyed.
-Cliff Bars were an easy and flavorful calorie boost. I never tired of Apricot and Peanut Butter flavors and was sad when they all ran out about a month before the Halifax landfall.
Here’s the set-up.
Two friends from San Francisco, Ben Shaw and his wife, Lauren Keane, just happened to book a cruise on Ice Bear, 59 North Sailing’s newest boat, that put them in Halifax the week of Mo’s arrival.
I learned of this via a text that read, “Hey, we’re in Lunenburg. Can we buy you a beer?”
I’d not seen Ben since a month before the Figure 8 began, and though we’d chatted for his podcast, Out the Gate, while Mo and I were at sea, I had no expectation whatever of seeing the two of them a whole coast away from home.
As one might expect, that first beer led to a second and then to dinner and, finally, a Figure 8 conversation that Ben, ever the journalist, insisted on
And our talk went like this…
Sure, it’s a nice town, but it became fabulous when my wife arrived on Friday afternoon. Her flight through Philadelphia canceled; the resulting connection grounded her in Dallas. That she came trundling out the gate of Stanfield International at roughly the right time proved a stroke of luck; that she pushed before her two large bags of spares for Moli and a bubble-wrapped Monitor frame was nothing short of miraculous.
The previous day, I moved Mo to a private mooring kindly offered by Ben Garvey of Purcell’s Cove.
All that trouble to get here, all that trouble to connect with a husband unseen since last October, and still, she let our first day together be a run to Costco for provisions. “The course of true love never did run so smooth.”
With that work done, we retired to the coast for a hike and into town for dinner.
Jo departed for home today, and I spent the afternoon loading provisions onto Mo.
Each day starts with a renewed attack on the work list, and each day that attack is blunted by visitors. Rich, John S, Sebastian, the owner of Comet, Bob, James, Rob, Ben, Sandy, Phil…the names go on. These interruptions, “the many snares of popularity,” are not the least unpleasant, and some even mature into dinners at the club.
A mere twelve days ago, I was enjoying the habit of eating my meals cold from a can; now I am served fresh haddock, salmon and lamb accompanied by beer colder than the ocean. One would think such a transition might be difficult or at least awkward. It is not.
All that to one side, work is progressing. Mo has been hauled, de-barnacled, painted, and is back in the water; the blown headsail has been repaired and is again flying from her headstay; engine fluids and filters have been changed; the gravity diesel heater carburetor has been repaired. We’ve taken on fuel and water, 100 gallons of each. I’ve had ten hot showers and have done four loads of laundry.
As referenced in a previous post, John Harries, author of the well-known voyaging website, Attainable Adventure Cruising, came to visit Mo at the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron last week.
John has long advocated the use of the Jordan Series Drogue and so was interested to explore the issues Mo had with the drogue during a recent North Atlantic gale.
By way of reminder, the drogue bridle wrapped the Monitor wind vane late in the blow, causing serious damage. More on that here.
What follows is a snippet of our conversation, a short video shot entirely by John. For my part, I was so excited to meet him, I lost my head and failed to take any photos of us at all. That said, I did learn quite a bit…
______________________________________________________________________
Published by John Harries, June 8, 2019 at Attainable Adventure Cruising.
Randall making a call from his very cool and deeply practical wheelhouse.
As many of you will be aware, Randall Reeves just made a planned stop in Halifax after 227 days at sea circumnavigating Antartica as part of his Figure 8 Voyage.
(Randall’s original planned stop was Saint John’s, but he wisely diverted because of the unusual density of ice bergs off Newfoundland.)
I was lucky enough to spend a couple of hours with Randall on his boat Moli, most of which we spent discussing his experiences with series drogues designed by Don Jordan.
I’m working on an in-depth article on everything I learned from Randall (not a trivial task because there was a lot), but in the mean time I thought it would be fun to post a short video clip from our chat.
I have only lightly edited it because I want to preserve the reality of two sailors figuring stuff out.
June 7, 2019
The Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron
Halifax, Nova Scotia
I noticed barnacle growth before our first pass at Cape Horn, just one or two, spied going about their business in the eddies off Mo’s transom. And then, over the course of the Southern Ocean circuit, each time I hung myself over the stern to work on Monte, the numbers I could observe grew. Within a few months, were clearly hosting a colony.
A diverse colony of at least three species. The gorilla of the group was entirely purple, carried a long, thick stem at the end of which were two “ears,” and it grew anywhere reached by the bounding waves. I could see a few above the water line even at the bow. Next came the white, hard-shelled, teardrop-shaped barnacles. Then the smaller zebras.
A week from our second Cape Horn rounding, I put a camera over the side during a calm, and what it brought up was a shock–Mo’s underside had become a reef. The following three photos are from March 11, 2019. It’s day 158 of the Figure 8 Voyage and we’ve sailed 21,699 miles.
What was to be done about them?
During the previous year’s Figure 8 attempt, I’d hauled Mo in Hobart, Australia and, to save a few bucks, the yard boatswain had allowed me to blast away her goodly crop of barnacles myself. The pressure washer was so powerful, it nearly ripped my arms from their sockets, but still, the removal of barnacles took half a day. This suggested to me that diving the hull with a sharpened spatula would be a futile exercise.
So, I did nothing but lament the situation and press on.
Over the course of the next two months, Mo slowly climbed north into the Atlantic. As the water warmed and became clear, I noticed that the barnacles I could see from the transom begin to die off. First the long, “eared” barnacle bit the dust. Then the zebras. The barnacle with the teardrop shell seemed the most resilient.
In the Horse Latitudes of about 30N and 60W, Mo and I were again becalmed. Again I put a camera in the water and was shocked at the finding. The following three photographs are from May 18, 2019, 68 days after the above photographs. It’s day 225 of the Figure 8 Voyage, and we’ve sailed 30,106 miles. We are two weeks from Halifax.
Elation hardly captures the feeling. The barnacles had nearly evaporated and Mo’s bum was remarkably clean. One element of relief for me in finding this was confirmation that our very poor mileage in the Atlantic was not entirely due to a dirty bottom.
—
On Friday, June 8, day 245 of the Figure 8 Voyage, I hauled Mo here at the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron. Given the above, my expectations were that the bum would be nearly spotless. Instead, we had a new crop of hitchhikers coming in at the base of those older barnacles that remained.
Lessons Learned:
- “There is no good bottom paint for aluminum boats,” says my friend, fellow cruiser, and aluminum boat builder, Gerd Marggraff. Prior to departure, I had applied three generous coats of a bottom paint known specifically to ward off hard growth, but barnacles are superior beings, able to penetrate even the best defenses.
- An early jump. I might have had an easier time of it if I’d dived the hull before the first Cape Horn rounding, when the barnacles were young and few.
- In hindsight, I think I could have dived the hull with some success, even when the barnacles had matured into a reef. I found here in the yard that the “hold fast” (the glue that holds the barnacle fast to the hull) was easier to remove with a sharpened spatula than I had thought. It would have been a big job, taking a full day or more–but not impossible.
Date: June 7, 2019
Hello Everyone!
It’s been a while since you’ve heard from “my lovely wife,” but with Randall and Mo now tucked safely into a Halifax marina, a number of my non-sailor friends have been asking me questions about the voyage. The same questions. I’m the in-house expert on the non-sailorly stuff, so I thought I’d do a quick FAQ for everyone.
So, here we go…
1. Has Randall broken the “rules” for this voyage by stopping?
The short answer is: no, there are no rules. It wouldn’t matter if Randall stopped once or a 100 times (which I rather think he’d like to do.), no one has yet singlehanded this route in one season, so technically his journey is still 100% successful. Practically, the combination of the time/distance commitment and weather patterns meant stopping as little as possible was the goal– hence the 200-and-something days at sea–but a stop somewhere in the North East prior to entering the Arctic was always part of the plan. There’s actually another person starting from Germany (I think) this summer who’s trying to go even faster. We think he’s great too!
2. Are you going to see Randall?
Yes. With the stop now happening in Halifax, we might change where I meet him, but I’m absolutely heading up to the North East for a couple of days. Why not longer? Because Randall and Mo need to get back out to sea and headed for the Northwest Passage soon. Plus I have to get back to work. Someone has to pay for all of this. 🙂
3. Were you worried all this time?
Yes and no. Yes, of course! Some of that stuff Randall got himself into was super scary. But the reality is that my way of coping is to just not think about the bad stuff. I’d make myself sick if I did. Plus I come from a long line of sailors who’ve done some pretty insane things on boats–my Grandfather was on two ships that sank in WWI, and he survived them both–so I’m generally optimistic about Randall’s chances.
4. You’ve been alone much of the last two years, (Figure 8 Attempt #1 and now #2). How have you handled that?
The good news is that I’m a pretty independent gal. I think it’s part of why Randall likes me. Plus I’ve been really really busy building my own company while he’s been gone, so it’s been great to not have him underfoot during this time of intense focus. On top of all that, I have LOTS of awesome friends all over the world (I’m a tad more extroverted than my husband) who’ve kept me entertained. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And right now my heart is very fond.
5. Do you understand all the technical terms Randall puts in his blog?
Most but not all. I tend to skip over those bits and just read about what he’s doing. That said, my mother wrote a lexicon of terms on Randall’s first adventure on Murre, our first boat. You can read them here:
<https://murreandthepacific.com/the-mother-in-laws-lexicon-of-sailing-terminology/>
6. Why didn’t you want to go with him? Would you go with him?
I know Randall would love nothing more than to have me with him on this and all his voyages. And as much as I love sailing, I’m a firm no. There are some very simple reasons for this:
-I require hot and cold water under pressure, and Randall’s boats have never had this.
-I like fresh fruit and veggies. On Randall’s boats, these are in shorts supply.
-There’s no one to chat with.
-Randall likes to go long distances, and I’d miss going on hikes.
-The whole “no showering” thing is a bit of a deal breaker.
I guess I’m more of a “wine and a cheese plate” kind of sailor.
All that said. I couldn’t be prouder of what Randall is doing, and I’m excited to see him in a couple of weeks.
In my mind this is just the start of a new adventure for both of us.
Until next time.
J
June 5, 2019
The Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Making an unknown shore by boat, alone, and following a longish interval at sea is a perfectly normal way to arrive at a place; at least this is what repeated experience suggests. So, I am surprised at the greeting that follows arrival here.
The Dock Master, Wayne, meets Mo at the slip to take lines. “You must have friends,” he says as I jump ashore, nearly breaking a leg.
“I hope to have retained a few,” I reply.
“No, I mean, in New York.” He hands me a letter that had been sent ahead, a greeting from fellow cruisers Connie and Tony with a little cash. “We’d like to buy your first beer,” it says.
At the club, I am hailed quite before that beer can be delivered. “You’re the guy just in from Cape Horn, aren’t you? The word is out. Come sit with us.”
During dinner, I find a man has suddenly squatted next to me. He extends a hand. “We’ve never met, but I’ve been following your voyage.” He has just come in from the rain and brought the cold with him into the overheated bar; his glasses are fogged. He seems nervous.
“If there’s anything I can do for you while you are here, just let me know,” he says.
Next day, Saturday, I phone the sail maker. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says. By the time of his arrival, there are already several others crawling over Mo. Sebastian, the owner of a Boreal at the end of the next dock has come by to see the new high latitude boat in town. Phil, a machinist and yachtie, is stooped over Monte, assessing his damage.
Later in the day, a phone call. “This is John Harries; I run a website called Attainable Adventure, you may have heard of it…” Indeed! He wants to see Mo and discuss Monte’s argument with the drogue that put us here.
I escape to the club for a phone call with my wife. Before I am able to dial, a woman sits next to me. “My name is India. I am the vice commodore. We’ve heard of your recent exploits. Would you like to present to our group on Tuesday? 7pm. Sharp. Oh, and here is Sean, our Commodore; let me introdude you.”
Granted, I am no Lindberg. These are not throngs. But the attention is unexpected, and to my shame, it is not unpleasant.
—
For two days I do nothing but hike between Mo in her slip and the clubhouse. Even in the daily fit of rain, this trek takes but five minutes. By the second morning, I have shin splints. Let me reiterate: I get shin splints from walking the equivalent of three blocks twice a day. After eight months at sea, my legs have forgotten their function and must be drug forward as if they are mere luggage.
—
Rob is the man who accosted me at dinner, and he has become an indispensable part of the Figure 8 crew. On Monday, we trundle all over Halifax on my first acquisition run. A length of clear hose, primary fuel filters, engine oil, anchor windlass switch, fuses, heat shrink, duct tape, penetrating oil, a few new screw drivers, engine thermostat, bottom paint.
It took all day.
Today he helped move Mo to the fuel berth in a southerly that brought drenching rain.
—
Given the resource here and the remoteness of St. John’s, I’ve decided to extend my Halifax layover.
Tomorrow we haul Mo for an inspection and a coat of fresh paint.
May 31 2019
Day: 237
Noon Position: 44 26N 63 28W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): NNE 5
Wind(t/tws): SE 5
Sea(t/ft): —
Sky: Low fog
10ths Cloud Cover: 10
Bar(mb): 1008
Cabin Temp(f): 63
Water Temp(f): 40
Relative Humidity(%): 64
Sail: Under engine.
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 96
Miles since departure: 31,244
Avg. Miles/Day: 132
Leg North Miles: 8,003
Leg North Days: 71
Avg. Miles/Day: 113
Halifax has been achieved. Mo and I are docked at the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron facilities after 227 days at sea and some 31,000 continuous, non-stop miles.
Here’s a little wrap up…
May 30, 2019
Day 237
Noon Position: 42 50N 63 19W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): NNW 5
Wind(t/tws): NNE 10
Sea(t/ft): NE 3
Sky: Clear
10ths Cloud Cover: 0
Bar(mb): 1011+
Cabin Temp(f): 61
Water Temp(f): 43 (Note yesterday.)
Relative Humidity(%): 65
Sail: #2 and main, close hauled on starboard
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 96
Miles since departure: 31,224
Avg. Miles/Day: 132
Leg North Miles: 8,003
Leg North Days: 71
Avg. Miles/Day: 113
Overnight our west winds slowly veered into the north and more, pushing us due east and way off course. I came on deck at 3am to assess–should we tack around?–and found that the sea appeared to be boiling with fog. Fog came off the watertop in billows, and in the glow of running lights, cast an eery spell over the night. I couldn’t see more than one boat length.
Icebergs to windward, an immediate thought, though they are not due here at all. Switch on the radar. Nothing. But in the morning the answer was clear. We’d come into soundings overnight–in over the continental shelf. The water was now green and cold. At noon I recorded a 24-hour water temperature drop of 24 degrees due to the upwelling, from 67 down to 43 degrees in a matter of miles.
Close hauled into a stiff chop until late afternoon. Speed: disappointing. I’m back into layers and a fleece hat.
As you can tell from the tracker, Mo and I are beelining towards Halifax, not St John’s.
Why?
Answer: it’s closer. Over the last week Mo has lost her wind vane and primary headsail (my two best friends); winds have been strongly contrary or light since I can recall, we’re low on fuel, and the east coast of Newfoundland is experiencing a record iceberg year.
This last item caught me off guard. I knew from the pilot charts to expect icebergs along my route, but if you look at the attached chart, you will see that the east coast is floating anywhere from 20 – 70 icebergs per square degree. Imagine icebergs, gale force northerly, fog–a very likely scenario. I need a plan for that. (Thank you to Tony and Connie for the chart.)
So I’m diverting to Halifax for a pit stop. A few days to a week.
As fortune would have it, Halifax (Lunenberg) has sailmakers and St John’s does not.
May 29, 2019
Day 236
Noon Position: 41 14N 63 17W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): N 6 – 7
Wind(t/tws): S 20 – 30
Sea(t/ft): S 7 – 10
Sky: Overcast
10ths Cloud Cover: 10
Bar(mb): 1006+, falling fast
Cabin Temp(f): 70
Water Temp(f): 67
Relative Humidity(%): 67
Sail: Working jib, two reefs; running.
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 142 (YES, Mo can still pull miles)
Miles since departure: 31,128
Avg. Miles/Day: 132
Leg North Miles: 7,907
Leg North Days: 70
Avg. Miles/Day: 113
Wind still boxing the compass over a 24-hour period. Slow way through the water overnight, but we continued fast on a fast current setting to the N.
I came on deck at 2am to tack and noticed a strange shadow cast by my headlamp onto the #2 genoa. On closer inspection, the shadow resolved into a long tear in the sail from the protective cover at the foot all the way through two panels.
In the day was due a gale, so I hustled the sail down on deck, jammed it into a bag and hustled the spare into the sky, all before dawn. Winds were 15 knots from the south by the time I was done and 30 before noon.
All in all, I was lucky the sail didn’t blow entirely and that I could exchange it during a gentle phase.
Lumpy sea again today, but already it is relaxing. We’ve run fast and are now at the top of the low, which is rapidly falling to the east.
—
I’ve repaired Monte’s pendulum strut and pinion gears. The strut needed a bit of shaping due to burs on the gear I couldn’t access (or feel, for that matter), but that done, Monte is ready to go back together. Assembly is a ticklish business. One false move and the forty or so pieces that make up the strut and pinion go apart like a hand grenade. So I need a calm day for hanging.
May 28, 2019
Day 235
Noon Position: 39 17N 61 32W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): WNW 5.5
Wind(t/tws): NNE 15
Sea(t/ft): NE 5+
Sky: Cumulus, lovely pillows
10ths Cloud Cover: 5
Bar(mb): 1015
Cabin Temp(f): 79
Water Temp(f): 74
Relative Humidity(%): 56
Sail: #2 and Main, close hauled on starboard
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 96
Miles since departure: 30,968
Avg. Miles/Day: 132
Leg North Miles: 7,765
Leg North Days: 69
Avg. Miles/Day: 113
Tacked at sunset and again at dawn. Wind came out of the NNW early but has now swung into the NNE and will swing all the way around overnight, just like last night and tomorrow night. We’re crossing traffic–i.e. the latitudes at which lows depart the NE coast and head out to sea. Today’s low was barely noticeable. Tomorrow’s will be strong.
Once bitten twice shy. This coming low is nothing compared to the last, but still, I’m trying to stay south of it and am taking pains to work west.
In the afternoon, I tackled Monte. Got the pendulum strut apart, a tougher than anticipated job due to bent and seized parts. Then did a dry fit of the strut onto the frame. It not only fits, but it swings freely, as per normal.
This is great news. This means Monte should go back together and be functional. The frame will still be out of alignment, but I’ll bet that can be handled by overcompensating on set courses and the “English” applied to the water paddle.
May 27, 2019
Day 234
Noon Position: 37 45N 60 56W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): N 6
Wind(t/tws): WxS 10
Sea(t/ft): SW 4; to 2, all directions
Sky: Altocumulus
10ths Cloud Cover: 4
Bar(mb): 1013, falling slowly
Cabin Temp(f): 79
Water Temp(f): 70
Relative Humidity(%): 71
Sail: #2 and main, reaching on starboard
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 82
Miles since departure: 30,872
Avg. Miles/Day: 132
Leg North Miles: 7,669
Leg North Days: 68
Avg. Miles/Day: 113
Taking a recuperation day. Have focused mostly on sailing and a bit of cleaning. Winds were fresh in the morning–reefs in reefs out–but we sailed out of the stronger southwesterlies in the afternoon, and a new wind has failed to fill in. Now the sky is squally and the breeze has dropped right off.
We’ve spent the last five days tacking back and forth inside a box about 80 miles wide and 40 miles long but finally got above it at noon. Now every mile is a furthest north mile in the Atlantic.
Dolphins, a very large pod, passed by from S to N and played in Mo’s wake for a time. Some were quite sporty, jumping clear out of the water.
Mike at Scanmar reports that Monte’s frame may be bent back into shape.
As I type, Mo makes three and a half knots to the NNW.
“Now it is time for the patience game,” stated my friend Gerd. Seems to me that game has gone into overtime.
May 25, 2019
Day 232
Noon Position: 37 08N 60 26W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): SE on drogue, 2-3 knots
Wind(t/tws): NNW 30+ (40 in the afternoon)
Sea(t/ft): NW 12+
Sky: Heavy overcast
10ths Cloud Cover: 10
Bar(mb): 1007, rising slowly (1004 was the low point)
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 34
Overnight, wind veers into the W and diminishes to 20 knots. I get some sleep, but Mo jumps like a startled hare on these seas, and staying wedged into my bunk is a game I lose once an hour.
By dawn, wind has swung into the NW and is blowing 20 – 30 knots. On the chart plotter, Mo has passed through a perfect U-shaped course since I streamed the drogue and is now headed slowly SE. And I am relieved at the sea state, which appears to have suppressed all of the expected SW component during the night.
The NW wave train grows rapidly during the day as does the wind’s increase. By afternoon, its blowing 40 and seas are as large and steep as anything I’ve seen in the south. Crashers over the stern regularly.
Mo is buttoned up tight. Her running backs are set hard; the main is lashed to the boom and the boom is lashed to its crutch; lines are coiled down firmly, hatches are locked. On deck, the boat looks comfortable, riding easily on a vast plane of mountainous heavers.
But below is a chaos of motion and noise. I am repeatedly thrown. Sometimes when Mo falls off the backside of a wave, I go slightly airborne. Cupboards knock and bang, even though their contents are cushioned with wool socks and fleece. I try to write, then read. Then I give up and nap. Boat movement is too intense for anything but sleep.
By afternoon, seas tower over the boat and are breaking heavily, and Mo has taken a few of them square on the stern. But while in my bunk and attempting an essay by Jack London on Dana’s *Two Years before the Mast*, I feel a collision as if the boat has hit a wall. Then a grinding sound.
It takes a few moments to don foulies, but once on deck, I see that Monte’s water paddle, lashed in the upright position so as not to catch the drogue bridle, is gone. From the stern, I see the torn lashing, and the paddle, though still attached, is mangled and dangling in the water. The wave has broken fully over the boat, lifted the drogue bridle up and over the secured water paddle, and ripped it down as the line came under load again.
The pinion gears have also been stripped out of alignment, and most amazingly, the frame is bent upwards by at least two inches on the starboard side. Though it freed by the time I got to it, the grinding I heard must have been the bridle continuing to pull at the Monitor assembly. This last revelation takes some time to see and is a shock. A damaged water paddle is like a parted shoelace; a bent frame is a wreck of a different order.
I spend the next four hours working to get the paddle and the swinging pendulum off the frame. The quick release mechanism for the paddle is jammed and the paddle is broken free of the pendulum by swinging it back and forth at the bend until the metal fails. Removing the pendulum is much more challenging, as its main connecting pin has been jammed in its socket when the frame bent. Using a large hammer and dowel I finally get it pushed all the way toward the bow, only to recall that that is the wrong direction because it butts up against Mo’s gunwale before it is fully extracted.
Now the pin is stuck half out and the pendulum is dangling but not free. Once during this time, its lower, jagged edge catches on the drogue bridle, but luckily, within two waves it releases.
This entire exercise is like trying to do dental work while riding a mechanical bull. I’m crouched with knees braced to the gunnel and am using one hand to work, two hands for brief seconds. Often I have to abandon the job and jump up into the radar arch frame to avoid a gusher. I don’t know what to do, but, bottom line, the pendulum has to come off to avoid further damage to Monte and possible damage to the drogue.
I can hacksaw the pin, a one-inch stainless steel rod, or I can cut a small hole in the gunnel and continue drawing the pin forward. I opt for the latter, aluminum being the softer metal. Within five minutes I have the pendulum in hand.
Overnight I can hear from the lowering whine in the rigging that the wind is backing off. By morning, sun, but still, a ragged sea. I plan to be underway by autopilot by noon. Monte may be repairable, but it will take some time to rebuild the pendulum and pinion, and installation will take a much tamer sea. 
May 24, 2019
Day 231
Noon Position: 36 45N 60 57W
Course(t)/Speed(kts): NW 6 – 7
Wind(t/tws): SSW 20+
Sea(t/ft): SW 8 – 10
Sky: Low cumulus; frontal clouds
10ths Cloud Cover: 10
Bar(mb): 1014+, falling 2mb per 2 hours
Sail: Triple reefed #2, triple reefed main, reaching on port
Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 89
4pm. Wind is increasing. The sky grows darker under scudding cloud. Seas are stacking up. And the barometer is still falling 2mb every two hours. I recall what David Burch says in Modern Marine Weather, that a drop of 2mb over three hours implies a strong blow coming.
I’ve made as much precious northing as I dare on the low’s SW winds, and as the day wears on, the scene becomes more intense than my read of the weather suggested.
I could try to sail the coming NW winds, due to be 35 knots by forecast, out and down, but unless I can take them on the beam, I’ll be headed back to the S for two days. And into a head sea of unknown size.
So, I decide to stop the boat and stream the drogue before nightfall. The boat should be plenty safe on the Jordan Series Drogue and I’ll preserve hard won northing.
The JSD is a marvel; it’s also a monster to handle; thus the desire to drop it while there’s light. And by 5pm it’s out; Mo is stern to the seas and tugging powerfully at the bridle.
There is some risk in this strategy. Strong winds will go from SW to NW over about twelve hours. How will Mo handle the confused seas that will produce? And the wild card is current. The Pilot Charts suggest there’s not much of any Gulf Stream action here. But the seas are big and have a somewhat “unnatural” appearance. Mo is also making 4 knots to the NW on drogue when 2 knots is more the expected.
