Frustration

February 8, 2019

Day 127

Noon Position: 47 45S  159 53E

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

Wind(t/tws): NNE 30 – 40

Sea(t/ft): NE 14+ (steep and breaking)

Sky: Stratus with rain and drizzle

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1000+, still falling (998+ at sundown; still falling)

Cabin Temp(f): 63

Water Temp(f): 53

Relative Humidity(%): 81

Sail: #2 rolled to fourth reef position, close reaching on port

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

Miles since departure: 17,644

Avg. Miles/Day: 139

Days since Cape Horn: 70

Miles since Cape Horn: 10,005

Avg. Miles/Day: 143

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 06

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 227 22

Avg. Long./Day: 3.25

Frustration beyond measure. The forecast called for winds in the middle thirties with this blow. Actual: overnight, 30 – 35, gusting 40; this morning, a solid 40 – 45; till mid afternoon, 30 – 40. Gobs of rain I can’t catch because the sea we take on the beam is frothing with salt spray; southing we don’t need and can’t avoid even though we claw to keep our track; speeds of 6 and 7 knots we can’t use because in three degrees of longitude we must stop and wait for a big blow ahead of us to pass by.

And our reward for fighting through this mess? Calms on the other side of South Island. Calms as far out as the forecast cares to predict.

I sat up with the low all night. Winds built slowly but continually until, at 3am, I had but a nub of a headsail flying. I couldn’t see what was coming at us, but we could all feel it because Mo was thrown around terribly. Seas climbed aboard, laid themselves over the pilot house windows. When Mo fell off a wave, the landing was like cannon fire. Twice I checked the bilges for leaks; surely the hull cannot take this strain! Heavy rain. And a disheartening course slouching to the south.

Nothing loose below stayed put. The lid on my pot of beef curry ended up in the head, this though it was on the gimbaled stove (luckily the curry didn’t fly). A bookshelf on windward popped its keeper rail and the books launched into my bunk on leeward.

And all night the barometer fell and fell. And into the day. Even now, as the leaden sky begins to fade and we slog through heaping seas in a light and diminishing wind, even now it is down at 999 and continues to fall.

I have up a main with two reefs and a full #2. We crawl along at 5 knots. But I don’t dare carry more sail in such uncertain conditions.

Then, while I type this rant, the sky thins. Above there is blue; and to the west, a vivid sunset.