Knockdown. Not Today. Thoughts of Totorore.

January 8, 2019

Day 96

Noon Position: 46 18S  56 54E

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

Wind(t/tws): WNW 26 – 31

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

Sky: Overcast

10ths Cloud Cover: 10

Bar(mb): 1005+ steady

Cabin Temp(f): 54

Water Temp(f): 47

Relative Humidity(%): 80

Sail: Working jib and main, three reefs, broad reach to reach

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

Miles since departure: 13,223

Avg. Miles/Day: 138

Days since Cape Horn: 39

Miles since Cape Horn: 5,579

Avg. Miles/Day: 143

Longitude Degrees Made Good (degrees minutes): 3 40

Longitude Miles Made Good (at Lat 47S): 151

Total Longitude Made Good Since Cape Horn (degrees minutes): 124 11

Winds remained in the W most of the night, oscillating between 25 and 35. Mo wore just a double reefed working jib and rode like a mechanical bull. This was not so noticeable from my bunk, which is in the depths of the the main cabin and well below the water line, but try to make a cup of coffee and you risked your life.

At 8am, we passed just north of where Mo was knocked down in a gale last February 18th, a knockdown that broke a window in the pilot house and let in enough water to sink most of our electronics. It also stole the drogue, which parted at the bridle eyesplice. That put us into Hobart for two weeks, essentially finishing that year’s Figure 8 attempt.

If things had gone to plan, I would be home with Joanna right now and tending to the coals in the fire place (the power is out and she reports a fire is currently her only source of heat), but she’s managing that today while I’m a world away and on attempt number two. Life was due to return to normal in 2019. The Figure 8, which has been in-build since 2013, was to be done deal. Not so. And around here is where that changed.

I’ve been keen to get past this area without damage. No matter the likelihood of lightening striking twice, its anticipation has made me quite nervous over the last days, and to see the seas here as chaotic as I recalled…

But about an hour before noon the scene began to shift. Big seas we still have, but they’ve lost that jagged edge, their malicious intent. And suddenly the current is with us. Mo’s been pulling 8 knots since noon.

—

When I feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, when I tire of gray skies and gray seas, my own company and canned Shepherd’s Pie for dinner, again, I pull down my copy of THE TORTORE VOYAGE by Gerry Clark.

Gerry, a merchant mariner turned New Zealand apple farmer, a lover of birds, the sea and adventure, built a 36-foot bilge-keeled sloop in his barn and set out with short crew to circle the Southern Ocean, visiting all the islands he could get to along the way. This was in 1983. His goal was to aid in bird conservation efforts by establishing population statistics on those islands, many of which hadn’t been visited since the demise of sealing.

The voyage is glorious and full of disaster, or possibly the glory is due to it.

West of Prince Edward Islands (we passed beneath these a week ago), his vessel, Tortore, was rolled and lost her mast in a storm. The story of her limping into Marion Island, the difficulty of jury rigging in a dangerous anchorage, the loss of Gerry’s crew (who had to return to school), the loss of his self-steering gear west of the Crozets followed by more jury rig attempts at Heard Island; the five times Tortore rolled on the return to Fremantle…

Gerry’s will to survive; his unwillingness, maybe his lucky inability, to entertain dispondency, his adoration for where he was despite its trying to kill him…

Actually, no; now that I think of it, it doesn’t cheer me up, this book. But it makes me realize how good I have it, and that’s something.