It seems to be busy tormenting boats north of 6N, and we're flying down longitude W going due south for the Equator, hoping to be below 4N before nightfall. If the wind holds. Last night was pure nuts, weather-wise. According to the GPS, Sockdolager reached Sails were heavily reefed. Yogi Berra's famous "90 percent of baseball is 50 percent mental" also applied to this part of the passage.
Here are some of the mind games in use aboard the old Sockdolager for crossing this lumpy, grumpy acre of ocean: 1. We live out here now careful, may backfire. Just think of the stories you'll have.
You wanted to do this, remember? The boat's doing better than you are, so Man Up, Karen. Is that a patch of blue sky? This part won't last forever. Repeat until numb. Are we there y Wow, the boat's going through these watery canyons and hills really well--just like the boats of your sailing heroes did!
We will dry out. People everywhere still cook without chasing food around the cabin. One day you will, too. Imagine sleeping a whole night Wind on the nose but only for half a day. Oppressive heat and humidity hey, isn't some of that what we came for?
And spray. Spray everywhere. I mean, spray even found its way into the cabin--there are saltwater marks on the hanging locker, and we had 2 of 3 boards in the companionway before I had to shut it completely at midnight.
The cockpit was a saltwater bath, no waves broke over it but heavy dollops of spray merrily dumped themselves all over without being invited. Da noive, Ceil. Da noive. Things got a little wet. Even the jibsheets have that been-wet-for-so-long-they-stink eau de phew. But you know, winds and seas have generally been very good to us compared to what could have been dished out. And we are sailing fast, nearing the turning point the Equator for the Southeast Trade Wind sail to the Marquesas.
Regardless of minor discomforts, it's still a dream come true. Tuesday, March 27, We've Turned South. Pacific Crossing, Day After a rainy night and a majestic, sunny morning we scooted at knots before a knot wind from the East-Southeast, in big confused seas to 12 feet. Watching this little boat thread a path among watery hills and canyons, we both agreed that a sailboat's a pretty amazing machine, among all her other attributes.
Good daily runs have been made so far; all but 2 days were over miles, and the 2 exceptions were 91 and 95, so all in all we feel pretty good if not a bit weary of the constant big motion. And we love our little boat with its big heart! We want to have a good angle on the SE Trade Winds, and going too far west would mean possibly beating into the wind all the way to the Marquesas, something we'd rather not do. So the spray's a'flyin for now! When we cross the Equator perhaps we can ease the sheets a bit for the long home stretch.
Short post today, too rough to type and then correct all the motion-induced mistakes. Monday, March 26, A Torrid Affair. Pacific Crossing, Day Two weeks at sea, and at least two more to go! This is the longest passage either of us has made; my previous longest was Thomas to Belize. We're nearing the halfway mark, and are only miles from our turning point at 5N, where we'll turn straight south for about miles to cross the ITCZ Intertropical Convergence Zone at a right angle somewhere along the degree longitude meridian.
Estrellita cross the Equator yesterday, hooray for Carol and Livia! Inquiring Polliwogs those who haven't yet crossed await in hushed tones a description of their ceremony of ascendance to Shellbacks. We sail on. There was a bit of lightning thrown in for nail-biting effect. I mean, we are the tallest thing out here, so avoiding the bigger squalls by not turning south too early is important.
I got soaked and chilled trying to stay in the cockpit, so we stood our watches below, peering into the liquid blast every 20 minutes. Not that we could see much. Jim figured out how to use his iPod as a timer wearing earplugs so the off-watch doesn't get disturbed and I followed suit.
It worked well. Last night reminded us of being hove-to off the Oregon coast, though we didn't heave-to in the night. But to answer Jay's question from awhile back he asked what we'll do if we have to heave-to in high winds and seas, we had Port Townsend Sails make us a backstaysail, got advice from several people including the Pardeys it's in the new Storm Tactics reissue and bought a Gale Rider, which, if the backstaysail isn't enough, we'd stream at a 45 degree angle off the bow to keep the bow up and slow down any fore-reaching so as not to outrun the smooth "slick" of water created to windward of the hull.
Though we're ready if need be, we don't anticipate having to heave-to on this passage. However, we'll report how it goes when we do. We haven't heard from Craig for a day or so, and figure he's coping with the forecast foot seas off Hawaii. Seas here 8N, about miles N of the Equator are forecast to be 3 meters, too high for this amount of wind, so we're guessing the seas are coming from up north. So, HEY! North Pacific folks, please cut that out!
We got enough seas of our own down here, thank you very much. This morning was gorgeous but torrid. Good word, eh? Hot, sweaty, Night-of-the-Iguana torrid.
Like, butt-nekkid torrid if we all didn't have to be careful, as Livia previously reported, about bun chafe from salty cushions, and BTW how does a woman with any endowment whatsoever wear a safety harness widdem tings? I tellya, if Victoria's Secret designed safety harnesses we wouldn't be in this predicament. The bondage theme has been addressed, sort of.
But if anyone still has one of those old "Sail Naked" posters, hang on to it. Pacific Crossing, Day Rough, squally weather last night and more today have made us tired. Lots of sail handling--reefing, gybing, unreefing--as the wind velocity and direction changes around the squalls. Feels like maybe the ITCZ swole up and swallowed us for awhile. We're moving again, a fast run down lumpy seas. But we got a nice freshwater rinse. To top things off, the propane solenoid stopped working, but once we emptied the cockpit locker, removed the cylinder and squirted the living daylights out of it with lube, it decided to work again.
Hot food! Critters have been active, too. This morning a 5 inch bug-eyed squid was peering through the plexiglass forward hatch, and there was a flying fish on the cabin sole. He must've bounced off the stove, given the angle it took to get in there. Like, WHOA! It bounced right where a frying pan might've been! If only a nice dorado would do that.
Frying pan's on, heeeeere, fishy fishy Saturday, March 24, Thassalotta Words. Pacific Crossing, Day Big clouds, windy squalls in the night, a nice knots of wind urging us on, water temp 80, only the occasional big swell to fling us about, and life is good on the old Sockdolager.
The ITCZ has ballooned almost out to our position, but we're not in it yet. We're going to stick to our original route and not turn south too soon we hope. So what's with the torrent of words lately? Danged if I know. There are a few factors, though: 1. I now have time to write. There are no land-based distractions. Before we left all was stress and preparation with no time to write.
There is now also plenty of time to think. We're doing something that's a combo of interesting spiced with moments of boredom, that has a component of mental game to it. The tiny-boat-big-ocean, holy-crap-look-where-we-are type of mental game. I miss my writers group in Port Townsend, and especially my writing buddy.
Music friends will be the subject of another post. We do keep in touch. One friend, a published poet, even sends us an original poem now and then! I cherish these friends. This blog is a combo of letters, journal, travelogue, and sausage factory for future writing projects.
Writers LOVE to see each others' sausage Some writers like to write in different settings, others at their desks in an office or studio. One day I'll have a desk and studio. But how does writing in this offshore setting compare? For one thing, it beats trooping down to a Starbuck's sorry Steve but then again, Starbucks employees don't come around dumping salt water in your coffee. For another, furniture on land tends to stay put. I've actually roped my right leg to the port cockpit winch so I can write while bracing against the roll.
It's working, but enough of that and the leg'll get sore. I no longer compose anything on the computer, it's back to basics: pen, notebook, margin scrawls and coffee in a wide-bottom cup. Oh, and a strap for my leg. Should I be exploring bondage themes? On my to noon watch, I get 4 hours of quiet time to write and scan the horizon every 10 minutes for ships or other things. Later, the sausage gets simultaneously typed and edited directly into the Ham radio email program on our navigation laptop.
This is worth repeating: While we can send and receive text-only email at sea, the slow modems on Ham sets preclude all but essential communications, like weather faxes and the occasional email. You may have noticed a shift in pronoun use since we left Mexico for offshore. Normally I like to write blog posts in third person, because too many "I's" feels self-indulgent and some of the humor schtick can be more easily achieved if I turn both of us into characters in a true story.
But that doesn't work out here. It really, really is different. The outer stories have become sea-routines; it's the emerging inner stories that relate how a voyage like this feels, that I'm finding more compelling.
I hope you are, too. Jim writes the short messages that accompany our position posts, which you can find at left. Actually, there is an office aboard our foot boat: the head! We learned this trick from Cap'n Fatty Goodlander, who admits to spending a lot of private writing time in there. Good idea at anchor! I hope some of you had the chance to meet him and his wife Carolyn at the recent sailing symposium in Port Townsend.
They just completed their second circumnavigation and have not only unique points of view, but the ability to express them. I won't promise an essay or even a short post every day, but I will promise to keep in touch at a minimum of every few days while on passage, more as Muse and weather allow.
Once we reach the Marquesas about days from now we'll probably sleep for a couple of days and take a break. The posting of photos will resume once we find an internet connection, which will take some sleuthing.
Except for being tired. Why so tired? Perhaps it's the eternal bracing against the roll that must use a lot of energy, as we've both lost weight and are feeling fit. We eat well, too--a simple hot meal each night and light meals during the day. Maybe it's Conrad or maybe it's the Sockdolager Effect, but with long spells of watching the sea, thinking, musing, and pondering, I get a little philosophical, and have taken the liberty of subjecting you to the results because it might be fun to know about the day-by-day of a long voyage.
Or maybe not! We're not bored except for some night watches when staying awake is real effort. We hope you aren't bored, either. We both miss the 2-way-ness of the active communication we enjoy when keeping in touch, but it is also magnificent out here all alone on a wide ocean. In his Mirror of the Sea, Conrad despaired that years hence, his generation of deepwater sailors with their knowledge and skills would be forgotten, ignored, even considered irrelevant by the future generation of sailors, who, he added, would not be able to call themselves true descendants.
Every historic port has its historic ship, or wants one. I love that. Our hometown of Port Townsend, Washington is a Victorian seaport with a wealth of sleek and tidy wooden boats, along with a festival to celebrate them, a school in which to learn to build them, a maritime center in which to learn to sail them, and a marine trades industry to help keep them alive.
You can still see a forest of wooden masts though not as many these days, as marina prices rise and even a square yard or two, down at the docks. To walk these docks in early morning with a cup of coffee in hand is to step back in time while your eyes wander over rigging and hull designs that are the direct descendants of the Age of Sail.
Take Adventuress, for example. A gaff-rigged pilot schooner built a hundred years ago, she's feet in sparred length and has the kind of lines that make you hold your breath as your eye sweeps the length and breadth of her. Looking through the portholes of Sockdolager nestled in our nearby slip, we could see her tarred wire shrouds and tall masts that were once huge trees.
In the early morning before anyone was stirring she'd be calling, and sometimes I'd go, to smell the tarry rigging, see the salt-rimed decks and gleaming varnish, and linger along that eggshell of a hull that has carried a century of dreams. Ships like this are our connection with the maritime past. She possesses none of the cold static precision of an architect's skyscraper, but instead whispers of a gathered, living energy.
Small tremors in the rigging give away her impatience as she awaits the footfalls of her crew. To gaze at a storied old ship that still earns her living every day by sail training and education is, well, when things are quiet in the morning, like entering a sailor's chapel. I know that comparing a living ship to a chapel may be considered blasphemous, but for the profane and shackled sailor in many of us who longs to escape everything that relentlessly says Thou Shalt Not Be Yourself, it's perfect.
A ship takes you to sea, where the night sky shows you your relative size in the universe, A ship's sails and rigging require work to learn--a lot of it--but they teach both caution and risk-taking. A ship teaches you respect for the elements, and for the sea. And what about all that marvelous beauty in design and efficiency? Play trailer Crime Thriller. Director Alejandro Montiel.
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Endless Legend Emperor Edition. There You Are.
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