| DREAMCATCHER VOYAGE Journal 9 - 25 DAYS OF PERPETUAL MOTION |
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25 DAYS OF PERPETUAL MOTION MEXICO TO THE MARQUESAS APRIL 7 – MAY 2, 2004 We start by deciding we’re too tired to go on the appointed day (Apr 6). Everything is ready, but it’s mid afternoon and we look at each other and say “ I’m tired, lets go tomorrow”….. tomorrow came and we hoot and honk our way out of the marina to the waves and whistles of our dock friends in Puerta Vallarta at 0800, enroute to the fuel dock. Not a positive experience: the fuel hoses did not have automatic shut-off, which would have been ok had they told us, but that not being the case, we ended up with geysers of fuel on both sides of the boat resulting in Henry and the deck getting totally drenched with diesel fuel….needless to say, words were had with the management, the “service charge” was waived, Henry and boat washed down at the dock and we eventually got under way. We were the only boat leaving that marina on that day: the bulk of the Pacific “Puddle Jumper” fleet had left from either an alternate marina or a Banderas Bay anchorage several days before. We motored out into the Bay, were met by several dolphins and turned our three circles: the first for a safe departure, the next for a safe and fruitful journey and the third for a safe entry to our future port. We set the sails with a double reef in the main and headed out of the Bay into the Pacific for the start of our 2800 mile passage. Interestingly enough, we only set 3 waypoints for the whole trip! What a contrast to the 13 we set down the California coast…. As they say, you’re just not going to hit anything out there! We had been frantically busy for the prior month and so focused on the practical aspects of the trip, that on leaving the Bay, we were both individually faced with personal thoughts and feelings on what we were about to do. Only about 200 boats a year do this, approximately 450 people out of the world’s 7 billion: the combined fleet from Europe and the Americas, cross the Pacific in small boats … why were we doing this? We’ll each take some time to record our personal perspectives on that, later. In the meantime, we’ve recorded our activities during that pre-departure month: the amount of work we accomplished was incredible: it’s documented separately on the website for those who think that cruising is a carefree lifestyle and for those who are serious about following in our footsteps. Where to start? Lets start with food! The provisioning exercise is detailed in the abovementioned document, but essentially, we ate our way across the Pacific!!! We can’t remember when we ate better, ever. In the absence of any hint of seasickness, we ploughed our way through gourmet meal after gourmet meal, and even so, arrived at our destination 10 lbs lighter! Breakfast was an “every man for himself” affair taken from choices of orange or mango juice, coffee with assorted flavourings, a variety of fresh and dried fruits, oatmeal, muesli, cereal bars, egg scrambles, pancakes with maple syrup…whatever the Hyatt had, we had more!.... we scheduled lunch and dinner alternate days: ie, if Henry did lunch one day, he prepared dinner the next, and vice versa…so, it meant that dinner preparation became more of a creative challenge than a drudge. For the detail-minded, we’ve documented the main meal of the day in our narrative log, so you can eat along with us. We ate wonderful fresh fruit the whole way across, and, 6 weeks later are still savouring oranges. We bought mangoes, avocados and a pineapple, potatoes, onions, garlic, chillis, celery (which was terrific with peanut butter and cream cheese centers). We made pies for special occasions, feasted on Alaskan smoked salmon, cream cheese & capers with special champagne, for crossing the Equator and honoured several other special events and milestones. We’d ordered gourmet sausages (turkey/cinnamon/apple and sun-dried tomato/cheese) and ostrich steaks from the Puerta Vallarta chandlers and had wonderful dinners like chicken kiev parmesan, from the freezer cabinet. Even during “hairy” 25 knot rides, we were in the galley, pumping out great meals, followed of course, by a selection of chocolates. We sometimes shared a can of beer for lunch when conditions were calm but mostly drank flavoured water and Gatorade. Our other primary wake-time activity while passaging was radio communications. DreamCatcher is equipped with the Icom 802 Single SideBand radio which is also email-capable. We were part of the Pacific Puddle Jumpers net which had daily roll- call and weather/information exchange. Additionally, we would often check into the Blue Water Net, the Amigo Net and Don’s (Summer Passage) weather broadcasts. With 4 radio scheds a day, it was like being back at the office, on conference calls!! These nets kept us connected to the “outside” world of other cruisers, as during our entire passage we never sighted another sailboat (just 1 fishing and 1 research vessel) and it was always heartening to know we weren’t out there alone. We LOVE the radio. Additionally, we were able to do email every 2-3 days, invaluable for keeping in touch with you all and for contacting boats ahead and technical vendors. Email while passaging is a little challenging though: bracing oneself in a constantly moving environment and having the patience to wait while the radio picks up a free station and uploads/downloads, takes time, all the while keeping an eye on the amps available (email transmission requires a significant amount of power) to ensure that critical boat systems are not compromised. With our time zone changing as we gradually passaged west, the timing of the radio nets was often in the midst of an off- watch so they added to our broken sleep routine – but we wouldn’t have missed them for the world. Towards the end of the passage, the Puddle Jumper fleet had thinned, with the last 10 boats or so keeping up the net: as each boat made landfall they dropped out till there were finally just two of us. The reduced net participants made the net more informal and plans and fish stories were swapped, boat problems discussed and moral support provided. It wouldn’t be right to pass the radio topic without giving Don of Summer Passage acknowledgement and kudos for his weather information. A long time but now ex- cruiser, he transmits from his station in Southern California, tirelessly and selflessly providing weather information and anaysis to passage-makers. We have never seen a photo of him, but I imagine him as a cross between Yoda of Star Wars, wise and considered...and Santa Claus, jovial and kindly. Don weaves the weather into wonderful but factual scenarios and delivers it in his dulcet Cheshire tones with a chuckle thrown in for good measure. He takes personal calls on weather (if you can get in over the myriad of cruisers clamouring for his expertise) is on a first-name basis with all cruisers and gives his undivided attention to your call, particularly if a vessel is being compromised by a weather system. We’ll miss him after the Marquesas. Weather, of course is the sailor’s number one concern (along with boat integrity). We had decided early on to contract a professional weather router for the Pacific passage. We used Commander, who call weather for the big round-the world yacht races. Their forecasts differed from Don’s in that they were text (email), and very specific to Dreamcatcher’s capabilities and location. We would send them a position report and in return they would email us a 5-day forecast with wind direction and speed for every 6 hours during those 5 days. There would also be general warnings about squall and convection areas in our path. They would specifically route us in certain directions (luckily for us, usually the rhumb line, which enabled us to make the most efficient distance). On one occasion, when we were in the middle of a huge (2000 square miles) low pressure system, we called them on the sat phone: our radio net had indicated boats up ahead encountering 50 knots of wind, some lying to sea anchors…..we had been in 28-32 knots for a couple of cold, drenching days, and getting pretty sick of it: they said “turn south immediately”, we did and were out of the worst of it within 24 hours. When we tried to turn west again to make our equatorial crossing goal of 130W, we again found ourselves tangled up in the weather system, so ended up southing some more, till the whole mess blew itself out and we were able to pick up the SE trades at about 6 deg N of the equator. During our entanglement with that large low pressure system, life was a little hairy and very wet for about 2 days – who would have thought we would be huddling in the cockpit in full heavy duty foul-weather gear, seaboots and woolly hats drinking hot soup, at 7 deg north of the equator?! Most of the time during this rough weather, we hand-steered the boat – the seas being too much to ask of our autopilot even though we had all sails deep reefed. While the winds never got much over 34 knots, the seas were big, and 34 knots of wind in a mid Pacific low delivers a very different sea state than 34 knots in San Francisco Bay. Our rough calculation was that every 5 knots of wind earned another 2 feet of swell height…. The tops were being torn off the waves, turning into white spray and the general scene for days was simply grey- green for the sea and grey-white for the sky…..often merging into a grim light and dark grey world (the squalls) for many hours at a time. The waves and swell were coming from behind us, and every few minutes between arm-wrestling the wheel you’ d glance over your shoulder and see a block of water the size of your corporate headquarters rolling towards you, hissing and spitting, wanting to climb over your stern rail, and with another “oh sxxt!” hissed between clenched teeth, you wrestle the boat down the face of the wave, only to rise over it…..time and time again, for hours which turned into days. We hand steered these sections so as not to overload the autopilot and to keep a “feel” for the boat, reduced to two hour watches due to the physical and mental stress such conditions deliver. While we were not scared, it was an anxious and demanding time. We were drenched and tired for several days and were glad to see the back of that weather system. It was during this time that part of a wave did splash into the cockpit and triggered Henry’s life jacket to inflate …. It was a heck of a fright! We were fortunate in that we largely missed the ITCZ (doldrums). We did have one full night of too much excitement: dozens of thunder/lightening squalls kept us wide- eyed and on a zig-zag course dodging lightning flashes: that was the night Jack, our autopilot, died. The autopilot failure was a major turning point for us : it meant we would have to hand steer the remaining 1200 miles. Henry quickly established there were no on-board fixes we could implement (it was the electronic control head that had taken water through the display). It meant we had to eat separately – now gone were the days we’d share a meal, chat while Jack drove during dinner, gone, our opportunity to read a book while under way (this is usual cruiser practice in daylight when conditions are calm & clear) gone our 3 hour watches – it was simply too long at the helm, and we switched to 2 hours on/2 hours off. This loss of the autopilot, while it didn’t have too big an impact initially, eventually took its toll as we became very, very tired, to the point of major fatigue towards the end of the passage. Sadly, it took a lot of the enjoyment out of the last part of the trip and towards the end we had curtailed many of our passage-making activities (creative cooking, “housework”, email) and were mostly driving and sleeping. Sometimes the latter was difficult despite our tiredness – coming off a vigorous watch, hand steering through lively 30 knot squalls at night, you’d be so pumped with adrenaline, it would take ages to get to sleep, only to have to be up again in what seemed at the time, like minutes. We continued to eat well and were glad of the prepared frozen meals we had that we had not touched during the early part of the passage. We slept in our clothes on the salon couches (the bed only got used 2 nights out of the 25), and sometimes in our harness & lifejackets, simply being too tired to take them off. Ablutions mostly became a brief wipedown with a moist towel and everything else became secondary to rest. Sleep deprivation tends to be part of any long ocean passage but on looking back now, the discipline and stamina that we required for this part of the trip, was phenomenal. It is certainly the most physically and mentally demanding prolonged effort either of us has ever had to make. We both had tears running down our faces when we made landfall and saw the Marquesas emerge from the dawn, through relief that this pain and fatigue was over. Of pain, GT got neck and shoulder cramps from continual hand steering and had to start each watch with a rub of Tiger Balm and half an muscle relief tablet. Because of the hand steering, both hand and bicep muscles grew enormously she now looks like Popeye the Sailor (minus the pipe!). One thing the cruiser mulls over is back-up systems: should we have had an independent back-up autopilot? Possibly, but that would have been another $5,000 USD. Should we have had a wind vane steering device? Possibly, and we had pontificated over this for months prior to departure and apart from the $3,000 extra, simply couldn’t make it fit onto the stern of the boat where we had too much other “stuff”: the dinghy mounts, the stern anchor and the mizzen boom. Life aboard during that 25 days became “normal” – it sounds odd but your mind and body simply starts to accept the regimen of living at sea: it took us (and most boats we talked to) about 5 days to get into the “groove” and after that, it was simply the way we lived. We were always busy – when we were off watch, time was spent in meal prep/eating/cleaning up, radio schedules & reports (these could sometimes go for over an hour), ablutions, reviewing manuals & technical documents, fixing things that broke, writing emails, making phone calls, laundry and of course a goal of 8 hours of rest. We preferred to sleep in the salon of the boat: it was comfortable, with 2’6” bunks each side plus it enabled the helmsman to have visual access to the other person should help on deck need to be summoned : throwing a sandal from the helm at the sleeping crew below was found to be the most effective method of getting their attention (it was impossible to wake someone sleeping in the aft quarters without leaving the helm) and that location also had quick access to the chart & instrumentation center. Like every boat on the passage we did some damage along the way…Clearly the autopilot was our biggest loss. Additional carnage was very light compared to some other passage-makers: - broken main topping lift (jury-rigged at sea, still holding) - biminy stitching chafed and split on aft edge as a result of above (restitched in Nuku Hiva) - shredded spinnaker halyard – jury rigged under way : ugly but still holding - second reefing block/lines departed the main sail – re-rigged mid ocean during 15 knots wind with acrobatics you wouldn’t believe! - Main sail – launched a batten, split through batten pocket, small hole. - - puncture from a boom screw - Battery combiner (house & starter) malfunctioned, still reviewing wiring. - Galley Kettle – smashed tempered glass lid during rough ride: this had a serious impact on water boiling activities on a moving boat. Replaced in Marquesas. Without exception, boats had breakages and issues: most common were problems with autopilots and wind vanes, engine malfunctions came next, including a couple of engine fires, then rigging: fellow puddle-jumpers lost their headstay and one boat broke major rigging tangs on port side, seriously impacting their ability to carry sail, plus an assortment of other marine ailments we all sympathized with either over the radio or over a beer in our arrival anchorage. What was common to all was the uncompromising help everyone was to everyone else. There is nothing more unifying than the society of people sailing small boats in large oceans, needing help – everyone was genuinely interested in your issues, despite having a list of their own, and tried to help solve your problems with sympathy, suggestions or practical hands- on work, as we did theirs. Henry’s personal perspectives: It has taken me a couple of weeks reflect upon the Pacific crossing. One thing is for sure: crossing the Pacific has been the biggest challenge that I have encountered in my life. Twenty four days on the boat with Glen, and not a stitch of land in sight. Just the 3 of us: HM, GT, and Dreamcatcher. Would I do it again? No, unless I was a fool. Did I learn a lot? Yes, and will always treasure this incredible achievement. I may become a sailor yet! It has been gratifying that all the work Glen and I put into Dreamcatcher paid off. She safely took us across the largest body of water in the world in comfort, and with minimal breakdowns. The last 12 days of the journey without the autopilot were the most difficult. Lack of sleep, eating dinner in shifts, and having to focus on the boat all the time consumed most of our energy and spare time. Night time sailing is my favorite, and by hand steering, I lost the ability to look at the night sky for extended periods of time: only quick glances. We were getting short with each other, especially the last two days before landfall. And what a thrill to see the coast line of Hiva Oa…our spirits revitalized and grateful for a successful Pacific crossing GT’s personal perspectives: certainly a major achievement that drew on all my reserves to the full and probably something to be proud of (no-one would ever dare call me a whimp after this!!!). Would I do it again? Heck no! Am I glad I did it – absolutely. What it makes you realize is that there is so much more to learn about the technology and the practice of seamanship, even after decades of sailing. It fills me with even more awe for the early sailors who had none of the aids we did. Doing this with Henry, after having had so much practical hands-on work “re-building” DreamCatcher made it very special, despite the fatigue and the crankiness we felt towards the end. I feel a real warmth towards the boat – whenever we were under strain or stress I kept telling myself “trust the boat”, and of course, the big trusty boat did just fine, even on the occasions when I was frazzled. So far, since leaving California we’ve logged over 5,000 miles and look forward to the next 5,000, as long as Jack’s aboard!!!! |
CLICK ON LINK FOR PHOTOS
PHOTOS FOR JOURNAL 9,10, AND 11 ARE THE SAME
PHOTOS FOR JOURNAL 9,10, AND 11 ARE THE SAME
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