Category: Sailing

I left Cabo San Lucas on March 25th. Cabo is located about 110 degrees west longitude. Today, New Year’s Day, at 10:38 UTC I crossed back into the Western Hemisphere. I have sailed 360-110=250 degrees, or 100x(250/360)=70% the way around the world in terms of longitude. Because Cabo is located about 23 degrees north longitude and I am currently 21 degrees south, the percentage in terms of distance sailed is also close to 70%. I have sailed about 18,000 nm and it is 4,500 nm to Barbados, 1,400 nm to Panama, and 2,100 nm to Cabo (18,000/(18,000+4,500+1,400+2,100)=69%).

It is interesting how my mind adapts to the length of a passage. I only get “are we there yet” thoughts when I am close to the end. I am ten days into a fifty-some day passage, and it does not feel like I have been sailing very long. It seems like just yesterday that I left Saldanha. In contrast, on a 2000 nm passage, by day ten of fifteen I am ready for the passage to be over. Sure, I have milestones in this passage – reaching or passing the mid-sea islands of St. Helena and Ascension, reaching the Brazilian coast, and of course the final destination of Barbados. There is also passing to the Western Hemisphere, which I will do in a couple of days, and passing into the Northern Hemisphere, which I will do in a month. I suppose these could be viewed as destinations, but the difference between these milestones and the final one is the boat does not stop. So, I’m in a grove and I am not likely to get “are we there yet” thoughts until I am beating my way up the South American coast, perhaps passing French Guyana. Why? Well I suppose one reason I begin thinking about the end of a passage at the end of a passage is because I have to end up at a single point, preferably at dawn when the winds are lighter, or at least during daylight hours so I can navigate the coast to my anchorage, or sometimes I need to arrive during slack tide if I need to cross a shallow reef. When you are ten days into a passage and still have five thousand miles to go, it does not really matter if you sail north or west … you “go with the flow” while taking whatever Nature offers you. I suppose in my mind, I am “going with the flow” too. There is no use dwelling on the end of my voyage at this point where it does not matter whether I sail north or west.

Since leaving Cabo San Lucas, Mexico on March 25, almost five months ago, I have sailed in the Pacific Ocean. South of Australia, the boundary between the Pacific Ocean and Indian Ocean is generally defined by a line extending from South East Cape, Tasmania, along the 147°E meridian. North of Australia, the border is less clearly defined, but often runs from Cape Londonderry, Australia, across the Timor Sea, along the southern shores of Java, and through the Sunda Strait. Cape Londonderry is located at 13°44′59″S 126°55′02″E. I sailed west of the Cape last night and am currently at 126°49′E at sunrise on August 15. The Indian Ocean will be a challenge to cross, without as many places to stop and not nearly the resources to provision and make repairs. it will take about three and a half months to reach Cape Town, South Africa, where I will enter the Atlantic Ocean. The most challenging stretch will be between the Cocos-Keelings and Richard’s Bay, South Africa. There are basically two routes, directly south, east of Madagascar via Mauritius, and west of Madagascar, via the Mozambique Channel. Each has advantages and disadvantages, but ultimately the course will be determined by the weather.

I have seen different ways of rigging a whisker pole. I use four lines. The pole is attached to the mast at a the same height as the clew of the sail. The end of the pole is held parallel to the deck using a spinnaker halyard (red). The jib sheet passes through the claw of the pole (green). Two preventers are attached to the pole. The aft preventer (black) runs through a block on the deck to the staysail wench and it all owes me to select the TWA to present the sail to the wind. The spinnaker tack line which is attached to the end of the pole (yellow) passes through a block on the bow sprit and then back to the lazy jib wench. This preventer keeps the poke from running into the lower shroud (steel cable in photo). This system is useful in light winds when the foresail would “bump” (sometimes violently) as the boat is rocked by the waves. This happens because the foresail is temporarily in the shadow of the mainsail. The pole is also sometimes used for wing-on-wing sailing downwind (running). However, I find unless the seas are calm, my boat tends to roll severely when sailing wing-on-wing. It takes me about 20m to set up the pole single-handed, because I need to make several trips back and forth to set up lines. As a consequence, I do not use a pole unless I believe it is going to be up a long time. In this case it was been up 24h and will probably be up 12 more.

Sent from my iPhone

I am just south of Fiji on my way to Vanuatu and I have crossed the Anti-Meridian, the less famous twin of the Prime Meridian. I am now in the Eastern Hemisphere. I am about one week from Vanuatu, which will be my last stop in the South Pacific. After about a week there, I will leave for Thursday Island (Australia), which guards the eastern side of the Torres Strait, which is officially in the Indian Ocean. As I sail across the Strait, I will pass through numerous seas (Coral, Arafura, and Timor) before I am once again in open ocean.

Well, probably not. I am just no longer constantly drenched in sweat 24/7. I noticed first about a week ago when I woke up chilled in the middle of the night while running the fan (which is usually necessary to keep from drowning in perspiration). Then, a few days ago I stopped using the fan during the day as well. I’ve also noticed I’m drinking a lot less fluid … a lot less. Tahiti is at 18S and I am now at 19S, but 60 nm south cannot explain the sudden change. Further, Tahiti seemed hotter and more humid than anyplace else I’ve been. The wind is a bit more southerly, which I suppose could be a contribution. It seems strange, because sweating had become the norm. I stopped wearing clothes while sailing because I was constantly draped in soggy fabric. Now, I feel chilled without a shirt at night while in the cockpit. I think there may be something physiological going on. I tend to consume fewer calories while sailing. Less food means less liquid needed to digest. Less food means less excess energy heating the body. Also, I don’t drink alcohol when I sail. Less beer means less liquid and fewer calories.

The halfway point always seems further than halfway. By that I mean the first half always seems harder. Perhaps a few weeks near land weakens your sea legs or maybe it’s just there is more blue water in front of you than behind, but the first half seems to drag on. This passage was about 1500 nm as the seabird flies, two weeks, and I have about 750 to go. Based upon weather forecasts, the second week was supposed to be worse than the first week, but the storms of the past couple of days makes me question that. I don’t consider high winds “bad weather”. In fact, Aegir-Ran loves it when the wind is howling. For me, “bad weather” is what I’ve had the last few days … inconsistency. When the wind speed and direction are continuously changing, it makes it very difficult to sail with the wind vane. It’s like loosing a crew member when the wind vane isn’t doing her job, and I cannot afford to loose many of the crew The wind vane works particularly well when the wind is blow hard and in a consistent direction, which brings me back to the second half of the passage. The wind is supposed to blow hard this week, at least until Saturday … 20-25 kt. And while the wind will change direction, it should generally change on the day timeframe, rather than the minute timeframe I have experienced the past few days. So, I am looking forward to the second half of the passage. It should be exhilarating.