Low Brings Nasty Weather

After twelve hours of hellacious, gale force conditions things are slowly beginning to settle down again aboard "Avventura." The low pressure system arrived right on cue and lasted a few hours longer than I had anticipated, bringing a bit more wind than forecast. What's that mean? 12 hours of 35 knot plus winds, including a three hour stretch of winds over 40 knots (about 50 MPH). Spent the worst of it with just a triple-reefed main up making little progress, and mostly waiting for the low to move onwards, which it has since done. Rain assaulted us from midnight till 1000, and it has been highly uncomfortable to say the least, but now we can all say we've been through a storm in the North Pacific (and I never have to do so again). Speculation abounds that the source of the storm was Kevin's comment in Hawaii (which he since took back) that he would like to see some bad weather just to experience it. Despite the Atkins contingent talking him out of that statement, Mother Nature heard all she needed to and we are now a statistical anomaly: we encountered a gale where the pilot charts say there was a 0% chance of finding one. Things looking brighter now, though mountainous hills of water continue to bombard us at over 10 feet. More to come later when things are more comfortable.

June 30-1200
36.43N by 138.52W

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Low is Coming

I'm going to try and be brief because the motions here are not kind and I've been battling traces of seasickness the past couple days. The low pressure system is descending upon us today with 25 knot winds that have blown since dawn, heavy overcast skies, a slowly falling barometer, and the promise of slightly worse to come. Seas are obnoxious, but very manageable, and all-in-all this seems to be a gentle lead-in to my first storm in the North Pacific. What strikes me as odd is while we battle what must be described as a winter weather system at 36N the 2nd and 3rd tropical storms of the season churn down at 15N. Thus with summer firmly upon us we are somehow in the midst of a low with the threat of gale conditions to come. At least home is under 1200 miles and getting closer with each passing hour.
Yesterday was a nice, sunny day with steady fifteen knot winds and our first signs of human life in over a week. Spotted two separate tanker ships and two airplanes, and collectively cursed the fact that they will all be spotting land within 72 hours. Our landfall remains 10 days or more away. Also landed and released another 7 pound dorado (still had fish leftover to eat), and if you were to just look at the pictures from this trip you'd think we were on a fishing charter boat. Anyhow this lousy weather should only last 24 hours before leaving us with much nicer conditions, so hopefully I'll be in the mood to write more tomorrow.

June 29-1140 (Still on HI time)
36.28N by 140.46W

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Sloppy Seas; Annoyed Crew

Sloppy seas don't make for a happy boat or pleasant sailing and that is what "Avventura" finds herself battling. With twenty knot SSE winds and a mix of swells coming from all over the southern quadrant, but most annoyingly from the SE or even ESE, we are bashing along with an unnatural and unpleasant motion that has me a bit queasy. Guess it's time to get used to this, though, for if the low chasing us does what it's supposed to we could be in for a rough stretch coming in a couple days.
But back to yesterday when the arrival of a squall brought abut the return of the fish. The number one rule of fishing is you always catch a fish when you're least prepared to deal with it. Hence our plethora of sunrise or sunset strikes, and yesterdays 1330 strike, which came while I was in the midst of making water and a squall was just starting to roll in. By the time the 10 pound dorado was aboard a steady rain was falling and I did the fillet honors in the chilly onslaught. Not an hour later we had a second fish on, this one a small yellowtail to provide a nice change of pace and taste from the constant Mahi Mahi (poor us, right?). This one at least had the courtesy to wait till I was finished with the watermaker and ready to deal with it. Our dual catch led to a fish lunch and dinner, not to mention today's lunch and soon to be dinner as well. I'm still stunned at our fishing luck this trip and have never experienced anything like it. Even in 69 degree water at the latitude of Big Sur we landed a dorado!
Last night brought a welcome drop in the wind and sea conditions allowing for a pleasant night watch as clouds drifted in and out alternately revealing pockets of shimmering stars. I've been sleeping better at sea than I have in over a year of late, and for the first time in ages I awake in the morning refreshed and eager for the new day. This of course opens up the door to a day full of pleasant relaxation with lots of reading (4 books have been devoured thus far), some writing, and some active visualization of "Avventura" slipping past Point Loma for the first time in over two years. With this leg more than half completed it's hard to keep reminding myself that what remains is still the second longest stretch of sea I've crossed on this voyage, and that the prospect of landfall is still too far away to be planning for. For now the seas seem to be trying to settle in, and hopefully by tonight it will have calmed down once more and we'll be well on our way to a third straight 130 mile day. 1300 nm from home, and it's a glorious sunny day.

PS Saw our first sign of civilization in over a week today with the sighting of an east-bound airplane high overhead. Still only one ship since leaving, nothing for days and days, but the ocean is still littered with trash.

June 28. 1245.
36.44N by 143.04W

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Halfway Home

As I begin this we have just passed the halfway point and are now closing in on San Diego. Not much else is new in the past 24 hours, and since it's getting harder to send e-mails I'll keep this short. Wind has remained a steady fifteen knots out of the SE to SSE and our speed has stayed over 5.5 knots consistently. Our twelfth day at sea was our best yet with 137 miles made good, and after a perusal of the weather forecast yesterday I've determined we're far enough north, so we are now sailing a direct course for home. A low will eventually begin to chase us and if the forecasts hold we may be in its throes a handful of days from now, and will then be able to use the northerly winds in its wake to begin making our southing for San Diego. Of course forecasts are rarely reliable past 72 hours (unless you're in the trades or San Diego where the weather patterns are so consistent a week is easy to predict), so we'll take it as it comes. Now fish yet again, and with the water temperature at 69 I'm guessing our dorado days are a thing of the past and we'll be lucky to catch much of anything from here on out. Now back to making water as we make our easting.

June 27-1210
37.02N by 145.47W

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Still Cruising

Miles are drifting astern faster than they have in months aboard "Avventura" and the morale onboard is up as a result. The wind has settled in to the 20 knot range from the SE and we're making a solid six knots as we continue to climb up the west edge of the Pacific High. Skies are clear, seas are sloppy but small and destroyed by raging whitecaps, and the water is devoid of all life, perhaps scared south by the newfound chill (under 70 degrees today).
Once the sails were set yesterday the wind was determined to stick around and we've been sailing just aft of a beam reach at an ever-increasing clip since. In the early afternoon we saw our first pod of dolphins since clearing Diamondhead, but like their Hawaiian brethren they showed no interest in us and never even approached the boat. Unfortunately, aside from the fish we've caught the Pacific has proven quite devoid of life. Sighting a bird or a lone small jellyfish is cause for celebration and even the phosphorescence at night is less spectacular than during past voyages. The afternoon was spent with gentle seas and calm conditions, the winds never topping 10 knots, but as the sun set a cloudbank could be seen on the southeast horizon. Though nobody thought much of it at the time (perhaps distracted by a late jig strike, though the fish again got off), this would make for a windy, interesting night. Before descending into the cabin to get a few hours sleep prior to my night watch I explained to my dad and Kevin that if the wind suddenly came up in the night they should disengage the autopilot, bear off, and call me. Little did I know how soon this advice would come in handy.
Less than thirty minutes after I slipped into the quarterberth for some rest I felt the motions of Avventura change and leapt into the cockpit. The wind had jumped up to fifteen knots and it was time to reef the still-full mainsail (when in doubt reef it out). With the main double-reefed, I returned belowdecks thinking my work was done. Not fifteen minutes later I was back in the cockpit rolling the jib in 1/4 of the way as a squall hit and a light rain began to fall. Within minutes the squall was upon us with its full force of 25-30 knot winds, and a deluge of rain. I took the helm and guided us through the nasty squall with its fickle, shifty winds and sheets of heavy rain drenching me through my three light layers of clothes. The squall persisted for about an hour till just after 2000 when the wind settled into the 17 knot range and the skies slowly began to clear. Knowing an hour of sleep would do me no good I relieved Kevin of his watch and stayed in the cockpit clear through to the end of my watch at 0200 (ah, the joys of being the captain). Thankfully as the conditions settled in I was able to relax and read a bit before ending my watch fending off sleep and listening to my Ipod.
Dawn revealed twenty knot winds and a mixed up, short period swell, and I was quick to put a third reef in the main to relieve some pressure on the helm. We're continuing to scoot along at a nice pace while aiming for the top of the high (40N by 140W), and are coming off our best day of the trip yet with a good chance of being able to say the same again tomorrow. Finally we're in the sailing weather I anticipated for this stage of the leg, and the fuel is staying where it belongs, in its tank. Now we just need to hope the forecasts remain accurate and we keep our wind for a long while.

June 26-1220
36.53N by 148.32W

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To Jinx or not to Jinx?

I've been putting off this blog entry for a handful of hours now trying to decide if I have been the one jinxing our wind in the past by reporting it too early; but with the wind holding for nearly six hours now it's time to take a chance and report the good news. We are under sail! After four and a half days of motoring a southerly wind has finally picked up and we are moving along at over five knots without the obnoxious drone of the engine. I can't express in words the sheer joy and bliss of this feeling. After days of motoring the spirits of everybody on board were flagging as we all contemplated the worst-case scenario of never finding a breeze, running out of gas, and floating around in the Pacific at the mercy of the currents. And as of 2300 at the start of my night watch yesterday there was still no relief in sight. After watching a gorgeous moonrise and perusing the star-filled sky I settled in for another couple hours of reading and some computer tasks, engine still droning on. By the time the clock struck 0200 on this new day and my dad came up the companionway to relieve me of my torture I noticed the slightest hint of a ripple on the surface of the sea and told him to keep a close eye on it, lest a following wind picked up unnoticed. With that I returned to my cave for a few hours of sleep, waking periodically in anticipation of the wind I felt was on its way. Finally, at 0800 I was certain the wind was close at hand. The sea was unmistakably ruffled, and the flag was trying to spring to life. By 0830 I was determined to put the infant breeze to the test, so we set the spinnaker pole and poled the jib out to starboard as I shut down the engine. By 0845 all was quiet on board and we held our collective breaths as the wind alternately filled and spilled from the sails with each passing NW swell. By 0900 there weren't any reefs left in the main and we were scooting along at the same pace as if the motor had been running. The wind soon stabilized in the 7 to 10 knot range and began shifting east of south where it remains as I write this. With the wind shift I abandoned our wing-on-wing endeavor, altered course slightly further east, and we are now scooting along with the wind just aft of the beam at speeds we couldn't hope to motor at. Clouds alternately roll in and out, but nothing can dampen my mood at the moment. The engine is at rest, the fuel is being held in reserve, the motion on board is smooth and steady, and our speed is up. This is how sailing is meant to be! This is the trip I envisioned. Now let's just hope the forecasts hold true and we keep it for a while.

As far as the forecasts are concerned, the Pacific High seems firmly entrenched in her position at 37N, and as of now our aim is all the way up at 40N. This is slightly higher than I would have hoped, but with all the early motoring we were forced into we have no choice but to attempt to sail over the top of the high before coasting down its east edge and making a b-line for home. So if all goes to form we have a handful of days till we reach 40N where we'll turn east, skirt the edge of the high for a day or two till we reach its eastern edge, and slide down along the west coast. I won't yet venture a guess at our arrival date because it is still too dependent on how long we are able to keep our wind for and how quick we can get to the east edge of the high. So for those of you with your maps handy you'll see we are now north of Santa Barbara (close to Big Sur), and will be heading for the latitude of Point Delgada (Shelter Cove), north of Fort Bragg. Basically it's like driving to New York via Alabama.

June 25-1500
36.13N by 151.00W

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World's Deepest Swimming Hole

Ahh, at last, we're still motoring! At this rate we'll run out of diesel by the half way mark. Haven't felt a puff of wind in more than a full day in spite of the most recent forecast which said we should be sailing by now. Instead the Pacific continues to live up to its name, and today served as the world's largest, deepest swimming hole. I passed the day reading and making water to top off our tank, and by 1300 the watermaker was filling the tanks and there were still no signs of wind so with the heat of the day nearing its peak we slowed "Avventura" to a stop, shut down the engine, and went for a swim. I was first to dive in, and opening my eyes under water I began following a shaft of sunlight down into the deep blue abyss before realizing the sea floor was over a mile down. Thus I turned, took a look at the red underside of the boat making a beautiful contrast to the clearest, cleanest, bluest water I've ever swam in, and returned to the surface. We spent the better part of an hour horsing around, showering, and taking pictures of the boat adrift in the Pacific, knowing we were joining a tiny group of people who have ever gone for a swim more than 1000 miles from the nearest land. By 1400 the drone of the engine had returned with a vengeance and we were back in search of some wind (still to no avail as of now). The day has been all quiet on the fishing front, perhaps because we still have a few fillets of dorado in the refrigerator from yesterday morning's seven pounder, and perhaps because today's allotment of trash has all been small pieces of plastic, small clumps of fishing rope, and plastic bottles. Last night was a different story. Just after sunset I spotted a three foot square piece of wood floating on the surface, its underside covered in marine growth. I pointed it out as the latest "trash paddy" (knowing the value of a kelp paddy off the coast of San Diego when it comes to fishing) and then watched as a dorado came streaking out from its vicinity, fin piercing the water, making a b-line for our jigs. He hit the "Mexican flag" lure (my personal favorite), only to shake himself free moments later when I refused to slow down for the catch. It was the first time I've ever watched as a fish hit a jig, and must say it was interesting to watch, and after seeing the dorado stalk its fake prey so fiercely I was almost glad to see him swim off (besides my bed time was approaching and the last thing I wanted was to end the day smelling fishy). Besides we've been eating heaps of dodo and I'm ready for a change of pace, even though last night's tacos were again delicious. In the calm seas my crew have taken over the galley (perhaps to save themselves from my mysterious concoctions), and I'm left reaping the rewards. Now back to motoring...whoppee!

June 24-1700
34.54N by 152.22W
1750NM from San Diego, yet oh so much further away.

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A Low, Two Puffs, and the Drone Goes On

It's been an interesting weather day, but the overwhelming factor has been a lack of wind for the third straight day. It all started for me at 0500 when I was roused from a deep sleep by the sound of the jib being unfurled. I leapt into the cockpit and felt the fantastic puff of breeze in my face. Within minutes a light rain had begun to fall and the motor was turned off as the sails took control. For an hour we made good headway in the light breeze and light rain that accompanied a cold front extending from a low pressure system that was passing us by; but by 0630 the front had passed, the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the wind disappeared replacing the splendid silence of the sea with the obnoxious drone of the engine. As the morning wore on the low continued passing north of us and at 0945 I began to feel a trace of a north wind--the "clearing wind" for this tiny, weak system. Right as I was preparing to set the jib the fishing pole started screaming. My dad took care of the fish (a seven pound dorado which is now being cooked up for some fish tacos) while I killed the motor and set sail. This breeze looked and felt more promising, but by half past noon it too had disappeared, leaving clear skies and calm seas and, you guessed it, the drone of the engine in its wake. Five hours later the wind is still in hiding somewhere and the motor drones on. Our fuel supply keeps slipping away slowly but surely and my visions of a passage without motoring (thanks to horrid forecasts I received in the first few days) are now replaced by the question of if we'll have enough fuel aboard to motor as much as we may need to. If not this trip could be extended beyond what any of us on board would have hoped. For now we're just searching for a steady breeze. Anyone with information on where I can find one please let me know...I'm open to suggestions.

June 23-1730
33.59N by 154.03W

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The Hunt for the Westerlies

Day 9 is now beginning and we are under sail with a light NW wind for just the second time in two and a half days. A light rain is falling as what I believe is the tail end of a cold front sweeps past us. Whatever the cause, if it brings wind I'm all for it. After a full 40 hours of nonstop motoring we finally picked up a slight west wind yesterday afternoon and I was quick to set sail and shut down the motor, though it meant making just three knots. I was hopeful the wind would continue to pick up, but much to my chagrin it did the opposite, and by 1900 (after a dinner of dorado leftover from Saturday--one of the perks of motoring is refrigeration) the sails were in and the motor was on once more for a night of good sleep and costly miles as the precious diesel burned. That brings me to 0500 when I was woken from a sound sleep by the ratcheting of a winch. I leapt into the cockpit and was thrilled to feel a breeze on my face and my dad rolling out the jib. In three minutes we were sailing faster than we can motor and the engine was shut down. Moments later the rain began to fall. The problem is when something comes up this suddenly it usually doesn't last very long and as I type the breeze is already beginning to falter, so I better send this in hopes I am just jinxing things.

June 23-0550
33.36N by 155.01W

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Avventura, Meet the Pacific High

Flat lifeless seas extend in every direction towards empty horizons, heaving in short three foot swells out of the NE and NW. The skies have cleared with a few traces of the day's overcast evident in the distance, and still there's not a hint of a breeze. Welcome to the Pacific High, the dreaded beast that forms the trades and blocks the path of a sailor just trying to get back home from paradise. We've been motoring for 17 hours now and the end is nowhere in sight (forecast looks good 48 hours out). The motor drones on and Avventura slowly surges ahead slicing her way through the swells and seeking the westerlies. It's been a day of reading, writing, running the watermaker, and not much else. Watches have ceased to exist with the lack of any real activity and Kevin has conjured up a fancy feast of bean soup whose scent has been tormenting me all day. So now with the afternoon winding down and the thought of a calm night fit for catching up on some sleep looming ahead I'll send this off as a mahi mahi hits the pole. What timing!! Needed on deck for some truly tasty dinner. Forget the beans...I'll take the fish.
June 21-1740
31.34N by 156.58W

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My Trades, My Trades, Why Hast Thou Foresaken Me?

After spending a full 18 months sailing amongst the tradewinds of the south and north pacific I've reached the "Horse Latitudes" and the ever-predictable easterlies have failed me. In their place sits a high pressure system gobbling up any and all traces of wind and sunshine and leaving a thick overcast sky and calm seas. Avventura's motor drones on in search of brighter pastures and a steady breeze, ticking off the miles northward while hoping the high continues moving east allowing southerly winds to fill in its wake. Thus begins phase two of the trek home: the search for the westerlies.
Yesterday was spent putting to use whatever breeze came our way. As Thursday gave way to Friday the wind died down and began shifting north and all day we steadily lost the precious miles of easting we had gained in the first days out of Hawaii. Struggling to make as much northing as possible while waiting for a wind shift that was forecast both by NOAA and myself, we faded west at an alarming rate, waiting for the high pressure to move eastward. Finally around sunset we entered a thick bank of cirrus clouds and the wind began shifting back into the northeast and eventually dying. By 0040 this morning I was so tired of hand steering in the fickle light airs and making just two knots that I fired up the engine and we have been motorsailing ever since. One nice thing about the lack of wind has been the accompanying lack of motion, which has allowed everyone on board to get some much-needed sleep. I caught over three hours last night, broken up into my typical thirty minute segments when I'd wake and jump up to see what had disturbed me. I'm still a bit behind on sleep, but the few hours has bought me some time and left me feeling rejuvenated and ready to face the dreary June gloom of the mid Pacific. At some point today we should pass the latitude of San Diego, so wave as we sail by some 1800 miles offshore and begin thinking good thoughts for the high to move on leaving us with southerly breezes to carry us up into the westerlies. No fish yesterday for the first time in three days. Perhaps the jumbo tuna has warned his brethren about us fish-slayers. I must say yesterday I didn't mind, however, because it was chili night for the first time in over a year for me and with the nights turning cold it was a comforting meal to be had.

Now back to being on watch and waiting for the wind.
June 21-0850. 31.04N by 157.07W

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Another Fishing Record

Just a couple days after catching the most fish in a single day aboard Avventura we set another fishing record late yesterday with the biggest fish ever caught. The excitement began around 1840 when the fishing pole began screaming out like mad. Line was being pulled so fast you could almost see smoke coming off the reel. My dad was quick to reach for the pole and tighten the drag while I pulled in the jib to slow us down. The combination of these gave us just enough time to stop the fish from running, and with just a few turns of 100 pound test line left on the reel the fight began. It wasn't till forty-five minutes later and two tacks that we finally saw color! Biggest darn flash of color I've ever seen. Another fifteen minutes later and I grabbed hold of the line and manhandled the 100-pound-plus yellowfin tuna alongside the boat where after a bit of commotion we decided (with a little help from the fish) that there was no way we could kill it or try and bring it aboard. After an hour fight and slight delay in our progress the fish swam free, having put a smile on the face of this tired crew and made our day. I'm not sure what the record is for biggest tuna caught from a sailboat, but I'm sure that fish'd get us an honorable mention somewhere.
By the time the massive beast had swam away the sun had set and we resumed sailing through what would become our nicest night at sea to date. The squalls held off till the early morning hours, and I managed to squeeze in a couple more hours of sleep. Though I won't be fully rested till a few days after I step off this boat I am getting enough sleep to get by. Somehow I've managed to obtain a cough while hundreds of miles from land, though, and it has nagged me the past 72 hours, always feeling worse when I settle down to try and sleep. Perhaps it's just time for my biannual bout of sickness, one last chance for my body to fight off the multitude of parasites I must have picked up while abroad. Dawn has revealed an ominous cloudy sky and light drizzle off and on with very little wind, so for the first time since leaving the motor drones on for more than a five minute interval. I'll let it tick away till the wind fills in a bit, but am already anxious to get back under sail.

June 20-0630
29.27N by 156.11W

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Battering Ram--Full Speed Ahead

Another day has ticked away with Avventura continuing to wage war with these nasty little tradewind swells. The wind has held steady at twenty knots from an annoying NNE direction all day gradually forcing us further west. The good news is in the weather forecast, which if it holds true bodes good for us in a couple days. Tomorrow may be another story with outright northerly winds called for, perhaps meaning it'll be time to turn east. The water temperature is dropping like a feather, but the air temperature is falling like a boulder with each night forcing me towards another layer. I fear tonight will call for long pants--something I haven't put on out of necessity since the last time I was in San Diego. Landed a tiny Mahi Mahi this morning, but let him swim away in hopes of catching his bigger brother, who apparently was also the smarter one because the lines have been silent since. Sunset approaches carrying with it the fear of more nighttime squalls. Those I will not miss. But these beautiful days of sunshine and steady wind are a whole other story.

June 19. 1830. 28.36N by 155.43 W

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Losing Easting

After working hard to gain as much easting as possible the first three days out the winds have shifted to the NNE and we are beginning to lose some of what was gained. We are still sailing on-the-wind with a fifteen knot breeze and again encountered a few squalls in the night the saw the winds alternately jump into the 25 knot range and fall under 10 knots. Our nighttime progress has been much slower than what we make during the day for the simple fact of these annoying squalls, but we have managed to eke out another 112 miles yesterday.
Now for a question: Have you ever seen a rainbow at night? On my late night watch two nights ago I thought I saw one for the first time, but was a bit worried to write about it for fear it was a figment of my lack of sleep. Then came last night. The first squall of the night arrived on Kevin's 2000-2300 watch and I wound up taking the wheel to keep the sails full. That's when the second night rainbow made its appearance. It lingered for a half hour, growing to the point of being a nearly full rainbow before the squall passed and the rainbow disappeared. So what does one look like? Imagine a picture of a rainbow taken during the day printed out in grayscale and you just about have it. At times I thought I could make out traces of green and yellow, but it was mostly just various shades of black in the sky illuminated by a big full moon. Must say it's another one of those things I've never noticed on land that helps make sailing across oceans so rewarding.
Fish update: lost two Mahi Mahi yesterday morning, and released a small Mahi this morning out of unwillingness to fillet such a tiny creature at the godforsaken time of 0630.

June 17, 0745. 27.46N by 155.18W

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Another Up and Down Night

The past 2500 miles of sailing have taught me one very important lesson: tradewinds are not as steady as everybody makes them out to be. Granted since leaving Tahiti I have had wind for all but 36 hours or so, but the wind has never maintained a steady speed for any extended period of time. Instead the trades are erratic and at night often squally keeping a sailor on his toes and active through what should be his prime resting hours (after all sleeping in 80 degree heat with the sun nearly overhead isn't a walk in the park). Last night was the second straight example of this, and once again my dad seemed to take the brunt of it on his watch (0200-0500) which immediately follows my three hour bout with Mother Nature. The wind jumped from it's till then normal 17 knots up to 25 or more causing me to put a third reef in the mainsail and tuck the jib in part way. That done I laid down for some needed sleep only to awake less than thirty minutes later as Avventura rocked strangely back back and forth. Getting up to look the wind had disappeared almost completely, blowing an anemic 5 knots. I shook a reef out of the main, unfurled the jib, and let dad deal with the rest. Within another thirty minutes the wind was back to the 17 knot range and we are back to nice sailing as the sun climbs the eastern sky.
All things considered yesterday was a fairly nice day of sailing. We made good another 126 miles (best yet this leg) and upped our moving average to an even five knots. Add to that the handful of Mahi Mahi we landed, one delicious meal, and two precious hours of sleep for yours truly and it was my best day of sailing in some time. Here's hoping for more of the same.

Scott de 25.58N y 155.03W
El 18 de Junio, 0740

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Day 3

After a night of fickle and mostly light winds Day Two came to a close seeing us sail another 117 miles and Day three dawned bright and beautiful. After the fickle winds continued through the early morning hours the wind picked up to the 20-25 knot range and it has been beautiful sailing the past few hours. Here's hoping for more of the same.

June 17-1130
Aloha from 24.24N by 155.52W

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Mahi Mahi Anyone?

Now that the traces of seasickness are leaving captain and crew the fish have decided our lures look tasty and have been chomping on plastic and metal all afternoon. Five Mahi Mahi have been reeled in in the past three and a half hours. The first arrived just in time for lunch, so after Kevin reeled in the ten pounder I filleted it, cooked it, and served it with a salad for the first actual meal I've touched since Oahu (And though the chef is clearly biased I must say it was quite good). From swimming in the sea to my mouth in under 90 minutes, with time enough between for my daily saltwater shower (while the water is still 78 anyways). Not a bad way to have lunch. The problem now is that the refrigeration on board is losing its power (draws too much energy for me to use it at sea) and I'm not eager enough to fillet anymore Dorado, so till we come across a tuna or a new day is born we'll continue freeing the Mahi Mahi we land. The five fish is, however, a daily record for this voyage. Wind has been holding steady in the twenty knot range since this morning and the skies are clear with a bank of cumulus puffs encircling the horizon. All-things-considered this has been another fantastic day of sailing.

June 17-1545: 24.41N by 155.39W

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Smooth Sailing, Light Trades

A second straight glorious day of sun with puffs of cumulus clouds floating through the pale blue sky on the light trades. Wind has hovered around ten knots this afternoon after being in the 12-15 knot before that. 3 to 4 foot seas have backed from the ENE to the NE to slow our progress a bit as we continue to sail on-the-wind under a single-reefed main, full jib and small staysail. The water remains 78 degrees and birds have been hard at work fishing off and on throughout the day, but despite trailing two feathers we've had no luck of yet. Only marine life has been a scattered few flying fish. Traces of seasickness linger among captain and crew (though nobody has headed for the rail yet), and nobody is ready to settle in and cook a big meal. Slow but steady is our progress northward, as the miles tick off astern falling back into oblivion as I near home once more.

June 16, 1610
23.05N by 156.45W

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Beautiful Morning

After a bright moonlit first night the sun has dawned on a brilliant day of blue skies. Approximately 115 nm sailed in first 24 hours, with more to come. Seasickness still at bay and smooth seas. Fruit and sunflower seeds the order of the day for my still uncertain stomach, but I'm hoping to be able to read and write come tomorrow.

Pos: 22.28N by 157.07W--0730 June 16

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Underway

Avventura is back underway, homeward bound. Left Oahu at 0745 with fifteen knots of ENE wind and sunny skies. Currently tacking around Makapuu Point before entering the open ocean.

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Hawaii Departure

My time in Hawaii is windoing down and come Sunday morning I should be shoving off on the sail home to San Diego. It looks like I figured out how to post blogs from sea so check back periodically for updates, and to follow my progress check with yotreps, call sign WDC9244.
Aloha

Test

Testing to see if I can update my blog from sea.

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