Two for One Special

Well it looks like gale warnings come cheap these days: 2 for 1 this week. We are now emerging from the second one after 24 hours of hellacious conditions. The remnant swells remain over 12 feet and the wind continues near 20 knots and it feels like a ladies breeze compared to late yesterday. Coast Guard forecasts were calling for 20-30 knots and we had exactly that. What was worse, I had stopped listening to the CG voice forecasts since my GRIB files showed noting over 20 knots and there weren't any lows near us, so this one snuck up on me. Only while in the thick of it did I learn there was a gale warning for our are and it would persist for 24 hours. But we've survived the worst of it once again, and today are entering into the lee of the California coast where conditions should continue to improve and not come back up this much again. Soon I fear we'll be trying to coax all we can out of every puff of wind; but for now we are cruising along.
Conditions began coming up on Kevin's 2000-2300 watch Saturday night when I put a third reef in the mainsail, and they continued picking up for the next twenty hours, peaking at the start of my evening watch last night. In the worst of it we've switched to hand-steering, finding that easier than helping the damned autopilot, which just can't handle these massive swells. And, of course, hand-steering with no stars to guide your way makes for a long night. Every now and then the swells would combine just right to lurch up over the windward side and dump their contents across the length of the boat, rewarding the helmsman with a shower of freezing California Current saltwater. In the night we sailed with less jib than I normally would to keep things more manageable, and as a result we made just 103 NM yesterday. With the coming of dawn I've furled some more sail out and we're moving along again with 360 miles left. Skies remain a thick, ugly overcast, and the water remains its ugly shade of dull blue/grey (which must be caused by a plethora of nutrients because the phosphorescence coming off our bow wave and churning in our wake has been splendid the past 2 nights). We have begun picking up the Coast Guard on the VHF, so land must be getting near. Anticipation is building.

July 7-0850
33.46N by 124.14W

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Plenty Wind, Sloppy Swells

This isn't exactly what I was expecting to have today weather-wise, and I must say it's quite unpleasant. Forecast called for 18 knots and we've got closer to 28. Blowing straight down out of the north, and since the wind came up quickly the swells have come up into short, choppy little devils whose goal is to knock us as far of course as possible and see how far underwater they can bury our lee rail. If you want to look on the sunny side of things we've averaged over five knots the past 30 hours, and our speed remains over five so the miles are ticking away at a reasonable rate. But these sloppy seas have me feeling traces of seasickness once more, have made sleep nearly impossible, and make watchkeeping much more intense with the need to constantly monitor the autopilot, and often help it steer. It has been 24 hours of adjustments--adjusting to our new-found wind, adjusting to the fact that for the first time this trip (and in quite some time for me) we're heeling to starboard on the port tack, and now adjust to more sloppy seas. And in the midst of it all the water temperature has plummeted since daybreak, falling from 67 to 61. What is it in San Diego, 51? Wind is forecast to keep up as is for twenty-four hours, then slowly subside and shift northwest before dying out altogether. What we need is to make enough mileage before it dies that we can motor the rest of the way home if need be. For now it feels like victory at sea, and I can only hope the weather forecasts are prolonging the agony more than will actually be the case.
Fishing report: Threw back an albacore last night since nobody was willing to fillet yet another. Now have no line out since we wouldn't be able to pull in a fish in these conditions, and no fish left on board for the first time in a while. And yet I'm not the least bit saddened by that.

July 6-1120
33.50N by 126.01W

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A Birthday Present from Mother Nature

Right on cue Mother Nature has delivered. The morning of my 23 birthday dawned with our first traces of wind in a couple days, and before 1000 we were under sail, conserving our precious diesel and feeling somehow much closer to home. With the arrival of our first pod of dolphins in a week I knew the wind would stick around for a while, after all these splendid creatures seem to always be harbingers of good conditions and happy days. With the wind the clouds have rolled in, but I'll trade you clouds for wind any day of the week. With our 7 to 10 knot northerly breeze we're making 5 knots on a peaceful beam reach. The sea gently slides past the hull and from the cabin it feels as if we're sitting motionless.
The 4th passed windless, sunny and warm and saw us catch a pair of small albacore to supplement our diet. As usual, the fish bookended the day, and when the second struck just after sunset as I was finishing up my last bites of the morning's catch I reached for the pole and reeled in my first of the trip. Somehow the allure of fishing for me isn't in the sport of doing the actual catching. It's enough for be a witness and take credit for the catch as skipper; but with this being the most prolific fishing trip of my life I would be remiss if I didn't land at least one. Once the fish was filleted and put in the reefer (one benefit of motoring) the sunset began to fade into another spectacular star-filled night, starting with the first appearance of the moon in days, a thin crescent sliver low in the western sky, and ending with the Big Dipper sinking into the sea on the northern horizon.

So this marks my third straight birthday spent in different countries (or lack thereof in this case), surrounded by three different languages, in three distinct climates. It is the first in that stretch in which I haven't been able to catch a couple waves; but with San Diego drawing me inexorably closer this is of little consequence. Besides, if I can't be surfing there isn't much I'd rather do than spend the day sailing before a gentle breeze in the deep blue Pacific along with my dear friends, the dolphins, and with my father along for company. 23 years, 17 countries, and nearly 30,000 sea miles. I can only hope the next 23 bring me such good fortune.

July 5-1300.
33.56N by 128.18W

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Ho-Hum; Another Day of Motoring

Blue skies meet the deep blue of the Pacific in a near seamless transition this morning. There's not a cloud in sight, and the sea is as calm as it gets hundreds of miles offshore. The good news is that the ever-so-slight trickle of wind is now coming down out of the north, where I expect our breeze to eventually fill in from, though I fear it may take another day. Thus my birthday wish: All I want this year is a breeze to sail home by (and I'll gladly take my present a day early). Our day has already started off nice, with the catching of another football-sized albacore not thirty minutes after sunrise, right as the ship's clock struck 0400. The clicking of the reel roused me from a semi-deep sleep, and I was greeted with the chance to fillet a fish bright and early. Even so I was back in bed within the hour for a bit more sleep. Such is the sailor's life: stand watch, read, write, eat, sleep, and repeat process again and again. After 19 full days I've slipped into a routine, and am still loath to change our clocks off Hawaii time though the sun now sets at 1800 and is up before 0400. Just another benefit of being el capitan--I get to choose the time.
Last night was the first truly clear night this trip, and the stars were out like I'm sure many of you have never seen them before. With the nearest lights hundreds of miles away, and the moon away on vacation for the time being, Jupiter became the brightest object in the sky and actually cast a glare across the surface of the glassy sea. Over in the southern sky we watched as Scorpio gently laid down from an upright position, his heart (Antares) burning an extraordinary red all the while. And above, streaking from horizon to horizon in a thick swath stretched the dim cloud of the Milky Way, terminating in the northern sky just east of the Dipper's ladle which spent the night gently pivoting till the spoon was lying perfectly flat just above the horizon. Far above, a good deal higher than I've grown accustomed to, Polaris stood alone on her northern perch, guiding these sailors across the sea like she has so many other throughout the centuries. Every now and then a bright streak shot across the sky as one of the holes to heaven slipped from the sky, and I swore one was going to make it to the sea (though of course it never did). Nature's magnificent display was almost enough to keep my mind off the bone-chilling night air. Those same blessed clear skies allowed the earth's heat to dissipate into the atmosphere and it was by far the coldest night I've experienced in years. But now the sun is up and in the absence of any wind it will surely become another hot day.
This clear fourth provides a perfect window into the past, and my thoughts can't help but return to the various baseball fields (in godforsaken towns such as Mira Mesa and Ramona) I spent this same weekend at many years ago; rarely a participant, but usually a happy patron of the snack bar while watching as my brother lit up the stage and carried his All Star teams to many a victory. Sunshine, dirt, junk food, frog hunting, and baseball--what better way for a kid to spend a summer day? Well perhaps with a dip in the Kuntz's pool or a quick game of volleyball for me to lose at. I hope your 4th is as beautiful a day as it is for us, and that the June gloom of Point Loma has dissipated enough for the fireworks to shine bright (at least I hear they still have fireworks shows; though I haven't actually seen one in 4 years now). Aloha and Pura Vida to all.

July 4. 0800
34.03N by 131.04W

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Beware the Sleeping Giant

One of the sailor's biggest fears on passage comes not in the form of bad weather, bad fishing, or even the odd period of dead calm. It comes in the form of massive hunks of steel moving across the seas at speeds exceeding ten knots: freighters. If you hang around a port long enough you'll hear the whining begin: "I was nearly rundown, and the SOB never even deviated so much as a degree. I yelled at him through the radio, flashed all sorts of lights, and still nothing. They must have been asleep." I've never had one come closer than about a half mile at night when it wasn't the fault of the boat I was on (see the Atair), so I was always skeptical about the sleeping freighter theory, figuring surely it would be too costly for the ship's company to have to explain away the wreck of a sailboat and potential loss of life of its crew. After last night my thoughts have changed, thanks to the "Counter Unity" if I heard the name right. Luckily (I suppose) the debacle occurred while I was on watch and I have nobody to blame but myself (and that damned freighter). Perhaps after weeks of no close encounters I was lulled into being too carefree, and despite it being the second ship I had seen on my watch I paid little attention till it was clear it was going to come very close to us. By the time the end of watch came around at 0200 he was just two miles away, and though I was quite sure he SHOULD pass to starboard of us he still seemed to be growing and the drone of his engines were getting louder. My numerous calls over the VHF went unanswered, so I started the motor and followed my first instinct to turn to port and get the hell out of his way. Perhaps it was just my imagination but he was STILL getting bigger and closer. My heart was pounding, I was sweating despite the cold night air, and I feared for the worst. By this time I had turned the strobe light on to complement our running lights, and my father was downstairs repeatedly calling the freighter. Finally, after closing to within a half mile of us the freighter seemed to stop in her tracks and began falling away astern. It seemed somebody had finally woken up and spotted us, probably jolted awake by our repeated radio calls. Moments later a reply came over the VHF in heavily accented English. I finally learned that he did indeed see us on his radar and he would be maintaining his course and speed; we were okay. I said a few choice words thanking him (dripping sarcasm) for his quick response, and learned his ship's name and that they were a container ship heading from China to the Panama Canal (an 18 day trip), no doubt with the cheap junk to fill your local Walmart, and the various shops of Europe. The encounter left my heart racing, and it took a solid half hour to unwind from the stress of it before I could consider fading away to sleep.

On a lighter note, we've now lost our wind. The breeze had been faltering all afternoon and into the night last night, and by this morning it was on its last legs. I did all I could to keep the sails full, going as far as sailing wing-on-wing for a bit, but to no avail. At 1030 we decided to haul in the sails, and before turning the motor on we all leapt into the sea to take a quick saltwater shower in the chilly 65 degree Pacific. We're now back under power with fuel enough for four and a half days (under 500 miles), with 782 miles left to go. Thus the search for wind is back on and we hope to find more in a couple days as we leave the confines of the Pacific High which has built back up around us now that our friendly low is long gone. All else is well on board though the Atkins boys are longing for a big helping of salad to be followed closely by a massive fruit salad. Canned food and fish is growing old.

Somebody let Antl and Graveyard know I say Happy Birthday; and Happy 4th to everyone.
July 3-1245.
34.03N by 132.42W

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Bananas and Foul Lines; Why You Don=?ISO-8859-1?Q?=92?=t Monkey With Superstitions

Baseball and sailing. Taken at face value the two have nothing in common. But just beneath the surface lurks a deep-seated similarity. Both are deeply rooted in tradition, which inexorably leads to both being governed by certain iron-clad superstitions. Next time you watch a baseball game count how many players step on the foul line. Odds are none, and if there is one he will step on it every time as the contrarian who flies in the face of all superstitions. Next time a pitcher carries a no hitter into the late innings watch how he and the players around him react. He will follow the same exact routine after each half inning, and his teammates will stay far away, not wanting to jinx the no-no. Sailors, like ballplayers, are a superstitious breed. Most of these superstitions are so deep-rooted in the history of seafaring that their origin eludes me; but I know them, and I go out of my way to follow everyone, especially these big three.
1. "Never start a passage on a Friday." To show the quirkiness of sailors there is no better example than this superstition. The purist will adhere to this edict as if it's a natural law. Most modern cruisers, however, have invented little ways to sidestep the rule. A passage requires an overnight trip, many say, so you are free to change anchorages and make short daysails on Friday. Others say all it takes is a 360 degree turn to port upon leaving the harbor to reverse the jinx. As for myself, on the rare occasion I have set sail on a Friday (only for daysails) my logbook marks the day as Thursday +1.
2. "No bananas." This superstition applies more specifically to fishermen, but most sailors abide by it at least to some degree. As for me, I won't pass up a good batch of bananas, but I also won't go out of my way to procure them. And, looking back, each time I've brought bananas I've had a rough, fish-scarce passage. To wit: upon leaving Fanning Island the locals gave me two massive bunches of bananas which served as the bulk of my diet for the nine day sail to Hawaii. That passage was plagued with unusually squally weather and the worst sea conditions I've encountered over an extended period. And, by the way, I didn't catch a fish until the afternoon before my arrival, six hours after I had consumed my final bananas.
3. The popular adgae: "Ask and ye shall receive," or the sailor's version, don't ask and you won't have to deal with it. Never mention the desire to encounter bad weather, even if just to see what it's like. Never be ashamed to answer the inevitable "have you hit any bad storms" with a nonchalant, "No, I've been really lucky weather-wise thus far." For proof of why this is you need look no further than this very passage. As Avventura's crew sat together in her cockpit admiring one final Hawaiian sunset, Kevin ventured the statement, "I hope we come across some weather just to see what it's like." My father and I quickly convinced him he didn't really want to; but alas, it was too late. Two weeks later we found ourselves in the midst of a late-June winter low pressure system in the North Pacific. We were in the heart of a gale in a place where the pilot charts declared there is, historically, a ZERO percent chance of encountering such conditions in June! "Ask and ye shall receive."
Needless to say Kevin has learned a valuable lesson, and though we can joke about it now, I venture to say he won't be wishing for bad weather or lugging bananas on board or shoving off on a Friday or even stepping on a foul line anytime soon. No matter how you feel about karma, superstitions, jinxes and the like one important thing to remember is they have been around for generations, and continue to live on for a reason. So, even in our technologically advanced age, you don't monkey with tradition or defy superstitions—especially not before facing a 2500 mile voyage.
(Credit for the idea of this blog goes to my father. Please remember I've been at sea for 18 days now and have gotten very limited sleep the past 3 days, so the writing may be lacking a bit.)
July 2--1300
34.31N by 134.35W

PS Has been a nice day of sailing thus far. We've had 15 to 20 knots of wind since yesterday and it has slowly shifted from the SW to the S. The miles are drifting astern (139 yesterday), as the water temperature continues to dip (65 now). Our fishing luck has persisted, but shifted forms, as we've caught two tasty little albacore in the past 24 hours-one in time for dinner last night, and one early this morning. One thing remains the same with our fish-they hit at the most inopportune times. Both the last two hit as light squalls descended upon us, leaving me to fillet them in the rain. But our diets remain fish-heavy, and our lockers remain filled with largely untouched canned goods. Autopilot is struggling, but holding in there. All else is going good.

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What a Difference a Day Makes

Wow! Now this is more like it! Just one day removed from a full-fledged gale and we have twenty knots of southwest wind wind six foot seas from the same direction and are screaming along at over 6.5 knots at the moment with gorgeous sunny skies scattered with cumulus puffs reminiscent of our days in the trades. Must say my spirits have been lifted just watching the miles tick away. We are now under 1000 miles from home after having somehow salvaged a 104 NM day out of the past 24 hours. That means everyday but one thus far has been over the 100 mile benchmark I set as a daily goal, and that day (#15) was 97. Not bad.
So what do I have to complain about today? Well our primary autopilot has pulled up lame and despite two days worth of attempts to fix it (including one that looked very promising today) it looks like the motor is at fault and we are limping along with the back-up at the helm. Problem is the back-up has a very sensitive off-course alarm and seems to have trouble holding a steady course, so the person on watch has to help it by babying the wheel and every ten minutes or so we hear the beep, beep, beep, beep of the alarm. Must say it is annoying come nightfall; but so long as she holds up it is still a hundred-fold better than hand-steering full time.
Not much else to report. Surfing down swells with conditions quite similar to those we faced off Baja on the sail to Cabo. The boat is drying out quite nicely from the storm and while everything still feels damp and dirty it is a vast improvement over yesterday's pig stye. Now we just need for the winds to stay from a favorable direction for another ten days or so and we'll be home free.
Enjoying the speed, and preparing to take a much-needed bucket shower in the all-too-cold 66 degree water. Better cold than stinky though. Aloha.

July 1. 1500.
35.25N by 136.34W

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