| DREAMCATCHER VOYAGE Journal 9-25 DAYS OF PERPETUAL MOTION |
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APRIL 7 – MAY 2, 2004
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!!!!
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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