March 24 - April 14, 2002
Twenty-One Days at Sea
Passage to the Marquesas
by Lois Joy                       

This section encompasses a collection of stories and passage notes written while underway during the first leg of Voyage Two of Pacific Bliss, the 3252 nautical mile passage from San Diego, California to Atuona Harbor in the island of Hiva Oa, Marquesas, French Polynesia

Stories in this section:

 
1      Getting our Sea Legs 7..     Hangin' in There
2      Slow Boat to the Marquesas 8.      One Gloomy April Fool's
3.     The One That Got Away 9       Halfway
4.     Ray Goes Blind! 10.    A Successful Home Stretch
5.     Stars of Wonder    11.    Flying!
6.   . Crossing the Line 12.    Land Ho!

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March 27, 2002, 0700
26º N, 118º 55'W
Wind WNW, 7.3 Knots True
Getting our Sea Legs

Pacific Bliss is quietly gliding through the night, a silent spaceship traveling on to other worlds, only the swish-swish of the water beneath her hulls and an occasional groan of the sails against the rigging remind me that we are still at sea. It is a remarkable contrast to my watches the first two nights, in which Pacific Bliss efforted through a steep and turbulent sea, on a beam reach, hitting up to 10 knots, winds at 20 and gusting to 25.

During those first lonely watches, I was a little queasy and uneasy; it had been an effort to bundle up in long underwear, fleece top, fleece-lined sailing jacket, corduroy jeans, fleece socks and gloves, head covered with my red fleece-lined cap snugly over my ears and velcro'd under my chin. In addition, I had to learn the "cat-walk" and boat noises all over again, creeping and crouching from one hand-hold to another, the waves exploding in "bombs" as they swept from one hull to the next.

This morning, as I write in my journal, I am more comfortable. I sit at the nav station for a few minutes, then walk easily around the cockpit to check for vessels also underway. The cap is off, the gloves are on the settee, and my jacket is unzipped a little at the neck. Oh! The freedom of unbundling. I yearn for the tropics and the shedding of more clothes. As the layers come off, I am gradually shedding the layers of care and worry and "stuff" that I brought with me from civilization. In fact, I am amazed at how little I've thought about home since we've been sailing. It is almost three full days since we've left our well-wishers behind, waving from the dock.

As the seas have calmed, so has my spirit. We glide along easily, and I can imagine days and days of this, no hustle and bustle, no cares (except for the safety of Pacific Bliss its crew), no deadlines, just endless periods of winds and calms, alternating according to the whims of Nature.

Earlier on my watch, about 0400, the heavy cloud cover allowed just a speck of moon, almost full now, hemmed in by clouds, dark black in the center fading to purple-black at the fringes. The pale white moon was eerily powerful against the inky darkness. By 0530, the sun peeped through the clouds in the opposite sky, mimicking the effect of the moon, creating a compressed world that allows only a glimmer of light. Then by 0700, the sun turns the sky into a purple-magenta haze filled with an orange center. It gradually disappears, tantalizing me, holding its light in suspension until it breaks through in all its glory, much higher on the horizon.

My watch over, I realize that we are now west of Cedros Island off Baja, and turn on the SSB, dialing into the familiar Amigo Net. Memories of our long slog up the coast of Mexico, during Voyage 1, flood back into my consciousness. I realize how tired of traveling we were then, close to the end of our 10,000-mile France-to-San Diego maiden voyage, and remember how eager we later became to leave the land-life behind.

Today is the first day that I feel rested, bright, and alert instead of immediately collapsing into my bunk, exhausted. A slight sore throat and cough has now disappeared, as has all traces of the low-level seasickness that I think we all encountered during the first two days.

Of course, when one feels good, thoughts turn to food. We had finished off the wonderful batch of Pichelsteiner that Sabine cooked for us, as well as her cookies and apple cake and Doug's sushi. Today would be our first day to actually plan a menu and cook on board. "Life is looking up," Gunter says!

March 27, 2002, afternoon

We are a silent ship, ghosting through fairly calm deep blue seas, two-thirds of the way down Baja; the sloshing of the hulls through the seas and the slight pulling of the preventer on the main is the only noise. Gunter is reading in the salon, Doug and Armin are resting in their berths, and I've been sitting at the nav station, reading Melville's Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life. We are moseying along at 3.5 to 4 knots in only 8 knots of wind.

We don't feel guilty this afternoon: we have each completed our one obligatory task for the day. Gunter reported that he looked for and found a spare light bulb in the spare parts box in the sail locker to replace Doug's reading light. I finally unpacked and stowed the last of the bags I had brought on board, which involved lifting up the slats under our mattress to get at the storage underneath. This is our last look at some of these things until we hit the equator and have our "crossing the line" party. Next, I pulled out the computer for the first time and updated the 20-page provisioning list. At that point Gunter said, "Save it. Tomorrow is another day. We need to stretch out these tasks for the long passage ahead."

What a stark contrast from one week ago today! Then, we were conducting our sea trials and boat repairs by day, still packing and provisioning by night, collapsing into bed aching and fatigued with all the physical labor it entailed. Now, we don't even think of much of anything back there. The news, politics, entertainment-it has been out of sight, out of mind.

It has been a day for leisurely stretching things out; the crew has settled in nicely and we are all caught up in the torpor of the easy life on board Pacific Bliss right now. The sky is still overcast, but when the sun does break through, I move with my journal out to the helm seat, swing my legs over the top into a lounging position. I have shed my Pacific Bliss sailing jacket during the daytime, wearing only my turtle neck sweater and jeans, and fleece socks.

The sea is a deep navy blue this afternoon, the horizon at least five shades of lighter blue rimmed by blue-white cumulus clouds. These are not the teals we'll see in the South Pacific atolls, but these colors are beautiful in their own way. I photograph the monochromatic sky and seas, dreaming about the reef-filled, sandy-bottomed seas to come.

Photo: Sunset west of Baja.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Photo Moonrise



 


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