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.
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April 3, 2001, 0945
12º22.3'N, 126º52W
Wind: ENE 20 Knots, 6' swells
Speed: 8-9 Knots
Halfway.

It is exactly 1500 miles to Atuona, Hiva Oa. We have passed the half-way point
during the night!

"Yuk!" I had come on watch at 0600. Just as I was about to sit at the port
helm, a flying fish landed right on my seat. "This one is going to get it."

Gunter was coming off watch. He laughed as we looked at each nook and crevice
for more. We collected four flying fish and one squid, and held them in a
container of salt water for later consumption.

The water temperature is up to 28.5ºC and I can feel the difference. It has
been climbing rapidly. Only two days ago it was 26ºC and a few days before
that it was 24ºC. Before sunrise, I was already dressed in shorts and a polo;
by 1000, I was barefoot in a pareu.

The salon was already heating up as I made apple cake to celebrate our ½ way
point. Armin cleaned the fish. Then I dipped them in an egg/milk batter,
coated them with seasoned bread crumbs, arranged them on a platter with sliced
tomatoes, and soon they were history.

Halfway-it has gone so fast. For me, it is time to reflect and to decide what
I want to accomplish during the last half of our voyage. If this replicates
our Atlantic Crossing during Voyage 1, we are on a downhill stretch from here
and it will go very fast. This is quite an accomplishment already. I wonder
how we will feel when we go the entire distance. Crossing the Atlantic-from
the Canaries to St. Lucia-we had a stopover at the Cape Verdes, which
conveniently broke up our passage into three segments: (1) the Canaries to Cape
Verde, (2) settling in and planning our ½ way masquerade party, (3) the rapid
home stretch. But that was a fast crossing: only 12 days, 1 hour, and 20
minutes from Cape Verde. I'm thinking that this crossing can be broken into
the following 3 parts, each with its attendant activities and emotions: (1)
getting our sea legs, (2) settling in for the long haul, and (3) anticipating
arrival.

At this point, our bodies and mind have adjusted for the long haul ahead, and
we have settled into a comfortable daily routine. Everyone knows where things
are, who does what, and has adjusted to the three-hour watch schedule with the
five-day rotation. We have become interdependent, more confident of each
others' abilities, personalities, likes, and dislikes. Names are tried on and
beginning to stick, such as Ironman for Armin as he sits stoically at the helm,
seldom leaving his post during his watch. Doug is sure-footed, agile, and
always very aware, with his ever-present smile and eager helpfulness about the
boat. Gunter alternates from the heaviness of his responsibility, to the
lightness of enjoying one good book after another. He is always anticipating
what could go wrong and spends time totally familiarizing himself with Pacific
Bliss
manuals.

Our days are falling into a pattern, partially determined by the watch
schedules. For example, during the 0600-0900 watch today, I had my coffee at
the helm seat watching the sun rise, then slowly began to check the veggies and
fruit stored in various cockpit lockers, taking into the salon those that
should be used soon. I assembled the ingredients for any special foods to be
prepared today, and made a fruit salad, setting it out with bread and yogurt
for breakfast.

                                              Fruit salad for breakfast      

At 0830, whoever is on watch checks in and listens to the Puddle Jump Net.
This is a net put together for the 30-plus yachts crossing from Puerto Vallarta
to ports in the South Pacific, and is an important part of our day. Yachts
check in with their position, speed, wind speed and direction, and weather
conditions, such as squalls, etc. The reports from yachts ahead of us are
perhaps our most reliable source of weather information. I never found out why
they named it the Puddle Jump, perhaps to downplay the fear of making the
longest crossing most voyagers will ever make? Or perhaps a cute alternative
to the calling the Atlantic The Big Pond, and the Panama Canal The Big Ditch.
At any rate, a landfall at the Marquesas or Gambier is the beginning of the
annual migration of cruisers traveling the Coconut Milk Run to the Tuomotus,
Tahiti, the Cooks, perhaps Tonga and/or Fiji, and down to New Zealand for the
winter. At 0945, sometimes earlier, Pacific Bliss has its own Vin Rouge Net,
our twice-daily talk with Makoko.

After the net and breakfast, everyone tackles their jobs for the day. I clean
up the galley, call in the position of Pacific Bliss to the webmaster, and
update the last 24 hours' events in my diary. We usually start the engine to
charge the batteries and make water in the morning when no one is sleeping.
With power available, I sometimes work on the computer, writing or working on
photographs.

Troubleshooting        

The guys always have a project or two lined up. The other day, one battery had
to be taken out of the bank because it was overheating. Yesterday, it was the
salt water pump. The tropical waters reached 26.8º C, and we agreed that is
warm enough to finally wash our hair! First to try the sea pump on the
foredeck was Doug, who reported that it did not work, grating words to Gunter's
ears. (This had been one of the warranty repairs completed after Voyage 1.)
All three guys spent hours on deck troubleshooting. Finally, they declared
that this pump is unnecessary, since we have three buckets on board! We all
went to swim shower platform at the stern. Armin immediately poured an entire
bucket of seawater over his perspiring head. Soon we all followed suit,
lathering in sea water, then rinsing in fresh. I laid my towel down on the
trampoline, and laid face down, letting the 20-knot wind blow my hair dry while
sailing along at 8 knots. This was one of those days when we appreciated the
CAT. After drying on the net, I remember retreating to my berth for a
luxurious nap, the sun shining into the window. I dreamed that I was on a
tropical beach, the sun's rays warming my body, the surf pounding against the
shore. "Soon. Very soon," I thought as I awakened.

Armin takes a salty shower.        

Lunch is usually a help-yourself affair: leftovers, sandwiches and fruit. Naps
begin anytime after 1100. Usually everyone has slept by 1700 (5:00PM) and we
plan a group dinner, appointing or volunteering a chef and sous chef. Whoever
doesn't participate in the cooking cleans up. Water has been heated and put
into the thermos for night watches, the snack box has been filled, and by 1900,
we are back into the watch routine, with some retreating to their cabin again.
Usually the last effort of the evening is to write and send Sail Mail messages,
which transmit better at night.

Next section: A Stressful Home Stretch


 


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