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 13, 2002,
At Sea, 94 miles to Hiva Oa, Marquesas
A Stressful Home Stretch
Saturday, Mid-Morning: We had a breakfast of crackers and peanut butter
and
juice. It was too rough to bother with turning on the propane. Gunter
has an
upset stomach and diarrhea since last evening, so I am taking his day
watch.
Armin is up, seated at the helm. Doug has gone down to rest as well.
I had just managed to put some eggs on to boil, jamming the boiling
pan with
another, wedged into the stovetop, just in case. The seas are still
extremely
rolly, with some whitecaps, the wind varying from Force 4 to Force 6,
depending
on whether another band of clouds is coming in. The sun tries to come
out
intermittently between the showers.
The Puddle Jump Net reports rain in Hiva Oa, only 94 miles ahead now,
with an
additional 14 miles to the harbor. It is also raining in Nuku Hiva,
where our
buddy boat, Makoko, is anchored. They will join us in Hiva Oa
when the weather
clears. At the rate we are sailing, we may need to slow down Pacific
Bliss in
order to arrive in the A.M.
Pacific Bliss, I must tell you about her. She smells the land
now, and is
galloping like a Derby racer; she has become difficult to control. She
gave me
a wild night last night. I had to sit out at the helm most of the night,
the
wind from 20 to 25 knots, her speed always over 8 knots, sometimes up
to ll. I
felt as if she was determined to sail right on the edge in her haste
to get
there.
When Gunter came topside for his watch, he said, "We can rein
her in a bit."
"That would be great," I replied. I had hoped that the watch
change would
precipitate some sail changes. We had opted to furl in the jib a little,
but
to leave the main as it was, with only one reef. That made for better
sleeping
for me.
On a sailboat on a long passage, I've learned that just when one thinks
things
are stable and under control, they are not. Because of that, there is
no such
thing as really relaxing. We are the owners and we are on alert 100%
of the
time. Our bodies feel it.
My plans were to complete the boiling of the eggs and potatoes for
the salad,
then work on my writing, despite the motion. I was becoming used to
the
pattern: black, moisture-laden clouds would develop from the NE, would
drop
their contents right on us, and continue on.
All of a sudden, Armin shouted from the port helm, "Lois, it's
getting darker."
I came out to see a sullen, sodden sky-nothing but grey. He took his
camera
inside; it had started to rain again. I went to close the window to
our cabin,
in case the rain blew in from the cockpit. It woke Gunter, which was
just as
well, because by the time he dressed and came to the companionway, the
rain
hit, but simultaneously with a terrific wind. Usually, the wind would
come
first.
"My God, it's Force 7," he said as he passed the nav station.
"No, now it's Force 8," I said as the multimeter changed.
"Wake up Doug."
On the way, I rushed to batten down the hatches, take the boiling potatoes
off
the stove, quickly shove things into the sinks, and shut off the propane.
Then
I was out into the cockpit, where the wind was driving the rain like
a sheet of
sleet. The following waves curled up angrily behind the dinghy, hanging
on the
stern davits.
Doug comes up. "Take the starboard helm," says Gunter.
"Downwind?"
"Yes. We can't do anything about the main, but let's take in the
jib some
more."
The jib was reefed down to a folded handkerchief
The wind screamed from the east at 40 knots true, the sea at our stern
churning
and frothing. Going downwind, the wind speed was only 25 apparent, which
is
all Pacific Bliss would see. Actually, she didn't seem to mind
at all, taking
it in stride.
"She is built for this sort of stuff," I thought.
After hand steering for awhile, Doug punched in Ray. He held just fine.
Now
all the crew was on deck and all system were under control. I examined
the
radar screen. This system extended for two miles, with another following
that
one that looked to be about one mile wide. Then we would be home free.
I
opened the sliding door from the salon to the cockpit to give the guys
the
news. They were drenched, water running and dripping from every surface
of
their bodies. Doug and Armin were in their swim trunks; Gunter wore
his yellow
foul weather jacket. After fifteen minutes (which seemed an eternity)
the wind
eased to Force 7. Then the next system hit, which brought the wind back
to
Force 8 temporarily. In another half hour, the system had cleared.
I chided myself for not watching more carefully for signs of a more
intense
storm. With one rain cloud after another, I had become complacent, and
had
quit monitoring the radar. Now I was completing the cooking with a terrible
roll, the waves heightened by the squall. It had been the strongest
one yet.
Come, Neptune, take pity on these poor sailors! We don't want to arrive
in
port exhausted. Gunter was still ill and I offered to stay on watch.
All the
guys are resting now and my cooking is finally done.
As I write this, I dream. I want to be in a beautiful anchorage, free
of
stress, leisurely sipping a cold white wine. Soon.
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