Going back to my last post, while we were entering the ITCZ at the beginning of our second week, we were making pretty good time in light winds. The day was sunny and we watched birds swoop around the boat as they pick off flying fish who are trying to escape preditors below. One decided it wanted a rest and landed (after about 14 attempts) on the bow pulpit. It then proceeded to "balance" on the pulpit, as the waves took it up and down. Turns out, wet web feet don't make a very good grip on a polished stainless rail. And one point, it hung on by its neck. This entertainment went on for a good ten minutes. Just one more channel on Transpac TV.
As most of us had never seen such a thing, our resident graduate of the California School of Nautical Knowledge informed us that it was a specimen of the rare Kahoola Kahoola bird:
Born in the equatorial zone
destined to fly in an easterly direction around the world
with each rotation, climbing one degree of latitude
until it finally reaches the north pole
and flys up its own bunghole.
Having met our young and tired friend at Latitude 10, we're thinking he might not make it.
That night we had more "Calistenics on the Lido Deck", as we changed to the .6oz "Carrot" spinniker. At 10pm, the wind started to veer (anti-clockwise shift) surprisingly since I predicted the exact opposite. We did our first night time rusty jibe and just completed it when we realized the veering had continued and it was time to put up a headsail. The spinniker was doused and just as a squall hit, we lifted the #1 and prepared ourselves for the long reach to Tahiiti.
It was a beautiful, if a bit slow, night. Stars and pleasant zephyr to pull the boat forward. That began to end at 0800. The wind rapidly began climbing from 8kts, to 15. We shortened sail, dropping the #1 and raising the smaller #3 headsail, and reefed the main. We went from port tack, going straight south to get through as fast as possible, to starbord, but still going straight south. Still not too bad. Jim got out the sextant and took a couple of sun sights.
At noon, we considered putting the #1 back up, but just then the first real squall hit. It began to rain in the "tropical rain" way you've all heard about when picking out shower heads. Actually, it was harder than this, so having missed a shower the night before, Al and myself got out the shampoo and lathered up. (Big mistake on my part.. apparently, even during thunderstorms in the tropics, one can get a pretty bad sunburn in 20 minutes.)
After that, things got unpleasant. The wind shifted to due south, the direction we wanted to go, and climbed to 25kts. Unfortunately, we don't have a way of further shortening sail, without getting out our storm sails... which aren't meant to get you anywhere, just away. As it turned out, looking at the satellite wind data, there was only one way to go to take us out of our predicament... upwind. Oh, and none of this wind was predicted on the grib models, nor mentioned in the analysis.
So, we spent a long, trying, and tiring night on the rail. Moral on the boat wained, as we could see our newly installed lead postion slip away and we jumped off incoming waves with rig shaking crashes, or we slow the boat with rig shaking main sail flogging. On one crash, the compass jumped off the binnacle. On another, the stove jumped off its gimbles, and a third cause the refridgerator cold plate to break loose. On top of this, we wondered into a 2 kt opposing current.
You may have heard that, "Gentlemen never sail to weather." I think thats because when you sail to weather, it makes you ornery enough to make any man a knave. (Jill, on the other hand, was a great sport had provided some good laughs up in the "spash zone".)
There were some opportunities for levity. We took to laying on the rail body to body to get some sleep while keeping the water from filling our foulies... hah!. At one point, I took the "breakwater" position. I was actually sleeping (uncomfortably) when a wave rolled over the bow. That woke me, but I was even more surprised when I started to lift of the deck. My automatic personal floatation device had triggered. I sat up, barely able to move, and mentioned to Jill I had a "problem". At first, while looking at the ocean, she gave a little sympathy for my wet state. "No, look at the BIG picture"... I looked pretty riduclous in my "Mae West" costume.
Also, if you could keep you're mind off the crashing (and what an equipment failure means 1500 miles from the nearest marine store), it was an exciting sail. 8 kts (boatspeed.. not progress), jumping through waves.. even had some dolphin escort for a few minutes as bioluminescent torpedos dancing on the bow wave.
Some of you have asked, what is it like down below. Well, today wasn't the best night to ask. Loud, yah, like sleeping in a rifle range. Hot. Sometimes you got to get on deck to cool off, and sometimes just to be able to breathe.
So, that's the update. Things are improving here as the wind has backed a little. Based on Ragtime's acceleration, we expect more improvement soon.
Data
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