Since we began our summer cruises down the California coast back in 2009, we have earned several nicknames. Last night (Sunday) Devon earned a new nickname – squall tracker. It was about 1:30 am and my watch. I had been keeping an eye on an approaching dark cloud that obscured the stars. Sure enough, the wind speed increased and Kim came topsides to help reef the jib. As the rain came pelting down, who should pop up the companionway entrance but Devon, with full particulars about the range and bearing of the three squalls in our vicinity (distance from us, angle to us, and changes over time). He had of his own accord fired up the radar and had been tracking this information, which he complemented with advice about how we might best get out of the current squall and steer to avoid the other two. He gave us continuous feed, updated information and helped us to avoid these localized weather occurences as much as possible. He even snapped a photo of the radar screen on his I Pad to share with us in the cockpit. Thus, Devon’s new nickname is ST, short for squall tracker. This is in addition to his other two nicknames, which relate to his culinary expertise on board and general enjoyment of things nautical. While they shall remain private, one is taken from the main character of Wind in the Willows, who loves nothing more than to spend a day “messing about with boats on the water”.

While on the topic of nicknames, I’d like to note that Anson’s is Q, because of his awesome ability as a top notch rigger and technical expert around computer and related issues. Almost daily he examines a rigging challenge on Anthea and comes up with a simple, effective way to address the issue. And his technical expertise around computers/electronics was ably demonstrated through his ability to get our second hand iridium sat phone (but new to us) up and running using Starbuck’s internet at Cabo San Lucas and configuring our laptop to get weather data through it while at sea.

Kim gets the award for most nicknames: Island Gal (as she’s happiest while cruising), Cave Woman (as she so enjoys kayaking into sea caves), Galley Queen (due to the delicious concoctions that emerge from the galley when she’s on duty), and Weather Woman (due to her extensive weather analysis capabilities which we daily give thanks for).

I seem to not have nicknames, though axle nut might do as I seem to be in charge of the mechanical systems on board.

Meanwhile, we’re racing south to the equator. Had an awesome spinnaker run today, first with our symmetrical and then shifting to the asymmetrical – steady 8 knots and surfing into the 9s. Took turns hand steering till a rain line and squall brought the run to a close early afternoon. Anson, I believe, hopes to write about it. Had a great dinner at sunset in the cockpit of mac and cheese a la Louise Berry with canned corn as vegetable/desert.

Mark (at 4 degrees 33 minutes north and 133 degrees 20 minutes west)

With no exciting news to report, other than a jibe to head us on our next leg of the journey towards the ITCZ, we’re posting a blog of Devon’s that never made it up. Part I of March 20th (Sea of Cortez, islands off of La Paz) comes up today. Look for part II in a few days.

March 20, 2017 Botched Kiteboarding Attempt
We had been sailing for 4 hours, coasting along with a gentle breeze. My family had left Isla San Francisco at 12:30 after a botched kiteboarding attempt. All of us had woken up early in the morning, while the wind was still strong. We piled in the dinghy with all of the kite boarding gear (2 kites, 2 boards, 2 harnesses, 2 leashes, 2 lines, 2 impact vests, and 2 wetsuits). Hector, our dinghy, was motored around the point to a little beach. Anson set up his kite, attached his lines and suited up. Our plan was to do a dinghy launch, which consisted of dropping the person in the water, trying to keep ninety degrees to the wind while letting the person unravel the lines and then somehow launch the kite. As it turned out, the steep chop was a little too big. As soon as we got out we had to return to the beach and take care of the equipment. While Anson’s kite was drying out, Kim read her book, Mark took a nap, and Anson and I played checkers by using stones, shells, and drawing lines on the sand. After packing up and surviving the wet dinghy ride, we had a quick lunch and left for Ensenade Grande. Devon
Latitude 8 degrees 42 minutes N
Longitude 131 degrees 58 minutes W

The wind is humming in the rigging, as it has for the last six days since we entered the NE Trades. It’s blowing 18-25 knots true, not including the gusts. We’ve been flying under a reefed jib for days; even put on the mainsail cover to protect it from UV. Anthea’s charging ahead through the water at between 5.5 and 8 knots – the upper limits being when we take off and surf down the steep faces of the short duration wind waves that fill the horizon in all directions. Then, the sound of the rushing water permeates the whole boat, we rock back and forth through the acceleration, and then settle back to the steady rhythm of 5.5 knots and the familiar gurgle of water against the hull. This has been our reality for six days and likely another two before we make a sharp turn southwards. Our few square yards of dacron hoisted aloft have captured a tiny fraction of the immense power of these strong, steady winds, which will carry us on our voyage forwards approximately 1000 miles.
So far, this crossing has unfolded as per the script we had learned before departure. Six days of favorable NW winds brought us to the trades and we’ve been booming along and will continue to do so for another two days or so. We’ve haven’t seen another sail or other commercial vessel throughout this period – just the four of us like peas in a life pod, surrounded by the immensity of the ocean day after day after day. And Anthea is our life pod, providing all that we need to thrive during this journey. We made about 30 gallons of water a couple of days ago, and powered the water maker from our solar panels. Windy, our windvane, whom we have grown to love, steers us night and day and allows us all to remain below if conditions topsides are too wet and woolly. The list of life giving elements goes on and on. And Anthea is our pod as well. With her hydrodynamic hull and exceptional overall design she is the perfect pod, able to transform wind energy into forward thrust, safely carrying us through the water, down the waves.
The next stage of this voyage may not follow the script we had learned. From the weather files Kim’s downloading via our SSB radio and from her father’s daily weather analysis, it’s clear that the southeast trades have been disrupted by a 3000 mile low pressure trough that is also exacerbating the convection and associated thunderstorms of the doldrums. Will the southeast trades return to their seasonal norm by the time we get to where they should be? How severe might the thunderstorm/squall activity be and how should we navigate to minimize our exposure? We don’t have enough fuel to motor more than three hundred miles at the most, so much depends on how the weather develops over the next few days.
There are few times in life that one’s vulnerability to the larger forces of the world/universe are as apparent as they are to us now. We don’t know what script will unfold as the next stage of this crossing draws near. We will play the hand that we are dealt, safe in the knowledge that Anthea is our life pod and we the four peas in it. Mark
Latitude 10 degrees 19.3 minutes North
Longitude 130 degrees 42 minutes West

I suppose I should say schools of flying fish, but we only see them soaring, often in formation, as they scatter in front of Anthea’s bow wave. The ocean is thick with them here; day after day in these roaring NE trades, all we see of ocean beasts are these improbable creations of nature. The birds take advantage of our herding ability, flying around Anthea and then swooping down for mid-air catches and easy feasts. Anson never imagined he’d enjoy bird photography mid-ocean, but he’s got thousands of photos to sort through to find the two or three “bif” photos to spark our memories for decades to come. In addition to the boobies, there is a stunning, mostly white bird, a little smaller than a booby, with a tail reminiscent of a fly catcher. It maneuvers gracefully, “kiting” as it surveys the feast below and twisting with minimal effort in the midst of a dive. Another mostly white bird, without the elegant tail, also joins the scene. Guesses at bird id anyone?

We continue to harness this brisk NE tradewind. We’ve had a lot of experience in these wind conditions from sailing down the California coast, so we have our routines for powering up and de-powering the boat. The main difference is the chaotic sea state. If you were to place me on land now, I’m sure I’d walk like a drunken sailor, unable to figure out how to move on a surface that isn’t perpetually rocking and rolling.

Keeping this short, as we’re eager to get the weather today. We’re about three days from Longitude 135 W, which may be our turning point to cross the ITCZ and the equator. If anyone knows weather magic, we’d greatly appreciate your help in having the usual weather patterns return here. A large low pressure trough is disrupting the winds to the south of us, and it would be very nice if it would move along and let the SE trades reform for our final legs of the voyage!

Kim
Lat 10 degrees 38.6 minutes North
Long 127 degrees 59.9 minutes West

Even a hard night watch has a magical quality about it. Last night was a hard one. The wind which had been steadily building during the day, and surging us forward at a fast clip, finally gusted high enough to round us up beyond the wind pilot’s ability to correct course. So at 9:30 p.m., in the midst of Anson and Devon’s chess game in the cockpit (magnetic board and pieces from my family’s cruise in the 1970s), the three of us reefed the jib, with Anson doing his foredeck magic to re-run the jib sheet to prevent chafe and reposition the block to maintain good sail shape, while Devon played Mark’s role of magician’s assistant and I steered. The result: when the wind blew 25 knots, gusting to 27, we sailed at a nice clip and surfed waves in grand fashion; when the wind dropped to 15 to 17 knots, Anthea was underpowered, wallowing a bit in the troughs of waves and unable to race with the swells. The motion went from awkward, jerky, back and forth, as the confused seas had their way with us, to glorious rushing forward through and down the swells.

Devon and I tucked into our berths, while Anson took an extended watch until midnight to give me the few hour nap I needed before my watch. Sleep was elusive in this sea state, so I was groggy as I took my shift, instant coffee and midnight snack in hand. But as I settled into my nest of bean bags behind the helm, the moonlight softened the waves, revealing only broad outlines of the swirling mass beneath us. The 25 knot gusts, lasting up to five minutes at a time, ruffled the moonlit waters into a shimmering trail racing towards our stern. The motions, which felt random and capricious below, made sense to my body as I felt the wind on my face and sensed the contours of the waves. I felt at peace, secure in Anthea’s seaworthiness, and lulled by the combination of wind and sea.

The good night watches approach delirious. The three prior nights we had steady trade wind conditions, enabling Anthea to slip forward at a steady 6.5 knots even with her nighttime rig of a reefed jib. The moonlight and night air altered my perception of the sea and sky, so I felt as if we were hovering above, rather than moving through, the seas. Then Anthea would surge forward as she surfed a wave, lifting our speed into the 7 and 8 knot range, sending an exhilarating surge through my body as well. The alternation of magic-carpet-like movement above the water, punctuated by the high of surfing speeds, filled me with alternating wonderment and joy. Anthea was in her groove, carrying us across the Pacific in grand style. Under these conditions I savored my coffee and treat, filled my senses with the cool night caress of wind, the sound of waves against the hull, and the visual feast of moonlit waters. I lingered in this feeling of peace and well-being for several hours in an almost meditative state of wonderment. When sleep threatened to return, I opened my book and read for the rest of my watch, awakening my mind by traveling with the characters in a novel. Joy!

The gusts have calmed and the steady wind has returned. We’ve let out the reefs in the jib and Anthea is once again surging confidently through the waters. We’re not piling on the canvas and achieving top speeds, as we are being gentle on the boat and our bodies. Super fast is fun, but tiring. So we’re content to stay in the mid 6 knot range, surfing in the 7s, and making steady westward pace. All is well.

Kim
Latitude 10 degrees 50 minutes North
Longitude 125 degrees 49 minutes West