All day we bounced along in steep wind waves overlaid upon a contrary swell. At times it seemed we were sailing in a cauldron with an invisible spoon stirring the waves into perky, breaking peaks and back eddy valleys. Anthea went up and down and side to side, and doing anything below was an acrobatic endeavor. If you’ve seen the Charlie Chaplin film Yukon, recall the scene of the cabin teetering on the edge of the cliff and the plates sliding quickly down the table and then back. That gives you a good sense of what cooking below was like. Chef Devon rocked it. He managed to dance with the waves to stay upright, grabbing hand holds during particularly nasty pitches. Bracing himself, he dove into the fridge to grab veggies, staggered around the settee to unearth brown rice and grab the pre-made Indian dinner foil pouches, and then prepared a full dinner for us all. It is for conditions like these that we bought some pre-prepared entrees, so fortunately Devon didn’t have to invoke his full gourmet self in the midst of the pitch and roll. However, he still made sure to dress the green beans with olive oil, salt and pepper before serving them, gaining our enduring admiration. That task alone required judging a safe moment to open the cabinet, grab the oil, wedge it on the counter and close the cabinet before other items spilled out. Then he braced his body for the two handed maneuver of dressing the beans and stowed the oil without catastrophe. The pre-packaged Indian food, which would have been barely tolerable ashore, tasted divine, and the green beans were the highlight of the meal.

After dinner, Anson stood the first night watch. At the change of shift he implemented his brilliant system for poling out the jib without any load on the system, thereby removing the risk of crushed fingers or foredeck lunges as the sail plays tug of war with the pole during the frantic moments of getting it locked onto the mast. Anson rigged a block on a running line, used a low friction ring that he spliced to set up the perfect angle for jib trim, and rigged a topping lift, down haul and foreguy line to stabilize the pole after clipping it onto the mast. With a line led as a lazy sheet he was able to re-run the jib sheet to prevent chafe on the lifelines and clip it into the block. Then he pulled on the running line for the block to position it at the end of the pole. He never paused to think, or evaluate, as he and the design were one. I had the easy job of helm, while Mark assisted Anson, following his every command, as he watched an engineering brain at work. Anson orchestrated this rig in the dark of night, on a pitching foredeck, while stepping over flying fish and dodging spray, clipping and unclipping his double harness as he moved from bow to mast to midships and back. It was as close to a dance as an engineer could muster.

Competence is a beautiful thing to witness.
Kim
11 degrees 36.35 minutes
123 degrees 30.8 minutes
Yesterday’s run: 157 nautical miles

April 11
Yesterday, Day 7, introduced us to the full on north east trade winds. Blowing 18-20 knots (some gusts to 26), they come with steep wind waves four to six feet high, roughly. Humidity is up, as is the air temperature. Down below, it’s sticky. We’re currently at longitude 121, and contemplating an ITCZ crossing at 135 degrees, so we’ve got a good 6-7 days at least, with these favorable winds carrying us westward. We jibed over to starboard tack in predawn light and are now on a heading of 260 degrees. On the other tack we were making too much southerly direction and would hit the southern edge of the trades before we got west enough; so now we’re sure to stay in trade wind alley. Devon popped up to help us make the jibe – his extra pair of hands very helpful in the cockpit, handling lines, while I was on the foredeck and Kim at the wheel. Anson’s on watch at the moment, with camera in hand in case a beautiful bird comes swooping by. Kim’s asleep in the pilot berth, tired after a four hour watch (3am to 7am), plus some..

“Four souls on board and all is well,” as we say on the net check in.

Mark (at 12 deg 41.4 minutes Latitude and 121 deg 1 minute longitude)

Day 6 officially ended this morning at 8am local time. We’ve averaged 130 nautical miles per day since leaving Cabo San Lucas – quite respectable. Yesterday, we jibed over to port tack after a week on starboard, in part in search of a quieter sea state and to make more southing. The decision paid off both in terms of the comfort of the ride and making southing towards the trades. At times, in the aft berth this morning I couldn’t tell Anthea was moving at all, other than the sound of the water sloshing by the hull – that’ how easily she was slipping through the water at 6 knots. We continue to make good progress (5.5-6.5 knots boat speed) with the jib poled out, between 150 and 180 degrees off the wind and with a pretty well organized set of wave conditions. We’ve begun checking in with the Puddle Jump net each evening – a good way to stay in touch with the other boats also making this crossing. Yesterday evening we learned that two boats had crossed the ITCZ at 128 degrees west and experienced 24 hours of severe thunder storm activity (though they got through it fine). This supports our decision to aim for an ITCZ crossing of around 130 degrees latitude, or maybe even 132 degrees, and the general conventional wisdom that we should make our westing using the northeast trades, which are stronger and more consistent than the southeast. Anyway, we’ve plenty of time to cogitate on our crossing strategy, analyze weather documents and consult with Kim’s father about routing.

On the food front Devon cooked up a delicious potato and sausage frittata for dinner yesterday. I wonder what he has in store for us today?!

Mark (at 14 degrees 10.4 minutes North, 119 degrees 36.7 minutes West)

We’re calling it the daily dolphin darshan (sacred viewing). These beautiful bottlenose dolphins come in scores to leap and play at the bow, their powerful tails swooshing to carve a path forward to surf Anthea’s bow wave, and then swerve out to gain speed for the next tack in. The water mid-ocean has a deep purple hue in mid-day, but in the evening, when the dolphins arrive, the light sparkles through lapis colored waves. Standing on the bow pulpit or lying on the foredeck, we watch these divine beings for a half hour or more. They swim close together, layered upon one another, and then swoop within inches of the bow. Some leap full body out of the water off our beam; one even managed a back flip yesterday evening.

We knew to anticipate the dolphins, but we weren’t quite prepared for our next guest: a red footed booby. This white feathered bird arrived on our fourth night out, swooping around and around our mast and looking for a resting spot. We’ve heard too many stories of broken antennas and wind indicators, so we raised a ruckus. Devon grabbed a spare halyard and started swinging it back and forth, creating a disturbance at the top of the mast, while he and I shouted, “No, no, no!” Anson’s contribution was to get his camera and track its flight around our boat, snapping “BIF” after “BIF” (bird photographer speak for bird in flight photos). Our ploy worked and the booby gave up, or perhaps, as we hope, the shape of our mast and the array of our antennas just looks downright inhospitable for a medium sized bird.

We had mixed feelings about sending the bird away. It was probably tired and in need of a rest. But we rely on our instruments for safety at sea, and so with a mixed heart we watched it flap slowly away. Several minutes later the booby found a solution that met all of our needs: booby on the bowsprit. The bird landed on the rounded rails, somehow managing to grasp a solid footing in the bouncy seas. It let Anson and Devon both creep close by on the foredeck, hardly giving them or Anson’s formidable lens a second look while it stretched its neck and preened. With a light blue beak and large red, webbed feet, the bird is a clown-like beauty. During Mark’s night watch, he’d shine a light forward and was reassured to see it sleeping with beak tucked under wing. We gained a fine feathered friend for the night, and we would have been delighted to host it for days on end, as long as it stayed on the bow pulpit, beak forward and poop dropping effortlessly into the sea. Dawn came and Anson only had a few minutes of photo opportunity before another booby circled the boat and our sweet friend flew away.

The brief sailing update: variable wind speed and direction make us work to keep the boat moving forward at a reasonable clip. Yesterday the spin went up and down twice, as did the main, and the jib flew with and without the whisker pole. Anson is our master of the foredeck, having learned from some of the best of the best last summer while racing on Kame Richard’s Express 37, Golden Moon. He runs sheets, guys, topping lifts, foreguys, jumps halyards, handles the massive spinnaker pole, all while the boat heaves and pitches in the seas. Sometimes we live up to his expectations and manage a spin raise with jib up (racer style) within five minutes. Not bad given that the boat was designed to be raced by 8 crew.

We’re still sleep deprived, and slatting and chafing sails are our primary issue thus far. We’ve learned from the radio check-in for boats sailing to the Marquesas to say: “Four souls aboard and all is well.” Kim
Latitude 15 degrees 58 minutes north
Longitude 118 degrees 50 minutes west

Here’s a quick update before I download the latest forecast and message from our shore crew. On Thursday evening we hit a wind hole and spent 24 hours eeking out forward movement while waiting for the wind to fill in. One night of creeping along under motor, and a day of working to fill the spinnaker in 2-4 knots of apparent wind, and we came out the other side. Anthea’s ability to sail under light wind conditions is saving us from simply wallowing and waiting. We managed to clock 101 nautical miles during this slowest period yet (thank you Mr. Perkins for fueling 30 of those). Late afternoon the wind arrived for a glorious spinnaker reach until sunset, and then a nice reach under reefed main and full jib all night. We’re now sprinting along at around 7 knots in a freshening breeze, counting down the latitude and watching the longitude grow. All is well. Kim
Latitude 17 degrees 37.5 min N
Longitude 117 degrees 06.8 min W
P.S. Look for an upcoming blog on visitors at sea.