My night watch begins at 1900 hours and ends at 2300 hours, giving me the joy of every sunset, followed by reclining in the cockpit enjoying the night sky while Windy, the wind pilot, holds Anthea on course. This past watch began with Devon serving us a fulfilling dinner in the cockpit as the beauty of the sunset deprived us of our thoughts. We had been fortunate with the wind for it was on the beam between 10 and 16 knots, however this night watch had no such luck. As the sun disappeared, the wind took it as a que to follow suit; the wind odometer began a rapid descent until recovering in the mid sixes. From previous experiences with much less than desirable wind conditions we all knew that Anthea excels in light air, yet she astounded even me when her speed dropped from the mid sevens only for her to quickly regain composure at 6.5 knots, matching the wind speed!

Until last night we had been flying across the Pacific at a rate which, while impossible to maintain for the entire crossing, certainty created a joyful atmosphere for the beginning of the longest ocean passage of our lives. The most astounding purplish-blue color of the water enhanced by the shadows of dolphins frolicking around the bow is a constant reminder that we are far from the waves crashing on the sandy beaches of Mexico. Anson
18deg 52.7′ N
115deg 41.0′ W

Our second day of the passage was another good run – 140 nautical miles, thanks to favorable current. Last night was better than the first as the sea state was more kindly and Windy (our windvane) was able to steer through the night, plus our bodies are adjusting to the different rhythms of being at sea.

I’ve been thinking about ocean crossings and their multiple meanings. Last night, as we finished dinner in the cockpit at sunset (another great meal by Devon – spaghetti with marinara sauce, organic homemade sausage from La Paz, steamed fresh zucchini) we discussed some of the meanings of ocean crossings, including what crossing the ocean meant for early colonists in N. America, enslaved people from W. Africa, and 18 – 19th century framings of ocean crossings in Hinduism (which were negative – it was called kala pani, or black water by non-seafaring folks). This morning as we enjoyed a delicious pancake breakfast down below (with Windy steering above and Anson (who was on watch) checking course heading every few minutes), we talked of the more personal meanings of crossings as moving across thresholds, from one personal world to another, from one life stage to another, through transitions and passage making. I wondered what personal crossings this ocean crossing might mean for each of us and for us all as a family, and I suggested we all reflect on what they might be. For me, this crossing represents a coming to fruition of something I’ve hoped to do again since I first came this way 35 years ago – though I never thought I’d be so fortunate to share this journey with such a wonderful family. It also represents a particular stage of our family’s life history, with Anson set to go to college in South Hampton when we return and Devon starting High School. There are many other crossings, personal and familial, linked with this passage – some apparent now and some no doubt to emerge as we progress on this voyage.

Meanwhile, we making good way with the asymmetrical spinnaker flying nicely in the relatively light northwesterly we currently have. Devon and I plan to work on the second ratline today, which will entail making two eye splices in a short length of 5/8 inch nylon line and seizing it to the shrouds. Our first ratline is already up and looks pretty good!

What a joy and a privilege it is to be here!

Mark (at 19 deg. 55 minutes N and 113 deg 59 minutes W)

Wisdom prevailed and we delayed our departure from Cabo until 8 a.m. on 4/4. It’s plain common sense to begin a voyage in daylight, so we slept at anchor while a sweet wind strengthened in the night. By the time we hoisted the anchor yesterday morning and cleared the wind shadow of Cabo San Lucas’ steep cliffs, we found the sailing breeze.

With the wind at a sweet sixty degrees off the bow, Anthea accelerated through the broad swells dappled with light wind waves and ruffled by white caps blown up by wind against current. We rode the current out and adjusted our bodies to the heel to port and the continuous up and down over the rollers. An occasional wave broke over the bow, channeling water along the decks and out the scuppers. All day we flew under Anthea’s favorite point of sail, ticking off the miles in fairly effortless fashion as our wind pilot steered.

Devon made lunch and dinner, with a little help, as his body has yet to adjust to cooking in the swells. We dined in royal fashion on goat cheese and crackers, veggies and humus, and chips and salsa for lunch, and chicken fajitas and greens for dinner. In a few weeks from now it will be boat-grown sprouts and dried and canned veggies, so we’re savoring these meals. You guessed it: Devon’s cook, while Anson, Mark and I share the watches.

The wind veered in the night to 90 degrees, putting us at odds with the growing swell. Rocking and rolling, we made it through night one, a bit tired and haggard, but safe and sound with a single reef in the main and full jib. We’re reaching for the North East trade winds, and their strong and steady flow. Our current plan is to sail 230 degrees (true) towards 5 degrees N and 130 W, then search for a skinny spot to cross the nasty zone between the NE and SE trades (the ITCZ). With that unpleasantness over, we’ll ride the SE trades to the Marquesas. Sounds easy enough on paper. Now factor in the heeling and rolling, the cooking and cleaning, the four hour watches and sleep deprived bodies and you’ll have a taste of what we’ve signed up for!
Kim, writing from 20 degrees 56 minutes North and 112 degrees 21.4 minutes West (4/5 11 a.m. local/ 1800 UTC)

4/3/17 We’re an hour away from beginning our journey to French Polynesia. Poised at the tip of Baja, after several days of beautiful sailing and one long day of motoring, punctuated by a quick and very bouncy stop for kite boarding, we’re finally ready to set sail for the longest journey of our lifetime.
The provisioning has been its own journey: a cruiser’s version of work. For five days anchored in La Paz harbor, our boat waltzed back and forth with the tide while Anson edited video and downloaded podcasts, and Devon, Mark and I procured everything we need for this passage. The shopping, although tiring, was the easy part. The work began as we transferred boxes and bags into the dinghy, raced our inflatable across short, steep chop raised by wind against current, handed bags aboard while wavelets splashed and lifted us up and then down Anthea’s side, quickly unlocked the cabin and opened the fridge to make room for the precious perishables, deftly transferred boxes of food from their potentially bug infested wrappings into zip lock bags, and tossed the trash into the dinghy for the next run to shore. The hard work came next: with all floor and seat space covered with bags of food, we had to find a meaningful home for each item. Heavy items stored as centered and deep in the boat as possible to keep the boat balanced, items which spoil when wet placed in the limited space outside of the bilge, fragile items delicately buttressed in shallow spots to prevent crushing.

Open any cupboard, floor board or seat on board and you’ll find a surprise. Thirty-six eggs under the port seat, really? Look hard and you’ll find another four dozen secreted aboard. Knowing that we’ll forget these fancy hidey holes, we’ve mapped each storage space and created an inventory.

With bilges bursting with cans, we set sail on a northerly wind towards Cabo San Lucas. Our first night we anchored off La Ventana, letting Anson try out his kiteboarding skills in winds too fierce for Devon. Hopefully he’ll give you an update on that. We hopped down the coast to arrive in Cabo where we’ve refueled and are poised to set sail. I’ll check the weather now, and if still favorable, we’ll depart in an hour.

One big shout out to our “shore crew”: Louise and Peter (Kim’s parents). They’ve navigated our financial life ashore – from taxes to bill paying and alerts on debit card fraud. They’re also our weather team and logistical crew, graciously staying in town to send daily updates to us for weather routing until landfall. Mucho gracias!

Coming into Cabo San Lucas

Anson in Turtle Bay photographing a stormy sunset

Anson marking the jib halyard while Kim and Devon read

Cabo San Lucas from aboard Anthea in the anchorage