The ticket isn't booked yet, but it's really only because they are ridiculously expensive and my mom and I are trying to find the absolute cheapest we can.
I'm coming home this weekend.
It dawned on me today while scrubbing <i>Bubas</i> clean for the owners arriving tonight...I'm now out here for the wrong reasons. I said I wanted to cross the Pacific, and that I'd keep going if the circumstances were right. But you see, the "keep going" part was really just to avoid going back home. So now that I've completed the passage and I've been struggling to find the right situation to continue, I have to be honest with myself. I'm only still here because I'm afraid of going home. I should well know by now, if you do something or go somewhere for the wrong reasons, it's never going to feel right. I could say that I'm here for the sailing and the travel and the lifestyle, and while there's a part of me that's *definitely* into it (and still wants to do it when the time is right), the part that's just staying out for the sake of staying out far outweighs the former.
Some of you might be asking yourselves what about home scares me. The answer is I don't know what to do with myself back there. The economy is in the poo poo house; very smart and capable people I know have been looking for work for well over a year. And San Francisco isn't exactly a cheap place to wait it out. Course, as I'm finding, neither is the South Pacific. I operate best in a startup/small company environment, and the areas I'm most passionate about are green technology, renewable energy, sustainable development, etc. I've been putting out some feelers (ok, 1 feeler) but in these uncertain times, everything is, well, uncertain. So if any of you out there know of an opportunity, please send me an email. I'm willing to take ANY job for the time being too. I don't need the perfect position, I just need to not be sitting on my hiney day in and day out. Oh, I also need a place to live. I'll be staying with a friend for a bit, but a 6 month (cheap) sublet or something while I sort myself out would be awesome.
So let this be a lesson to you all. When you set out to do something, make sure the reasons for doing so are pure in your heart. If they aren't, while you may find yourself in one of the most beautiful places on earth, you won't be happy.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Fun Solid Beating
You're scratching your head going "what on earth is she talking about?" This post actually covers these 3 words as separate topics, but I'm in a weird mood this morning and thought I'd jumble it all up.
There are several instances of everyday sayings being derived from nautical terminology, "three sheets to the wind", "posh", "tie one on", etc. But there's at least one time that I believe sailors borrowed from the general public. When you sail upwind or worse, dead on-the-nose (whatever the direction the wind is coming from is the precise direction you need/want to go), sailors call it "beating". I imagine a crew long ago got their hineys kicked in a bar brawl on the night before heading out to sea. They were made to sail into the wind and as the ship bashed about into the waves one of them says, "Man, this feels just like the beating we took last night." Tahiti is southeast of Raiatea. Forecast: 30-35 kts of wind out of the southeast, 2.5-3 meter (7.5-9 feet) seas out of the south. This, friends, made for a proper BEATING. Thank god for two big engines though. We're trying to make Tahiti during business hours on this Friday so that I can track down my shipment of Accutane. I run out today. And, though I'm 4th on the waiting list for a flight to the Marquesas tomorrow, I'm still going to go and sit at the airport and try and get on the flight. But I can't do that unless i get my pills. And if I can't get my pills, I have to get them Monday, but Air Tahiti tells me the next available flight isn't until Wednesday.
I'm heading to the Marquesas to rejoin the <i>Spirit of Nyami Nyami</i> in an effort to try and have some FUN over here. I think I may have mentioned this before. Apologies if so. I am simply not having a good time and haven't since making landfall. We have gone from Rangiroa to Bora Bora to Raiatea, all quite populated busy islands. With the exception of 2 delightful days with some Americans on a nearby boat, I've been in the company of French speaking people who generally do not feel compelled to try and include me in the conversation at all. I've been choking on the prices of each and every little thing, and frustrated with not being able to get a SIM card so I can at least whine to my mom about it all. Bora Bora, while beautiful, is an island full of pretty unhappy people with a lot of negative energy. This is confirmed both by Jean, a former resident of 12 years and his friend Terry, a current resident. It took me a couple of days just to get my mood to a more reasonable level after leaving there. Raiatea was better, especially because we were at a dock and I had the freedom to come and go, and that's where I met my new American friends. But I hear other cruisers talk of going to itty bitty islands and going spearfishing with the locals and trading for pearls and awesome scuba diving.......and I'm getting none of that, just the price tag of French Polynesia. So I'm hoping <i>Nyami</i> will help me experience these islands as they should be experienced, and to have some fun.
Whether it's the lack of fun, or the news of Bob's death, or the fact that I've accomplished my goal of crossing the Pacific, or just cosmic forces at work, I've been experiencing an increasing desire to go home. I was thinking about it for a little while without saying anything. Then I started mentioning it to a few people. Now I've begun kicking around ideas for what going home would look like. My friend Mota helped frame the feelings for me. He said, "Jen, you seem to be ready for something SOLID. Sailing around on other people's boats may be fun, but it is anything but solid." I think "solid" in the cruising lifestyle means you're with a partner or family, or you have your own boat. I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't hoping I'd find said partner out here and we'd sail off together into the sunset (oh comeon I had to say it). But so far there doesn't seem to be any 35-45 single men singlehanding and looking for a lady out here. And doing it on my own? Well folks, I'm kinda lonely. I've had an awful lot of alone time for the past year, in fact, about 11 months worth. I miss my friends and family. I miss my Godson who apparently only cries now when there's something actually wrong (or so his mother tells me). I miss phone calls. I miss hugs.
I got it into my head during one of my watches last night that if I can't get this plane to go back to Don's boat, that I'd just catch one to L.A. instead (then S.F.) I don't know if that's what I'm going to do; that's pretty rash, even for me. And I do believe I really should give fun a chance. But home is calling, and it's getting louder and louder.
There are several instances of everyday sayings being derived from nautical terminology, "three sheets to the wind", "posh", "tie one on", etc. But there's at least one time that I believe sailors borrowed from the general public. When you sail upwind or worse, dead on-the-nose (whatever the direction the wind is coming from is the precise direction you need/want to go), sailors call it "beating". I imagine a crew long ago got their hineys kicked in a bar brawl on the night before heading out to sea. They were made to sail into the wind and as the ship bashed about into the waves one of them says, "Man, this feels just like the beating we took last night." Tahiti is southeast of Raiatea. Forecast: 30-35 kts of wind out of the southeast, 2.5-3 meter (7.5-9 feet) seas out of the south. This, friends, made for a proper BEATING. Thank god for two big engines though. We're trying to make Tahiti during business hours on this Friday so that I can track down my shipment of Accutane. I run out today. And, though I'm 4th on the waiting list for a flight to the Marquesas tomorrow, I'm still going to go and sit at the airport and try and get on the flight. But I can't do that unless i get my pills. And if I can't get my pills, I have to get them Monday, but Air Tahiti tells me the next available flight isn't until Wednesday.
I'm heading to the Marquesas to rejoin the <i>Spirit of Nyami Nyami</i> in an effort to try and have some FUN over here. I think I may have mentioned this before. Apologies if so. I am simply not having a good time and haven't since making landfall. We have gone from Rangiroa to Bora Bora to Raiatea, all quite populated busy islands. With the exception of 2 delightful days with some Americans on a nearby boat, I've been in the company of French speaking people who generally do not feel compelled to try and include me in the conversation at all. I've been choking on the prices of each and every little thing, and frustrated with not being able to get a SIM card so I can at least whine to my mom about it all. Bora Bora, while beautiful, is an island full of pretty unhappy people with a lot of negative energy. This is confirmed both by Jean, a former resident of 12 years and his friend Terry, a current resident. It took me a couple of days just to get my mood to a more reasonable level after leaving there. Raiatea was better, especially because we were at a dock and I had the freedom to come and go, and that's where I met my new American friends. But I hear other cruisers talk of going to itty bitty islands and going spearfishing with the locals and trading for pearls and awesome scuba diving.......and I'm getting none of that, just the price tag of French Polynesia. So I'm hoping <i>Nyami</i> will help me experience these islands as they should be experienced, and to have some fun.
Whether it's the lack of fun, or the news of Bob's death, or the fact that I've accomplished my goal of crossing the Pacific, or just cosmic forces at work, I've been experiencing an increasing desire to go home. I was thinking about it for a little while without saying anything. Then I started mentioning it to a few people. Now I've begun kicking around ideas for what going home would look like. My friend Mota helped frame the feelings for me. He said, "Jen, you seem to be ready for something SOLID. Sailing around on other people's boats may be fun, but it is anything but solid." I think "solid" in the cruising lifestyle means you're with a partner or family, or you have your own boat. I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't hoping I'd find said partner out here and we'd sail off together into the sunset (oh comeon I had to say it). But so far there doesn't seem to be any 35-45 single men singlehanding and looking for a lady out here. And doing it on my own? Well folks, I'm kinda lonely. I've had an awful lot of alone time for the past year, in fact, about 11 months worth. I miss my friends and family. I miss my Godson who apparently only cries now when there's something actually wrong (or so his mother tells me). I miss phone calls. I miss hugs.
I got it into my head during one of my watches last night that if I can't get this plane to go back to Don's boat, that I'd just catch one to L.A. instead (then S.F.) I don't know if that's what I'm going to do; that's pretty rash, even for me. And I do believe I really should give fun a chance. But home is calling, and it's getting louder and louder.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Death and Facebook
The biggest quiet concern about travelling to far away lands is that something will happen to your loved ones when you are away. I say 'quiet' because no one likes to talk about it. Even worse is when you're going to be out of touch for a while. The first time you check your email you can hardly contain yourself with all the excitement of hearing from friends and family, but at the same time you silently dread the worst.
Sadly, when I arrived in French Polynesia after the 30 day passage, I learned that a friend of mine, Bob Seymour, had passed away the previous weekend. International internet connection troubles painfully throttled the pace at which I got the details surrounding his death. For the first several hours all I knew was that he had died tragically. Then I learned he had committed suicide, and much later I was told how and why.
It's a week now since I've known, and still as I sit writing this I'm getting choked up. I met Bob back in 2003 when I joined the camp "Love Project Unlimited" (LPU) for my first trip to Burningman. From our introduction to the last time I saw him Bob was nothing short of delightful. He was always smiling, willing to help and had natural energy in a sea of intoxicants. Even when something was frustrating or difficult, Bob would be there bearing down, working hard, but still positive and the first to shoot me a grin. One of my favorite memories of Bob happened out on Market Street. He rode his bike to work everyday (though I have no idea how, up the hill to Twin Peaks!) and I took the bus, so was often waiting around on the street. You couldn't miss Bob; he always wore bright yellow neon. One day I saw him just a little past me and I called out, "BOB!" He didn't turn around. So I tried again, "BOB, NICE ASS!!" That did it; he screeched to a halt and looked around dazed to find me laughing hysterically :-)
While Bob was certainly someone I could always count on, I can't say that he was a good or a close friend. I just didn't know the guy that well. He pretty much always showed up to all events, and we'd have a short to medium length chat, but they were just chats. I tried to talk-talk with him, learn more about him, but he never seemed open to it. Everyone else had a similar experience with him...no one *really* knew the guy. I only had one talk with him, and ironically, it was about death. Unfortunately, even at my young age (31), I've had to deal with a lot of death. I've lost very close family, good friends and even a lover. It was early 2008 and I had just gone through a very difficult time of losing 3 family members over the course of 3 months. Bob offered his condolences and told me how he'd never really lost anyone he was close to, though he was a fair bit older than I. He knew he'd have to face it eventually; he was scared and asked how I dealt with it. I told him that the one thing I had learned is that you have to give yourself permission to grieve as much and for however long you need to. Everyone is different, so if anyone tells you you *should* be getting over it by now, just tell them where to stick it.
Now I'm sitting in a beautiful island paradise dealing with *his* death, and everytime I *should* be having fun, diving/snorkeling etc., I'm thinking of him. (Which I've given myself every right to do.) Yesterday, the internet connection was relatively stable, so I was cruising Facebook. I'd wondered what happens to one's profile when you die...what if no one has your password to deactivate your account? Does it just stay frozen in time? Should a "Deceased" status be added to the Single, In a Relationship, and Married list? As it turns out, at least for Bob anyway, his Facebook page has turned into a memorial of sorts. Loads of people have posted messages, photos and condolences and notices went up about services and gatherings. The messages were the most poignent. "You made the world a better place." "Thank you for always being there with a smile on your face." "I wish I knew you better; what little I knew was wonderful." ALL these people pouring out ALL this love to Bob in a medium he isn't likely to see (unless Facebook is available in the afterlife, which isn't entirely outside of the realm of possibility, but still...). I couldn't help but think, what if we told each other how much we love and care for one another BEFORE we go, maybe in such a way that we can save it and look at it when we get low. Bob said in his note that he knew he had support from many friends, but he didn't feel he could turn to anyone for help. Maybe if he knew the depth of everyone's love and support, saw it immortalized on his profile, just maybe.................
Is there a "Tell me How Much You Care About Me and Why" or "Living Memorial" Facebook app? There should be.
Bob, I wish we had talk-talked more. I loved your energy, your smile, your selflessness and how you always seemed to be boppin to music. You could have called on me for anything. I'll miss you...and your nice ass.
Sadly, when I arrived in French Polynesia after the 30 day passage, I learned that a friend of mine, Bob Seymour, had passed away the previous weekend. International internet connection troubles painfully throttled the pace at which I got the details surrounding his death. For the first several hours all I knew was that he had died tragically. Then I learned he had committed suicide, and much later I was told how and why.
It's a week now since I've known, and still as I sit writing this I'm getting choked up. I met Bob back in 2003 when I joined the camp "Love Project Unlimited" (LPU) for my first trip to Burningman. From our introduction to the last time I saw him Bob was nothing short of delightful. He was always smiling, willing to help and had natural energy in a sea of intoxicants. Even when something was frustrating or difficult, Bob would be there bearing down, working hard, but still positive and the first to shoot me a grin. One of my favorite memories of Bob happened out on Market Street. He rode his bike to work everyday (though I have no idea how, up the hill to Twin Peaks!) and I took the bus, so was often waiting around on the street. You couldn't miss Bob; he always wore bright yellow neon. One day I saw him just a little past me and I called out, "BOB!" He didn't turn around. So I tried again, "BOB, NICE ASS!!" That did it; he screeched to a halt and looked around dazed to find me laughing hysterically :-)
While Bob was certainly someone I could always count on, I can't say that he was a good or a close friend. I just didn't know the guy that well. He pretty much always showed up to all events, and we'd have a short to medium length chat, but they were just chats. I tried to talk-talk with him, learn more about him, but he never seemed open to it. Everyone else had a similar experience with him...no one *really* knew the guy. I only had one talk with him, and ironically, it was about death. Unfortunately, even at my young age (31), I've had to deal with a lot of death. I've lost very close family, good friends and even a lover. It was early 2008 and I had just gone through a very difficult time of losing 3 family members over the course of 3 months. Bob offered his condolences and told me how he'd never really lost anyone he was close to, though he was a fair bit older than I. He knew he'd have to face it eventually; he was scared and asked how I dealt with it. I told him that the one thing I had learned is that you have to give yourself permission to grieve as much and for however long you need to. Everyone is different, so if anyone tells you you *should* be getting over it by now, just tell them where to stick it.
Now I'm sitting in a beautiful island paradise dealing with *his* death, and everytime I *should* be having fun, diving/snorkeling etc., I'm thinking of him. (Which I've given myself every right to do.) Yesterday, the internet connection was relatively stable, so I was cruising Facebook. I'd wondered what happens to one's profile when you die...what if no one has your password to deactivate your account? Does it just stay frozen in time? Should a "Deceased" status be added to the Single, In a Relationship, and Married list? As it turns out, at least for Bob anyway, his Facebook page has turned into a memorial of sorts. Loads of people have posted messages, photos and condolences and notices went up about services and gatherings. The messages were the most poignent. "You made the world a better place." "Thank you for always being there with a smile on your face." "I wish I knew you better; what little I knew was wonderful." ALL these people pouring out ALL this love to Bob in a medium he isn't likely to see (unless Facebook is available in the afterlife, which isn't entirely outside of the realm of possibility, but still...). I couldn't help but think, what if we told each other how much we love and care for one another BEFORE we go, maybe in such a way that we can save it and look at it when we get low. Bob said in his note that he knew he had support from many friends, but he didn't feel he could turn to anyone for help. Maybe if he knew the depth of everyone's love and support, saw it immortalized on his profile, just maybe.................
Is there a "Tell me How Much You Care About Me and Why" or "Living Memorial" Facebook app? There should be.
Bob, I wish we had talk-talked more. I loved your energy, your smile, your selflessness and how you always seemed to be boppin to music. You could have called on me for anything. I'll miss you...and your nice ass.
Friday, May 21, 2010
A Drop in the Bucket
May 20
Going to sea now for just a couple of days feels like a drop in the bucket. 2 days? Pssshhtt. That doesn't even register after 30 days. However, it is enough to make me all warm and fuzzy happy again. I do love it out here.
While I miss having a buddy (Oly), it's nice to take a more active role with the boat. Jean has a great deal of experience, but there's something about his manner which makes it feel like this is really a co-skipper arrangement. We're sharing the duties well. He has local knowledge of where we should go, but the only detailed chart we have is what's on my computer. And he's new to the workings of the Raymarine chart plotter and auto pilot. So he points to the place we need to go on my computer chart, and I enter it into our route for the autopilot. I'm glad to be pulling my weight. If I weren't here things would be considerably more difficult for him, not only the navigation, but also dealing with arriving and departing (launching/securing the dinghy, anchoring) and the obvious round-the-clock watch-keeping. Elze, though I'm sure she means well, has the unfortunate combination of timidness and poor to no English plus not ever having been on a boat before. So when we ask her to do something plus gesturing and demonstrating, we're met with "Eh?" It's fine - Jean and I are quickly sorting out our little team.
We had no wind for the first full day, but we are finally cruising along now under main and jib at about 6-7 knots. Life is good.
Well, sailing life is good. Food life? Notsomuch. We're down to the bottom of the barrel from the crossing, and since food was so expensive in Rangiroa, we opted for just a few basics. Sadly, no fish have found their way to us either, so dinner tonight consisted of opening up 3 cans and boiling a package of pasta. Yum. BUT, I did get inspired this afternoon and decided I could figure out how to make tortillas sans Google instructions. (I had a failed attempt about a week ago.) But today, SUCCESS! I wanted to do beef tacos, but we have no beef so it was turkey chili + rice + a mild picante I mixed up. It was actually pretty good, though it was chili and you wouldn't think so. (The tortillas were the best part!)
Very early this morning we will arrive in Bora Bora. Jean asked me tonight what Americans think Bora Bora means. I said "honeymoon". He laughed and agreed. He said it's like that for people from all around the world. He doesn't know why it got that reputation, but it is his personal belief that it's one of the most beautiful places in the world. It'll be nice to be there with a (former) resident. He worked for years at the Club Med there before it shut as well. Can anyone give me a "Hands UP"? :-)
UPDATE: Arrived Safe and Sound in Bora Bora, 0800 local time May 21, 2010
Going to sea now for just a couple of days feels like a drop in the bucket. 2 days? Pssshhtt. That doesn't even register after 30 days. However, it is enough to make me all warm and fuzzy happy again. I do love it out here.
While I miss having a buddy (Oly), it's nice to take a more active role with the boat. Jean has a great deal of experience, but there's something about his manner which makes it feel like this is really a co-skipper arrangement. We're sharing the duties well. He has local knowledge of where we should go, but the only detailed chart we have is what's on my computer. And he's new to the workings of the Raymarine chart plotter and auto pilot. So he points to the place we need to go on my computer chart, and I enter it into our route for the autopilot. I'm glad to be pulling my weight. If I weren't here things would be considerably more difficult for him, not only the navigation, but also dealing with arriving and departing (launching/securing the dinghy, anchoring) and the obvious round-the-clock watch-keeping. Elze, though I'm sure she means well, has the unfortunate combination of timidness and poor to no English plus not ever having been on a boat before. So when we ask her to do something plus gesturing and demonstrating, we're met with "Eh?" It's fine - Jean and I are quickly sorting out our little team.
We had no wind for the first full day, but we are finally cruising along now under main and jib at about 6-7 knots. Life is good.
Well, sailing life is good. Food life? Notsomuch. We're down to the bottom of the barrel from the crossing, and since food was so expensive in Rangiroa, we opted for just a few basics. Sadly, no fish have found their way to us either, so dinner tonight consisted of opening up 3 cans and boiling a package of pasta. Yum. BUT, I did get inspired this afternoon and decided I could figure out how to make tortillas sans Google instructions. (I had a failed attempt about a week ago.) But today, SUCCESS! I wanted to do beef tacos, but we have no beef so it was turkey chili + rice + a mild picante I mixed up. It was actually pretty good, though it was chili and you wouldn't think so. (The tortillas were the best part!)
Very early this morning we will arrive in Bora Bora. Jean asked me tonight what Americans think Bora Bora means. I said "honeymoon". He laughed and agreed. He said it's like that for people from all around the world. He doesn't know why it got that reputation, but it is his personal belief that it's one of the most beautiful places in the world. It'll be nice to be there with a (former) resident. He worked for years at the Club Med there before it shut as well. Can anyone give me a "Hands UP"? :-)
UPDATE: Arrived Safe and Sound in Bora Bora, 0800 local time May 21, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Le Plan
Well, now we are 3. Oly left yesterday to make his way to the states for a EMT course he's taking. It's Jean, Elze and me now. I miss him, and English. I got so excited today when I met a couple from England that I just started blabbing within a second of hearing them speak. But the 3 of us get along fine, albeit without much chatter.
Anyway, our plan is to head to Bora Bora tomorrow morning. It's about a 40 hour sail. Jean has family and friends there that he wants to visit. Then we will go to Raitea (sp?) for a day or two and then on to Tahiti by the 27th. In Tahiti, I'll be able to pick up my medicine and then we'll do a proper scrub down of the boat. The owners are arriving on or around the 30th.
I've been in touch with Don from <i>Spirit of Nyami Nyami</i> and they are happy to re-adopt me. They made it safely to the Marquesas, which gives me a renewed confidence in the crew and vessel. And, I miss the easy camaraderie with them. We are still sorting out if they will be coming to Tahiti around the 30th or if I need to go and meet up with them. I'm hoping the former as flights here are super expensive.
Actually, EVERYthing is super expensive. I'm talking unbelievably so. 1 normal size bottle of local beer and 1 hour of internet is $5.60 US.
I went for a scuba dive today. It was ok, though not spectacular. Saw a couple of medium size silver-tip reef sharks, a huge swarm of jack fish that you see pictures of all spiraled up, a small moray and a small lion fish. But the rest of the day was spent getting diesel. Ay vey. We had to make 2 trips with our 4 5gal jerry jugs to get 40 gallons. Each trip involves dinghying to the beach, heaving it up on shore, treking out to the road, hitchhiking to the other end of the island where the Shell is, hitchhiking back, dinghy back in water, back to boat, emptying each jug one at a time into the tanks. Btw, hitchhiking with 3 people = not easy. It took all afternoon and it was blistering hot.
I'm looking forward to being back on Nyami - it'll be crowded and WAY less comfortable than Bubas, but it'll be nice to have friends again, hang out with other boats and be social. The next 10 days are going to be pretty quiet for me.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Land HO!
May 15, 2010
We're 153nm from Rangiroa, and we've already started passing a few little islands. We're aiming to arrive early tomorrow morning. Birds have been showing up in greater frequency over the last 5-6 days, and every once in a while I find that my sinuses are a little stuffed up. Now this is pure conjecture, but as we're in vicinity of land, albeit little bits of land (Marquesas are directly North and some little islands of French Polynesia are to the South), I'm guessing that allergens are getting carried in the air.
French Polynesia (FP) covers an area of the South Pacific Ocean about the size of Europe. It is made up of over 100 islands in five archipelagos. Rangiroa is in the Tuamotus Archipelago, once called the Dangerous Archipelago on account of its treacherous currents and lurking reefs. We were not provided with the electronic charts for this area, so our chart plotter which is what steers the boat is useless as we get closer. We have a large scale paper chart for SE Polynesia to help us avoid the little islands, and thankfully, I have very detailed electronic charts on my computer, but we're going to be doing a lot of eyeball navigation.
Oly is a bit stressed. He has a flight from Tahiti to the U.S. on the morning of the 18th. We MUST get in tomorrow (16th) so he can fly from Rangiroa to Tahiti on the 17th, when he'll have to sort out hotel and taxi and all that jazz to make his flight.
We've had rough weather over the last 18 hours or so, going through several squalls. In the worst of it, the autopilot couldn't hold a course (we had to go straight into the wind and waves), so I was hand steering on a joystick down below. (A joystick, seriously? I said to Oly, "I've never used one of these before." His answer: "Playstation Generation" (Remember he's 24 going on 25)). Anyway, we got through it no problems. This morning we've got more rain but no wind or wind on the nose, so we're motoring.
The owners are aiming to arrive in Tahiti around May 30, and they've given Jean permission to take the boat to Bora Bora where his daughter lives. I don't really know what I'm going to do. I've got to get to Tahiti by May 25 to pick up my next batch of Accutane. FP is very very expensive to stay on land, with very few if any sort of hostels. So unless I quickly find another boat to jump on, I may stay with Bubas to Tahiti, Bora Bora, then back to Tahiti. We shall see.
We're 153nm from Rangiroa, and we've already started passing a few little islands. We're aiming to arrive early tomorrow morning. Birds have been showing up in greater frequency over the last 5-6 days, and every once in a while I find that my sinuses are a little stuffed up. Now this is pure conjecture, but as we're in vicinity of land, albeit little bits of land (Marquesas are directly North and some little islands of French Polynesia are to the South), I'm guessing that allergens are getting carried in the air.
French Polynesia (FP) covers an area of the South Pacific Ocean about the size of Europe. It is made up of over 100 islands in five archipelagos. Rangiroa is in the Tuamotus Archipelago, once called the Dangerous Archipelago on account of its treacherous currents and lurking reefs. We were not provided with the electronic charts for this area, so our chart plotter which is what steers the boat is useless as we get closer. We have a large scale paper chart for SE Polynesia to help us avoid the little islands, and thankfully, I have very detailed electronic charts on my computer, but we're going to be doing a lot of eyeball navigation.
Oly is a bit stressed. He has a flight from Tahiti to the U.S. on the morning of the 18th. We MUST get in tomorrow (16th) so he can fly from Rangiroa to Tahiti on the 17th, when he'll have to sort out hotel and taxi and all that jazz to make his flight.
We've had rough weather over the last 18 hours or so, going through several squalls. In the worst of it, the autopilot couldn't hold a course (we had to go straight into the wind and waves), so I was hand steering on a joystick down below. (A joystick, seriously? I said to Oly, "I've never used one of these before." His answer: "Playstation Generation" (Remember he's 24 going on 25)). Anyway, we got through it no problems. This morning we've got more rain but no wind or wind on the nose, so we're motoring.
The owners are aiming to arrive in Tahiti around May 30, and they've given Jean permission to take the boat to Bora Bora where his daughter lives. I don't really know what I'm going to do. I've got to get to Tahiti by May 25 to pick up my next batch of Accutane. FP is very very expensive to stay on land, with very few if any sort of hostels. So unless I quickly find another boat to jump on, I may stay with Bubas to Tahiti, Bora Bora, then back to Tahiti. We shall see.
Do We Have To Arrive?
May 11
Day 17 out of Galapagos, Day 25 out of Panama. We're 700 miles out of Rangiroa and 900 from Tahiti. Depending on the wind, we'll likely arrive at one of the two some time on Sunday, 6 days from now. Aside from wanting a few simple things (to know that my friends and family are all well, fresh fruit and more soy milk), I don't really want to make landfall. I could easily stay out for another week or two, and if we didn't have to be in Tahiti by the 18th for Oly's flight, we'd all vote to slow way down (except for Elze). Sure, it helps that we're all easily getting along, the routine is comfortable, Oly has an inexhaustible supply of movies, I have an inexhaustible supply of books plus more things I *could* be doing if motivated, etc. etc. I don't understand why long passages aren't more appealing to sailors. Get the formula right, and it's kind of heaven.
You don't have to do any 'deciding' out here. My big daily decisions are: lay out or not?, nap or not?, write or do divemaster review or not?, which films today? and if I'm making dinner, what will it be? A few more important ones come up every few days in regards to sailing or the boat, but those are a far cry from "what are you doing with your life? and am I happy?" Know what I mean? I've read stories of sailors, particularly singlehanders (people who sail alone), who get close to land, freak out and turn around and go back out for another few days or a week. "AHHHH, people, conversation, money, noise...NO!"
I realize you can't stay away forever, that in this day and age just about everybody has to come back into the proverbial port. I suppose all I can do is be thankful that I've gotten this chance to cooommmppllleeetteelllyy unplug for so long.
Arrival for me means having to find another boat (sigh), schlepping around my way too heavy backpack and paying exorbitant sums for food and accommodation in Tahiti if I need to stay on land at all. No bueno. The 'find another boat' task brings up an interesting possibility that those of you who have been following from the beginning of the adventure will appreciate...Spirit of Nyami Nyami set out from Cabo San Lucas bound for the Marquesas on April 16, same day we left Panama. It is rumoured to be a 30 day trip from there, so they'd be arriving May 16th ish. To fill you in, while I was in Curacao I was in regular contact with Don from Nyami. When it became clear that things weren't peachy for me, he started trying to woo me back. When Todd offered to fly me to Panama and put me up in a hotel, Don said, hey, just fly straight back to Mexico. When Bubas was still so iffy but it was my last chance sitting in Panama, I truly started considering it. I had fewer reservations about the strength of the boat - Don and Ben had been working daily toward ensuring her safety, but what put me off was by then, they'd picked up a few more crew. Total on board: 6!! I would make 7!! Jeeebbuuuss that's too many people for only a 53' boat. You'd be on top of each other. It'd be like a sleepover for a whole month! Bleh. Anyhow, come landfall, I'll once again have the opportunity to reclaim my Nyamian status. It's a tempting proposition. I'm hoping that one or two folks will want to get off though. Her final destination is New Zealand by November, so it'd be leisurely cruising through the S.Pac island till then. As you know, it was a very sociable boat, and it could end up being a ton of fun. We shall see, dear Readers, we shall see.
Day 17 out of Galapagos, Day 25 out of Panama. We're 700 miles out of Rangiroa and 900 from Tahiti. Depending on the wind, we'll likely arrive at one of the two some time on Sunday, 6 days from now. Aside from wanting a few simple things (to know that my friends and family are all well, fresh fruit and more soy milk), I don't really want to make landfall. I could easily stay out for another week or two, and if we didn't have to be in Tahiti by the 18th for Oly's flight, we'd all vote to slow way down (except for Elze). Sure, it helps that we're all easily getting along, the routine is comfortable, Oly has an inexhaustible supply of movies, I have an inexhaustible supply of books plus more things I *could* be doing if motivated, etc. etc. I don't understand why long passages aren't more appealing to sailors. Get the formula right, and it's kind of heaven.
You don't have to do any 'deciding' out here. My big daily decisions are: lay out or not?, nap or not?, write or do divemaster review or not?, which films today? and if I'm making dinner, what will it be? A few more important ones come up every few days in regards to sailing or the boat, but those are a far cry from "what are you doing with your life? and am I happy?" Know what I mean? I've read stories of sailors, particularly singlehanders (people who sail alone), who get close to land, freak out and turn around and go back out for another few days or a week. "AHHHH, people, conversation, money, noise...NO!"
I realize you can't stay away forever, that in this day and age just about everybody has to come back into the proverbial port. I suppose all I can do is be thankful that I've gotten this chance to cooommmppllleeetteelllyy unplug for so long.
Arrival for me means having to find another boat (sigh), schlepping around my way too heavy backpack and paying exorbitant sums for food and accommodation in Tahiti if I need to stay on land at all. No bueno. The 'find another boat' task brings up an interesting possibility that those of you who have been following from the beginning of the adventure will appreciate...Spirit of Nyami Nyami set out from Cabo San Lucas bound for the Marquesas on April 16, same day we left Panama. It is rumoured to be a 30 day trip from there, so they'd be arriving May 16th ish. To fill you in, while I was in Curacao I was in regular contact with Don from Nyami. When it became clear that things weren't peachy for me, he started trying to woo me back. When Todd offered to fly me to Panama and put me up in a hotel, Don said, hey, just fly straight back to Mexico. When Bubas was still so iffy but it was my last chance sitting in Panama, I truly started considering it. I had fewer reservations about the strength of the boat - Don and Ben had been working daily toward ensuring her safety, but what put me off was by then, they'd picked up a few more crew. Total on board: 6!! I would make 7!! Jeeebbuuuss that's too many people for only a 53' boat. You'd be on top of each other. It'd be like a sleepover for a whole month! Bleh. Anyhow, come landfall, I'll once again have the opportunity to reclaim my Nyamian status. It's a tempting proposition. I'm hoping that one or two folks will want to get off though. Her final destination is New Zealand by November, so it'd be leisurely cruising through the S.Pac island till then. As you know, it was a very sociable boat, and it could end up being a ton of fun. We shall see, dear Readers, we shall see.
My Lucky Stars
May 14
One of the predominant themes of my last year has most definitely been the sky, that humongous, all-encompassing, awe-inspiring sky that is so easy to ignore or take for granted in most places on earth, but in Africa and on the ocean provides for endless enjoyment and appreciation.
If you forgot about all the sunset shots from Africa, I'll remind you with my sunset set from the Pacific. It's nearly impossible not to photograph the sky some evenings. And, I think the #1 best sunset ever spot has been uprooted by one from this passage. Check it out.
There are absolutely no effects applied to this picture; just point and click. (For the record, Africa still dominates the top 10...I think it's the smoke in the air from all the burning trash that adds the color, lovely :-)
The sun is our favorite and most important star, yes, but I do so love all the rest of them. See, you can't stare at the sun, or even the moon with too much interest for that long. I love a full moon, don't get me wrong, but give me a moonless, cloudless, starry night over a full moon anytime. The starry sky in Africa, particularly where I was in Namibia and the Okavango Delta in Botswana, was nothing short of incredible. The clarity and brightness there, in my opinion, is unparalleled.
Six months later though I find myself under the #2 spot in the best starry sky lineup, the middle of the Pacific ocean. And what makes it even more incredible is that for two whole hours in the middle of the night (Midnight to 2am), I'm awake. Usually I go up on the fly bridge with my ipod (yes, Marion, I'm *still* listening to Disintegration a lot), lay back and just gaze. I've lost track of the number of standard-issue shooting stars I've seen. By standard-issue I mean they're about the size of a pin prick, you see them for just a split second and they seem very far away. Last night though, holy moly, there was a shooting star that was about golf ball size with two super long and clear tails that seemed like it was *right there*! It was visible for so long that I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, then turned to see it whizz by for another maybe 2 seconds. And a few nights ago, I saw a full-on meteorite. Again, relatively speaking, it was around the size of a grapefruit. Little fiery bits were flying off it as it plummeted, presumably into the sea. Goodness gracious!
When there aren't these rather exciting astronomical events, there are still gazillions of stars. I guess at the constellations I'm looking at (damn, why don't I bring a star chart?), and seem to see my constellation (the Phoenix that I have tattooed on my back) everywhere I look. The Milky Way is eerie and fascinating, and I like to think that I could roughly navigate at night if I had to :-)
How does the saying go? "Count your lucky stars..."? I sure am; I'm one lucky girl.
One of the predominant themes of my last year has most definitely been the sky, that humongous, all-encompassing, awe-inspiring sky that is so easy to ignore or take for granted in most places on earth, but in Africa and on the ocean provides for endless enjoyment and appreciation.
If you forgot about all the sunset shots from Africa, I'll remind you with my sunset set from the Pacific. It's nearly impossible not to photograph the sky some evenings. And, I think the #1 best sunset ever spot has been uprooted by one from this passage. Check it out.
The sun is our favorite and most important star, yes, but I do so love all the rest of them. See, you can't stare at the sun, or even the moon with too much interest for that long. I love a full moon, don't get me wrong, but give me a moonless, cloudless, starry night over a full moon anytime. The starry sky in Africa, particularly where I was in Namibia and the Okavango Delta in Botswana, was nothing short of incredible. The clarity and brightness there, in my opinion, is unparalleled.
Six months later though I find myself under the #2 spot in the best starry sky lineup, the middle of the Pacific ocean. And what makes it even more incredible is that for two whole hours in the middle of the night (Midnight to 2am), I'm awake. Usually I go up on the fly bridge with my ipod (yes, Marion, I'm *still* listening to Disintegration a lot), lay back and just gaze. I've lost track of the number of standard-issue shooting stars I've seen. By standard-issue I mean they're about the size of a pin prick, you see them for just a split second and they seem very far away. Last night though, holy moly, there was a shooting star that was about golf ball size with two super long and clear tails that seemed like it was *right there*! It was visible for so long that I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, then turned to see it whizz by for another maybe 2 seconds. And a few nights ago, I saw a full-on meteorite. Again, relatively speaking, it was around the size of a grapefruit. Little fiery bits were flying off it as it plummeted, presumably into the sea. Goodness gracious!
When there aren't these rather exciting astronomical events, there are still gazillions of stars. I guess at the constellations I'm looking at (damn, why don't I bring a star chart?), and seem to see my constellation (the Phoenix that I have tattooed on my back) everywhere I look. The Milky Way is eerie and fascinating, and I like to think that I could roughly navigate at night if I had to :-)
How does the saying go? "Count your lucky stars..."? I sure am; I'm one lucky girl.
About As Far From Anything As We Can Get
May 6
As of last night, we were around 1800 nautical miles (nm) from the Galapagos and about 1600 nm from Rangiroa, where we are headed. (We're not going to be able to make it all the way to Tahiti in time for Oly's flight on the 18th. Rangiroa is the closest we can get that has an airport). So, we're "in the middle of no where" as they say. It freaked me out a little bit a couple of days ago. I mean, what if someone got really hurt? It dawned on me then how important it is for all of us to be very careful, for everyone's sakes. Anyway, we're now a regular part of a SSB radio net, everyday, in the morning and early evening. We report our position and conditions to several boats in the area. The idea being, if anything *were* to happen, other people nearby know generally where we are, where we're headed, and what's going on on board. Our EPIRB transmits our position to the owner daily as well, but he wouldn't be much of a first responder over in Australia if something were to go wrong.
But nothing is going wrong, I'm happy to report. Well, we are out of fresh produce, so that isn't so nice. But we have lots of Mahi Mahi still plus loads of canned food. But meals are going to start to get pretty depressing from here on out.
We have run into one snafu though, with our sail situation. Bubas has a main, a jib and a gennaker. The main and jib and general rig of the boat are meant for upwind and reach conditions. Downwind, the setup doesn't work so well for a number of reasons that I won't bore you with. Our gennaker is designed for light-ish downwind sailing. Just before we left Panama, it had been repaired - a fairly large rip along the leach. We put it up about 10 days ago for about 10 hours, and it ripped in the same place, plus another spot further up. I worked for ~3 days to put a patch on either side of the top hole (patch came from a pair of shorts on board), and used duct tape and stitching to repair the original tear. Up she went again, this time lasting around 5 hours before opening up in the same spot. (The top patch held well.) We decided the bottom bit really needed a bit patch on both sides, so we used some old flags - Bahamas and Panama. It took another 3 days of sewing, a couple of blisters and bloody finger tips, but I'm finally done (and we're out of sail thread too so there's really no more sewing in my future thankfully). In a couple of hours, we'll run her up again to see how she does. If it tears again, there's nothing more we can do about it, and we'll have to make due with what we have.
On the face front, I'm pretty miserable, but again thankful that only 3 people are here to see it. Still no perceptible side effects, but my chin is an absolute mess. I am going to try to keep repeating outloud, "I will have a healthy face."
Elze continues to be seasick off and on. After so much time out here you'd think she'd have found her sea legs, but I guess some people never do. Poor thing.
We're all continuing on with our mellow rhythm we've established. I tend to nap for a bit after lunch, then Oly and I usually watch a movie. I come up for my 6pm watch and sometimes help with or cook dinner. Then I have some alone time as everyone heads for bed. Between 8 and 10 I usually watch another movie, then sleep for 2 hours before I'm on again at midnight. The last few nights have been absolutely stunning. There's no better place for stargazing; I only wish I had a star chart to learn more constellations. The moon rise last night was one for the mental photo album, and I've stopped counting shooting stars.
I think we've got about 10 days left to go.
PS - the gennaker ripped in a new spot above my patch after about 45 minutes. We're stuck with an unhappy main and and undersized jib, but still making good progress - doing 145-185 nm a day!
As of last night, we were around 1800 nautical miles (nm) from the Galapagos and about 1600 nm from Rangiroa, where we are headed. (We're not going to be able to make it all the way to Tahiti in time for Oly's flight on the 18th. Rangiroa is the closest we can get that has an airport). So, we're "in the middle of no where" as they say. It freaked me out a little bit a couple of days ago. I mean, what if someone got really hurt? It dawned on me then how important it is for all of us to be very careful, for everyone's sakes. Anyway, we're now a regular part of a SSB radio net, everyday, in the morning and early evening. We report our position and conditions to several boats in the area. The idea being, if anything *were* to happen, other people nearby know generally where we are, where we're headed, and what's going on on board. Our EPIRB transmits our position to the owner daily as well, but he wouldn't be much of a first responder over in Australia if something were to go wrong.
But nothing is going wrong, I'm happy to report. Well, we are out of fresh produce, so that isn't so nice. But we have lots of Mahi Mahi still plus loads of canned food. But meals are going to start to get pretty depressing from here on out.
We have run into one snafu though, with our sail situation. Bubas has a main, a jib and a gennaker. The main and jib and general rig of the boat are meant for upwind and reach conditions. Downwind, the setup doesn't work so well for a number of reasons that I won't bore you with. Our gennaker is designed for light-ish downwind sailing. Just before we left Panama, it had been repaired - a fairly large rip along the leach. We put it up about 10 days ago for about 10 hours, and it ripped in the same place, plus another spot further up. I worked for ~3 days to put a patch on either side of the top hole (patch came from a pair of shorts on board), and used duct tape and stitching to repair the original tear. Up she went again, this time lasting around 5 hours before opening up in the same spot. (The top patch held well.) We decided the bottom bit really needed a bit patch on both sides, so we used some old flags - Bahamas and Panama. It took another 3 days of sewing, a couple of blisters and bloody finger tips, but I'm finally done (and we're out of sail thread too so there's really no more sewing in my future thankfully). In a couple of hours, we'll run her up again to see how she does. If it tears again, there's nothing more we can do about it, and we'll have to make due with what we have.
On the face front, I'm pretty miserable, but again thankful that only 3 people are here to see it. Still no perceptible side effects, but my chin is an absolute mess. I am going to try to keep repeating outloud, "I will have a healthy face."
Elze continues to be seasick off and on. After so much time out here you'd think she'd have found her sea legs, but I guess some people never do. Poor thing.
We're all continuing on with our mellow rhythm we've established. I tend to nap for a bit after lunch, then Oly and I usually watch a movie. I come up for my 6pm watch and sometimes help with or cook dinner. Then I have some alone time as everyone heads for bed. Between 8 and 10 I usually watch another movie, then sleep for 2 hours before I'm on again at midnight. The last few nights have been absolutely stunning. There's no better place for stargazing; I only wish I had a star chart to learn more constellations. The moon rise last night was one for the mental photo album, and I've stopped counting shooting stars.
I think we've got about 10 days left to go.
PS - the gennaker ripped in a new spot above my patch after about 45 minutes. We're stuck with an unhappy main and and undersized jib, but still making good progress - doing 145-185 nm a day!
Fish Fabulous!
May 3
Man, we have been catching Mahi Mahi like they're going out of style. We sort of ran out of lures because the damn marlin kept taking them, so Jean made one with the head of an old lure and some frayed rope. Then bing bang boom we caught 3 mahi in 4 days (we were happy to have 1 day off). They've gotten progressively bigger in size, the first (Tom) was maybe 3-4 pounds, the second (Dick) 5-7 and today's (Harry) was 15-20 pounds!
I told Oly several days ago that I wanted to learn to clean them, so when we got Tom, he cleaned and fileted him slowly while instructing. We agreed I'd do the next one. Sure enough Dick came along the following day, and I was up on deck. A few pictures......
Aside from the couple of times that it flopped WELL AFTER being dead and splattering blood all over me which prompted quite the squeals, I jumped right in there and did the whole thing start to finish. YAY ME!
Harry came along today, and he was big, very big (though Oly tells me he wasn't even in the same ballpark as big). I let Oly do the honors as it was decided it should be made into steaks which means cutting through the backbone multiple times.
So we're going to be a little sick of Mahi Mahi after this trip, but seeing as how our protein ran out before Galapagos, none of us are complaining (we'd just prefer a tuna at this point :-)
Man, we have been catching Mahi Mahi like they're going out of style. We sort of ran out of lures because the damn marlin kept taking them, so Jean made one with the head of an old lure and some frayed rope. Then bing bang boom we caught 3 mahi in 4 days (we were happy to have 1 day off). They've gotten progressively bigger in size, the first (Tom) was maybe 3-4 pounds, the second (Dick) 5-7 and today's (Harry) was 15-20 pounds!
I told Oly several days ago that I wanted to learn to clean them, so when we got Tom, he cleaned and fileted him slowly while instructing. We agreed I'd do the next one. Sure enough Dick came along the following day, and I was up on deck. A few pictures......
Aside from the couple of times that it flopped WELL AFTER being dead and splattering blood all over me which prompted quite the squeals, I jumped right in there and did the whole thing start to finish. YAY ME!
Harry came along today, and he was big, very big (though Oly tells me he wasn't even in the same ballpark as big). I let Oly do the honors as it was decided it should be made into steaks which means cutting through the backbone multiple times.
So we're going to be a little sick of Mahi Mahi after this trip, but seeing as how our protein ran out before Galapagos, none of us are complaining (we'd just prefer a tuna at this point :-)
Macguyvering
May 1
We're in a fairly closed system out here all alone in the middle of this great big ocean, particularly in the auditory sense. The ocean and the weather have their sounds and the boat has her sounds. Then there's the 4 of us with our voices and our music. But following those, there's nothing else, unlike on land where there's the odd siren or dog barking or stranger calling out to you. So yesterday when I heard a funny "whirring/clicking" that I hadn't heard before, I immediately went out to investigate. It sounded like the fishing reel turning, but more muted. We didn't have a line out though, so it wasn't that. I looked up at the sails. Jib was fine and full, but the main looked....wrong. I waited a second more and heard the whirring/clicking coming from the main - not right.
I popped my head into the hatch and said to Oly, "Something is wrong with the main."
He came up, looked around and agreed there was a problem, but it took him a minute to see it - he tugged on a line coming out the boom and came up with a short, frayed bit of line. "Our first reefing line has snapped. S#$%."
Reefing is a way to make the main smaller so that when you're in heavy weather you don't have to have all of your sail up running on full power. Doing so puts too much strain on the rig, and you're liable to break something. Percentages vary, but 1 reef takes a bit of the sail away, 2 reefs take some more and 3 reefs get you down to a handkerchief. On this passage we'd been putting 1 reef in fairly regularly. On the boats I learned to sail on, a busted reefing line is no big deal. You just run a new line through the proper blocks and off you go. Bubas is different; she has an "easy" reefing system (I'm not sure of the proper term). It's great for single-handing and very safe as you can reef from the safety of the helm. But the price for easy to do is hard to rig. The reefing lines run through the boom, and as our old line had snapped somewhere in the middle of the boom, we had no way to pull a new line through.
I suggested using one of the lines already in the boom to pull through a new one, but each reefing line has its own block inside the boom up at the mast, and there was no way to reach in and re-route a line attached to another. So Oly thought of using a weighted fishing line to send down the boom, but we couldn't make it heavy enough and still small enough to come through the other end. Then we tried attaching the fishing line to an existing line and pulling it through - success! We still had to get it through the right track up at the mast, and sadly, not a wire hanger lives on the boat (an important addition to every toolbox methinks). We fashioned a hook out of some rigid wire, and together with some patient threading and my small fingers we were able to get it routed properly. So now we had a delivery system through the boom - nice! Then it was just a matter of running the new line and rerunning the one we used. It wasn't long before we were back in business and sailing along with our newly run first reef in the main.
The whole process took just under 3 hours. I didn't want to say it at the time as we could've been stuck with a really annoying situation (lacking our 1st reef), but I was having a blast. I love thinking through problems without an obvious answer...digging through everyday items in search of a hidden tool, having mini successes and failures through the various steps A-Z to solve the problem. I call it "Macguyvering". (I watched Macguyver religiously everyday after school, followed by 90210, I was an odd girl.)
So in the end, we have a brand new first reefing line, Oly and I got a healthy dose of Macguyvering and you got a blog post. All is well.
We're in a fairly closed system out here all alone in the middle of this great big ocean, particularly in the auditory sense. The ocean and the weather have their sounds and the boat has her sounds. Then there's the 4 of us with our voices and our music. But following those, there's nothing else, unlike on land where there's the odd siren or dog barking or stranger calling out to you. So yesterday when I heard a funny "whirring/clicking" that I hadn't heard before, I immediately went out to investigate. It sounded like the fishing reel turning, but more muted. We didn't have a line out though, so it wasn't that. I looked up at the sails. Jib was fine and full, but the main looked....wrong. I waited a second more and heard the whirring/clicking coming from the main - not right.
I popped my head into the hatch and said to Oly, "Something is wrong with the main."
He came up, looked around and agreed there was a problem, but it took him a minute to see it - he tugged on a line coming out the boom and came up with a short, frayed bit of line. "Our first reefing line has snapped. S#$%."
Reefing is a way to make the main smaller so that when you're in heavy weather you don't have to have all of your sail up running on full power. Doing so puts too much strain on the rig, and you're liable to break something. Percentages vary, but 1 reef takes a bit of the sail away, 2 reefs take some more and 3 reefs get you down to a handkerchief. On this passage we'd been putting 1 reef in fairly regularly. On the boats I learned to sail on, a busted reefing line is no big deal. You just run a new line through the proper blocks and off you go. Bubas is different; she has an "easy" reefing system (I'm not sure of the proper term). It's great for single-handing and very safe as you can reef from the safety of the helm. But the price for easy to do is hard to rig. The reefing lines run through the boom, and as our old line had snapped somewhere in the middle of the boom, we had no way to pull a new line through.
I suggested using one of the lines already in the boom to pull through a new one, but each reefing line has its own block inside the boom up at the mast, and there was no way to reach in and re-route a line attached to another. So Oly thought of using a weighted fishing line to send down the boom, but we couldn't make it heavy enough and still small enough to come through the other end. Then we tried attaching the fishing line to an existing line and pulling it through - success! We still had to get it through the right track up at the mast, and sadly, not a wire hanger lives on the boat (an important addition to every toolbox methinks). We fashioned a hook out of some rigid wire, and together with some patient threading and my small fingers we were able to get it routed properly. So now we had a delivery system through the boom - nice! Then it was just a matter of running the new line and rerunning the one we used. It wasn't long before we were back in business and sailing along with our newly run first reef in the main.
The whole process took just under 3 hours. I didn't want to say it at the time as we could've been stuck with a really annoying situation (lacking our 1st reef), but I was having a blast. I love thinking through problems without an obvious answer...digging through everyday items in search of a hidden tool, having mini successes and failures through the various steps A-Z to solve the problem. I call it "Macguyvering". (I watched Macguyver religiously everyday after school, followed by 90210, I was an odd girl.)
So in the end, we have a brand new first reefing line, Oly and I got a healthy dose of Macguyvering and you got a blog post. All is well.
Face Update
April 28
A couple of days before joining Bubas, I started on the 20mg dose of Accutane. Once again, I was nervous taking it. Up until that point, I still hadn't experienced any noticeable side effects. I braced for cracked lips and peeling skin. But one day rolled into the next, and now I'm 2 weeks into the new dosage.
One of the controversial points about Accutane has been teen suicide, but it's nearly impossible to say conclusively if the two are linked. Teennagers are a depressed lot and some commit suicide. Teennagers (and adults) get depressed when they've got acne covering their faces and they feel as though they look disgusting. Teennagers with acne trouble eventually end up on Accutane (in the U.S., often on much higher dosages - 40mg to 80mg). So does Accutane cause suicide?
Don't worry, now, your author is not going to jump off the boat after tying an anchor to her foot. But I DO GET how feelings of hopelessness can build up about your face. Following the dosage increase, I seemed to get worse. New big blemishes daily, lasting for days on end. To be fair, this is only happening on my chin. The rest of my face seems to be nearly clear and staying that way. I know that there was a chance I'd get worse before I got better. But jeeeezzzz, when do I get better already? It has me wondering if this stuff is even doing anything at all? (Which leads to wondering if I'm doomed with no hope of improvement for life.) So, ya, I understand how depression can creep in and take over, but I personally wouldn't blame the Accutane.
I'm lucky. I'm "stuck" on a boat for 3ish more weeks where only 3 other people have to look at me. Jean and Elze rarely talk to me so I'm guessing they look at me even less. So really it's only Oly that sees what I think of as my awful face. He's a boy though, so when it comes down to it, he's probably looking elsewhere ;-)
I still have high hopes that when I step off the boat in the Marquesas or Tahiti, my face will be healthy.
A couple of days before joining Bubas, I started on the 20mg dose of Accutane. Once again, I was nervous taking it. Up until that point, I still hadn't experienced any noticeable side effects. I braced for cracked lips and peeling skin. But one day rolled into the next, and now I'm 2 weeks into the new dosage.
One of the controversial points about Accutane has been teen suicide, but it's nearly impossible to say conclusively if the two are linked. Teennagers are a depressed lot and some commit suicide. Teennagers (and adults) get depressed when they've got acne covering their faces and they feel as though they look disgusting. Teennagers with acne trouble eventually end up on Accutane (in the U.S., often on much higher dosages - 40mg to 80mg). So does Accutane cause suicide?
Don't worry, now, your author is not going to jump off the boat after tying an anchor to her foot. But I DO GET how feelings of hopelessness can build up about your face. Following the dosage increase, I seemed to get worse. New big blemishes daily, lasting for days on end. To be fair, this is only happening on my chin. The rest of my face seems to be nearly clear and staying that way. I know that there was a chance I'd get worse before I got better. But jeeeezzzz, when do I get better already? It has me wondering if this stuff is even doing anything at all? (Which leads to wondering if I'm doomed with no hope of improvement for life.) So, ya, I understand how depression can creep in and take over, but I personally wouldn't blame the Accutane.
I'm lucky. I'm "stuck" on a boat for 3ish more weeks where only 3 other people have to look at me. Jean and Elze rarely talk to me so I'm guessing they look at me even less. So really it's only Oly that sees what I think of as my awful face. He's a boy though, so when it comes down to it, he's probably looking elsewhere ;-)
I still have high hopes that when I step off the boat in the Marquesas or Tahiti, my face will be healthy.
Day 4 - "Marlin Mania"
April 27
We've had 3 long days of being becalmed. Last night I asked for wind; today we're cruising along under main and jib at 7 knots :-) (To be fair, this happens to coincide with the last weather report we got in the Galapagos.) It's kind of amazing to me how morale is subtlely affected by our progress, well, it is and it isn't. I could understand it if we weren't motoring and making any progress over those 3 days, if we were just bopping and going nowhere. But we were alternating engines and maintaining 5-6 knots. On that program, we actually have enough fuel to get us HALF way there! (1500 nautical miles!) But everyone was just sort of ho-hum, myself included. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but my watches, reading and watching movies. And now today, with the wind, I'm all excited to sit up and write, after making a big ole bowl of guacamole dip. We did have an injection of adrenaline this morning though. Jean and Elze were on watch and Oly and I were asleep. We woke to the fishing reel going - "FISH ON". Standard procedure is Oly runs for the reel and whoever is on deck slows the boat down (turn into the wind). Sadly, it turned out to be another marlin (we've hooked 4 now I think and they've taken our precious lures - they're just too big to deal with), so I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. But after a few minutes, the 'click click click, buuurrrrrr' of the line continued. So I popped out of my hatch: "Are you trying to reel in a marlin?" "Yep." "Oh jebus."
For the next 20-30 minutes, Oly reeled and the rest of us sat nervously taking pictures. Any minute this massive and massively pissed off fish would be thrashing around deck. Frankly, I was a bit scared. We'd caught a few glimpses of it, and it was at least 6 feet long, NOT counting bill. Oly decided he couldn't do it alone, he needed the boat to help, so I ran up to the helm. For the next, oh, maybe hour, Oly called out directions for the engines and steering (Port
Engine Forward, Stbd Reverse) and my response would echo his command so he knew I understood. (It was very seamanlike.) We got her closer and closer and she's getting more and more tired. But she got smart and dove under the boat - diagonally, and then back out again. Yes, she wrapped the line around our prop. F@#$@! But we could see her end of the line was still taunt, so she was still hooked. Then I say, "You want me to jump in and see if I can unhook the line from the prop?" "Ya." "OK.(Crap)"
So I run below and throw on my bathing suit and grab my mask. We can't find the sailing knife so I get handed a kitchen knife instead, in case I need to cut the line. "This is safe" I say, "Where is she?" "We don't know." "Great." So plop I go, into the water, convinced that this 200+ pound fish with a massive beak is going to be right there thrashing around in my face, while I'm untangling a propeller in my bikini. Thankfully, she wasn't, and the line was loosely wrapped around the prop so I easily freed it. But, it was still tight around the rudder, so Oly gave me some slack and I dove down deep to free it. YES - off we go again!
Dripping wet, I ran back up to the helm, and we started the whole reel in process over again. Pour Oly is dripping sweat and exhausted by this point, but he puts in another solid 30 minutes. Girl's really getting tired now; she comes near and sort of lolls to the surface, wiggles a bit, then lolls some more. We've got her! Oly tells Jean to gaff her (hook her in the gills). Jean tries once and loses her as she goes around the prop. Crap - line is wrapped again! Oly grabs the hook and has one shot as she's on the side of the boat and before the line breaks. Alas, our 2+ hour ordeal ends, sans fish. Off she goes to fight another day. Between you and me, I'm glad we didn't get her. She was massive, as I've said, and it would have been a struggle handling her on deck, cleaning her and dealing with all the meat. We don't have a working freezer and the fridge isn't huge. Oly was bummed though, after all that work, and Jean was disappointed that he missed gaffing her. But what an adventure!!!
Thankfully the wind stayed with us through all of our mucking about, and after I dove the other prop, we got Bubas cruising along again. Today is the first day I feel like a real sailor.
We've had 3 long days of being becalmed. Last night I asked for wind; today we're cruising along under main and jib at 7 knots :-) (To be fair, this happens to coincide with the last weather report we got in the Galapagos.) It's kind of amazing to me how morale is subtlely affected by our progress, well, it is and it isn't. I could understand it if we weren't motoring and making any progress over those 3 days, if we were just bopping and going nowhere. But we were alternating engines and maintaining 5-6 knots. On that program, we actually have enough fuel to get us HALF way there! (1500 nautical miles!) But everyone was just sort of ho-hum, myself included. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but my watches, reading and watching movies. And now today, with the wind, I'm all excited to sit up and write, after making a big ole bowl of guacamole dip. We did have an injection of adrenaline this morning though. Jean and Elze were on watch and Oly and I were asleep. We woke to the fishing reel going - "FISH ON". Standard procedure is Oly runs for the reel and whoever is on deck slows the boat down (turn into the wind). Sadly, it turned out to be another marlin (we've hooked 4 now I think and they've taken our precious lures - they're just too big to deal with), so I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. But after a few minutes, the 'click click click, buuurrrrrr' of the line continued. So I popped out of my hatch: "Are you trying to reel in a marlin?" "Yep." "Oh jebus."
For the next 20-30 minutes, Oly reeled and the rest of us sat nervously taking pictures. Any minute this massive and massively pissed off fish would be thrashing around deck. Frankly, I was a bit scared. We'd caught a few glimpses of it, and it was at least 6 feet long, NOT counting bill. Oly decided he couldn't do it alone, he needed the boat to help, so I ran up to the helm. For the next, oh, maybe hour, Oly called out directions for the engines and steering (Port
Engine Forward, Stbd Reverse) and my response would echo his command so he knew I understood. (It was very seamanlike.) We got her closer and closer and she's getting more and more tired. But she got smart and dove under the boat - diagonally, and then back out again. Yes, she wrapped the line around our prop. F@#$@! But we could see her end of the line was still taunt, so she was still hooked. Then I say, "You want me to jump in and see if I can unhook the line from the prop?" "Ya." "OK.(Crap)"
So I run below and throw on my bathing suit and grab my mask. We can't find the sailing knife so I get handed a kitchen knife instead, in case I need to cut the line. "This is safe" I say, "Where is she?" "We don't know." "Great." So plop I go, into the water, convinced that this 200+ pound fish with a massive beak is going to be right there thrashing around in my face, while I'm untangling a propeller in my bikini. Thankfully, she wasn't, and the line was loosely wrapped around the prop so I easily freed it. But, it was still tight around the rudder, so Oly gave me some slack and I dove down deep to free it. YES - off we go again!
Dripping wet, I ran back up to the helm, and we started the whole reel in process over again. Pour Oly is dripping sweat and exhausted by this point, but he puts in another solid 30 minutes. Girl's really getting tired now; she comes near and sort of lolls to the surface, wiggles a bit, then lolls some more. We've got her! Oly tells Jean to gaff her (hook her in the gills). Jean tries once and loses her as she goes around the prop. Crap - line is wrapped again! Oly grabs the hook and has one shot as she's on the side of the boat and before the line breaks. Alas, our 2+ hour ordeal ends, sans fish. Off she goes to fight another day. Between you and me, I'm glad we didn't get her. She was massive, as I've said, and it would have been a struggle handling her on deck, cleaning her and dealing with all the meat. We don't have a working freezer and the fridge isn't huge. Oly was bummed though, after all that work, and Jean was disappointed that he missed gaffing her. But what an adventure!!!
Thankfully the wind stayed with us through all of our mucking about, and after I dove the other prop, we got Bubas cruising along again. Today is the first day I feel like a real sailor.
Deliveries
April 27
You can't fedex a boat. Well, you *can* ship them but the cost would likely rival that of the boat itself. 9 times outta 10, the boat that you want to buy won't be in your local marina; it may not even be in your country, or your hemisphere. Most sane people, this author obviously excluded, don't want to sail across oceans or go "the hard way" (against wind/current), ever. Sailing is supposed to be fun. But they still want their boat home, so they employ a Delivery crew to get it there.
Bubas' owner employed Oly and Jean as delivery skippers. Jean brought Elze along for company, and I managed to talk my way on as an extra (unpaid) hand for the long Pacific passage.
With very few exceptions, deliveries are not fun, they're not supposed to be fun. There's a deadline, usually, which means little or no island exploring or "cruising". Delivery crews often face the worst weather, as they don't have the luxury of waiting for the right time to go. There's a budget for provisions, which means pretty basic meals. And there's a pretty much constant fear that you're going to be the one to break something on this boat that isn't yours or even a friend of yours. If it's a recently purchased boat, as Bubas is, chances are there won't be much on board in the way of spare parts or tools that tend to accumulate over the years. So, if something goes wrong it's pretty darn tricky if not impossible to fix. If it hasn't been sailed much recently, other sort of "standard-issue" stuff may not be on board either, like red interior lights for nighttime or jack lines for the deck.
If I'd have had my "druthers", I wouldn't be on a delivery, but as a beggar I couldn't be a chooser in Panama, so delivering Bubas is how this gal is getting across the Pacific, to Tahiti anyway.
You can't fedex a boat. Well, you *can* ship them but the cost would likely rival that of the boat itself. 9 times outta 10, the boat that you want to buy won't be in your local marina; it may not even be in your country, or your hemisphere. Most sane people, this author obviously excluded, don't want to sail across oceans or go "the hard way" (against wind/current), ever. Sailing is supposed to be fun. But they still want their boat home, so they employ a Delivery crew to get it there.
Bubas' owner employed Oly and Jean as delivery skippers. Jean brought Elze along for company, and I managed to talk my way on as an extra (unpaid) hand for the long Pacific passage.
With very few exceptions, deliveries are not fun, they're not supposed to be fun. There's a deadline, usually, which means little or no island exploring or "cruising". Delivery crews often face the worst weather, as they don't have the luxury of waiting for the right time to go. There's a budget for provisions, which means pretty basic meals. And there's a pretty much constant fear that you're going to be the one to break something on this boat that isn't yours or even a friend of yours. If it's a recently purchased boat, as Bubas is, chances are there won't be much on board in the way of spare parts or tools that tend to accumulate over the years. So, if something goes wrong it's pretty darn tricky if not impossible to fix. If it hasn't been sailed much recently, other sort of "standard-issue" stuff may not be on board either, like red interior lights for nighttime or jack lines for the deck.
If I'd have had my "druthers", I wouldn't be on a delivery, but as a beggar I couldn't be a chooser in Panama, so delivering Bubas is how this gal is getting across the Pacific, to Tahiti anyway.
Pacific CROSSED!
Arrived safe and sound in Rangiroa, French Polynesia yesterday. I have written blog posts along the way, so I'll go ahead and post them all now in reverse date order.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Google Earth Image
users to virtually go anywhere on the planet and see places in photographic
detail. This is not like any map you have ever seen. This is a 3D model of
the real world, based on real satellite images combined with maps, guides to
restaurants, hotels, entertainment, businesses and more. You can zoom from
space to street level instantly and then pan or jump from place to place,
city to city, even country to country.
Get Google Earth. Put the world in perspective.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
