The South Pacific

The Crossing

We really enjoyed Mexico and it was an emotional thing to tear ourselves away, but after two seasons cruising the Pacific coast, plus a summer in the Sea of Cortez, it was time to move on. We were particularly looking forward to getting into the trade winds for some really good sailing, and that's exactly what we got. Over 2,900 miles between Zihuatanejo and the Marquesas, we motored only about 120 miles, and we made the trip in just under 22 days. Now, sitting here in New Zealand writing this, I can honestly say that that passage was one of the big highlights of our three years of cruising. Though we had already covered many ocean miles, it was on this passage that Sujata and I discovered how much we love being at sea. The exhileration of sailing, the strategizing, the fishing, the sea life, the feeling of absolute independence, and the intangible but palpable energy that emanates from that pure marine environment make ocean passages are favorite part of cruising. When we're out there is when we really feel the return for all our hard work, when we really know why we've done it.

Below are some log entries from that passage:

April 8, 2004 -- Getting out there

Greetings from, uh, 14 degrees 44 minutes North, 113 degrees 02 minutes West! In other words, in the middle of the Pacific. We're six days into our Pacific crossing to French Polynesia -- day 6, and at least 15 more to go!

We're very pleased to have had good sailing winds since we left Zihuatanejo -- well, winds, anyway, and we won't complain that they've often been "on the nose". We've burned almost no diesel at all, except for that used by the generator once a day to keep our fridge cool and our ice frozen, etc. We were expecting to have to motor a couple hundred miles out from Zihuatanejo to get wind, but we were met by 20 knots from the West almost as soon as we left Zihua. We tacked south until the wind veered to the NW; ever since, we've mostly been making westing, and just a little southing. We don't want to get too far south -- the winds are lighter as you go south of 15 degrees North, and we want our good honking trades!

So we've been beating into the wind and rolling and bouncing, thinking we'd hit the NE tradewinds around 110 degrees West, but when we got there yesterday afternoon, what we found was a big stinking tropical disturbance, with clockwise-veering strong winds and tons and tons of rain. Wow, did it rain! We could see about 100 feet in front of the boat. We had winds about 30 knots, but nothing major. Just annoying, because then, late in the evening, the wind completely died. We managed to keep the boat moving by pointing down the swell and just moving with the swell -- we managed 3.5 knots all night like that! This morning Sujata wakes me up from my long three-hour sleep (we each get two three-hour sessions per night, alternating), and we're skipping along at 7 knots again, with true tradewinds behind us. Beautiful! We've been waiting to see those fabled tradewind cloud puffs in the sky (we call them Simpsons clouds), and those whitecapped swells rolling along. Very nice sailing, and fast.

After the past 5 days basically pounding into the weather, this surfing down 6-foot swells feels like sitting at anchor! I wouldn't say we've had rough weather, but it's been pretty bouncy at times. Some things we thought were stowed well and secure, we discovered otherwise, usually with a bang and a scramble. One night an entire cabinet-load of canned goods came bursting out of a "secured" cabinet when the boat took a deep roll down a swell -- right on top of Sujata (who was sleeping soundly dreaming of, probably, tradewinds).

Other tidbits from our day-to-day existence:

A substantial daily harvest of flying fish on deck. Joshua Slocum would eat them for breakfast. But since we have a freezer full of fresh ahi tuna, we just toss the poor buggers back into the sea.

Blood on the Wind Vane. No, it's not a Bob Dylan album title. Carnage from the yellowfin tuna landing sprayed, as usual, everywhere. We were sailing about 8 knots when we caught him, in a big swell, and he and I ended up wrestling on the aft deck, me wielding a knife and cheap tequila, which I poured into his gills to "calm him down". I had to filet him on the aft deck, too, with the boat rolling gunnel to gunnel and winds at 20 knots, the fish slipping and sliding all over the place. Worth it, though -- yum!

Tuna, tuna, tuna. There are big yellowfin tuna swimming all around the boat out here. Sujata keeps saying "we have to eat the one we've got before you catch more!" But, but, that's not fair! Well, I suppose it is. That tuna brought 15 pounds of meat. We're eating lots of fresh tuna. I'm eating it for breakfast so Sujata will let me go catch more.

The windvane -- we've named him Newton. We're not sure why -- it's just something about him that wants that name. It took several days of watching him work for the name to emerge, but when it did, last night after the squalls, we both agreed it was the right name. Anyway, Newton has been doing a great job, and we're so glad we went to the trouble to install this piece of equipment (it was the bane of my existence for two weeks while I installed him in Zihuatanejo -- now is the payback). Newton steers the boat as well as the autopilot in most conditions, and uses no power -- just that of the wind and water. We love our autopilot, but it chows the juice. Newton is very polite, always bowing, and at least in that regard he has absolutely nothing in common with our very good friend Newton Emerson.

Underwater epoxy: I'm a big lover of epoxy, and now it's just getting out of control. Today I used some underwater, fast-cure epoxy to fix a small leak on an exhaust hose. Absolutely brilliant! Get some, if you're anywhere near water.

OK, gotta go start making dinner. Guess what it will be? That's right, tuna!

April 10 -- Screaming along!

We're about 900 miles out. Now this is sailing! We've got full-strength tradewinds now, blowing 20 to 25 since yesterday morning, and we're surfing down the 8-foot swells at 9 knots. We're having a great time, making great time. Also, Sujata has agreed to let me fish again, since we've eaten about 3/4 of the first yellowfin tuna. That's about all the news from here. We'll write again tomorrow.

April 11 -- Gone light ...

Well, we're about half-way to the Marquesas. Things are going fine, though the winds have gone really light, so we've slowed down a lot. We're flying the spinnaker by day, poled-out jib and mainsail by night. We've done quite well up to now -- evidenced by the fact that we've caught up to a group of boats that left two days before us from Puerto Vallarta, which is closer to where we are than Zihuatanejo (I know that doesn't sound logical, since Zihua is further south, but it's actually about 250 miles further east than PV, which is one of the reasons why most boats leave from PV and not Zihua). We're now starting to pass them, though slowly. Yesterday, we came within 12 miles (that's really close when you're out here in the middle of the ocean!) of some friends of ours who had left from PV -- Michael and Mary on Danseuse de la Mer. Small world. But it's still a big ocean.

Yes, we're still eating that tuna. Good thing it's so tasty! But I started fishing again.

Current sailing strategy is we're shooting for a waypoint at 7 degrees north, 130 degrees west. Around there, we'll turn due south to cross the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone -- better known as the Doldrums. Right now, the Doldrums extend between about 7 north and 5 north, at longitude 130 west. So they're about 100 miles wide at the moment, which is not bad at all. Of course, things change quickly and by the time we get there Saturday, it could be a whole different scenario. South of 5 degrees north, we should have south-south-east tradewinds, all the way to the Marquesas.

April 12 -- Clean fish kill strategy ...

Yep, we're still out here! REALLY out here. We got our wind back last night, thankfully, and we're making decent time again. Yesterday we had quite a tiring day, actually. It started with the reel whining that it had a fish on -- a beautiful yellowfin tuna (another). While I was reeling that one in, Sujata grabbed the hand line -- fish on! Two yellowfins at once! Now, I've never been in this situation before, but we were in the enviable position of comparing the two fish side by side and choosing which one we would take. We took the slightly larger of the two, and once we had successfully landed him, let the other one go.

I'm happy to report that we employed our new fish landing method to perfection, and had not a drop of blood on deck with this one. Sujata rigged a noose line, so after gaffing the fish, I hold it up while she slips the noose around the tail. Then, floop!, we flip the fish over, upside down, still over the side of the boat. Then I pour some of our cheapest tequila in the gills, which knocks 'em right out. Quick, painless and bloodless.

After the filleting procedure, we decided we had to get the boat moving faster, so we launched our huge spinnaker again (which first required taking down the jib on the whisker pole, the rather substantial pole rig, and the mainsail). The spinnaker got us moving OK in the light breeze, but it was walking all over the place, swinging out in front of the boat, with not much wind to keep it full, and with the swell rolling the boat quite a bit. Still, we sailed like this all day, and then, just as I was preparing to pull it down for the evening (we wouldn't leave that huge sail up at night -- if we got hit by a sudden squall, it would be ugly!), I heard a "pop!", and suddenly we had 750 square feet of spinnaker in the water. Ouch! We managed to wrestle the thing back aboard and get it into its sock and its bag, and fortunately there was no damage to the sail. But it took us about an hour and a half to do it. The proof was in the pudding, so to speak: the frayed end of the spinnaker halyard was still attached to the top of the sail. It had chafed clean through. Bummer. No more spinnaker on this trip, unless I get the uncontrollable urge to go up the mast in six-foot swells (extremely unlikely).

Then we needed to get sail up again, so we rigged the poled-out jib for a port tack, as we thought we'd do some "south-ing" over night. That done, we prepared dinner, and just before sitting down to eat, the wind shifted about 30 degrees more to the north, so we concluded that we'd better get back on starboard tack. Ugh! Take down the jib, the pole, put it back up on the other side. Another 45 minutes working on deck. Just to illustrate our lack of boredom on this trip -- we're working hard!

Finally we were able to sit down to our long-awaited meal -- at about 8:30 (we normally eat dinner around 6, before it gets dark). The payoff was good, however. Fresh ahi tuna sashimi, and plenty of it. Exquisite! So glad we bought that wasabi before we left La Paz last fall.

That was yesterday. Today we resigned to taking it easy. No sail changes, no fishing. Just content with a good 15-knot breeze blowing us toward the Marquesas.

April 16 -- Diving South

Well, we're making good time again, after a couple of days of fairly light winds. We're now "diving south" to the equator, where we'll find, hopefully, easterly breezes to take us to the Marquesas. We're about 1000 miles from the Marquesas now, 2/3 of the way there. We had one night of really squally stuff, tons of rain and gusty winds. Then last night was great -- 20 knots of wind, big seas to surf down, good sailing. Believe it or not, we each sleep better when the boat is sailing fast, even if you can barely stand up inside the boat. The motion's better, I guess, or maybe it's just the comfort of forward motion.

Not much else here. We're still sailing with the jib poled out to windward. Lost the use of the spinnaker for this trip -- I think I mentioned that earlier. But no big deal, unless things get really light in the ITCZ.

OK, time to shake out the reef in the mainsail and move a little faster. We'll talk to y'all later.

April 17 -- The opposite of fear ...

Friend of mine sent an e-mail asking if there is an "opposite of fear". Here's my 3 a.m. response, amidst the squally weather ...

I was thinking about your question the other night as we pounded through squall after squall. When the rain quit I wrote down my observations -- a bit squirrely but here you have it.

Fear has no opposite -- it exists in a vacuum until displaced by some stronger, more palpable emotion. Fear can be disintegrated by love, confidence, pride -- and one could not say that fear has been falsely displaced, swept under the rug.

Fear serves several functions, most of them pernicious. It is best employed by others against others. Individually, we are much better served by instinct, practicality and knowledge.

Fear is a bit like target blips on my radar screen. All can represent fear, but some are actual targets, and some are ghosts. By knowing how to read the radar blips, we can parse the actual from the ghosts. The ghosts then cease to represent fear; the actual either become objects of fear, or of action. If we know what action to take regarding those objects -- or at least can decide on a course of action -- once again, fear disintegrates.

Fear doesn't prevent us from taking unwise action -- it only prevents us from living.

Fear has no opposite, and that proves its inconstancy. But because of its inconstancy, its lack of definition, it can be easily placed, planted and manipulated by others. Nebulous fear. Ambiguity is fear's vehicle. Pare it down to find the core of fear, and you just keep peeling; you find nothing. And nothing has no opposite.

Religion provides no opposite. Quite the opposite! Religion codifies fear, lends it the complexity it needs to endure. Names, faces, historical events; rules, taboos, a private vernacular. Religion takes nebulous fear and makes it palpable, personal, and readily portable. Religion contains a lexicon of code words that conjure specific, customized fears; that concoct a web of disparate fears so complex it resists disintegration. Religion necessarily, fundamentally resists those things -- knowledge, instinct, love, practicality -- and it seems to employ fear for the purpose.

OK, back to sailing.

April 18 -- Squally, squally night

Well, we've been struggling through squalls for the past couple of days. You can see them on the radar coming for you, a big black mass. They pack a whole lot of rain and sudden gusts to 35 or so, which is completely manageable -- it's just that the rain comes straight into the cockpit and down the companionway, since they come up from behind. We've been wearing our foulies! And, of course, they're much more frequent and stronger at night. Woo-ee!

But last night, after getting pelted about 15 times, we punched through the ITCZ and suddenly the winds shifted to the East. This morning we're pouncing along at 7.5 knots in a beautiful breeze on a beam reach, heading straight for the Marquesas -- only 960 miles to go! We're about 240 miles from the equator -- should be there Tuesday morning.

The fish has finally been consumed (we caught two more yellowfins a few days ago -- threw one back), so the lures are back in the water. Who knows what sort of pelagic delicacies await! Far from eating out of cans, we've been eating like kings. You would not believe the quality of that yellowfin tuna. We've never had anything that good even in the sushi places in San Francisco.

Had a couple of gear issues, but nothing too major. Yesterday we looked up at the mainsail to see one of the battens (about 18 feet of fiberglas rod) sliding steadily out of the sail, out over the water. Yipes! It took quite some acrobatics (perhaps not so graceful, however) to wrangle it. I had to drill a hole in the end and put a line through to secure it. Don't know why it suddenly decided to take a walk. Also, the sunbrella protective covering on the foot of the jib has steadily been stripping out. The jib has taken a beating, up there on the pole for many days, with a fair bit of flapping in the light stuff. And then there was the spinnaker halyard. Most definitely, chafe is a big factor. Just like with babies.

April 21 -- Meet me at the Equator

We crossed the equator yesterday, at about longitude 133 00 degrees West, earning us the fine distinction of shellbacks (those who have not crossed the equator are pollywogs ...). We celebrated with a swim in the equatorial waters (warm and clear!), and toasted Neptune (with champagne) and Vishnu (with milk).

I think all the sea gods are happy now. We've had a slow time of it in the doldrums the past few days, dodging some nasty squalls in between, but finally got some steady wind this morning. Only 550 miles to the Marquesas!

The equator: We actually met someone there! Of course, there really is no "there" there. But MagMell, an Endeavor 37 on its way to the Marquesas, was "there" -- the loaf of freshly baked bread they threw us can vouch for it. Actually, we had been in VHF radio contact with Ed and Melissa for the past couple of days, so we knew where they'd be. After a swim, a champagne and a ceremonial cigar, we went and circled MagMell and had as much of a chat as one can have heaving over rolling swells and maintaining safe distance.

That's about it. We're looking forward to strong southerly tradewinds filling in today and tomorrow so we can get cooking on down there.

 

April 22 -- Beating to the Marquesas?

Well, looks like we've got 400 miles to go. Don't want to speculate too much, but that means we could be in Hiva Oa on Sunday -- if this wind keeps up. We finally have a good wind again -- we're beating into it ("beating to the Marquesas" has got to be a new phrase!), but we're making good time. Lots of water on deck, but the wind should back to the east soon, which should mellow it out a bit. Anyway, everything's fine, but now we can safely say we're ready to make landfall!

April 25 -- Land Ho!

Woohoo! We saw land as the sun came up this morning, after a night of trying to keep boat speed to a minimum to avoid getting too close during dark hours. Hiva Oa rose from the sea 10 miles in front of us, its cliffs sweeping green against the sky. What a sight! 22 days at sea, a great passage time, and ready to make land, but ...

We sailed on past Hiva Oa, since heavy squalls were soaking the entrance to Atuona Bay and we heard bad things about the state of the anchorage. We shot through Canal du Bordelais, between Hiva Oa and Tahuata islands, on a series of rain squalls, and rounded the corner to find little Hanamoenoa Bay. As we approached, a few miles off, the rain lifted and we smelled flowers -- rich and full! Amazing. This little bay is only about 1/4 mile wide, with a white sand beach at its head and towering spires of green rising 1,000 feet in the air. It's just stunning. Absolutely nothing in this bay but green, crystal turquoise water and a few clusters of palm trees.

I have to say it feels awfully strange to have sailed 3,000 miles across the Pacific -- and here we are! We had such a great time, and the boat sailed like a dream. We've been here for six hours already, and neither of us is itching to go ashore. Call us crazy.

We're going to do some heavy sleeping, and then we'll be back in touch.

Greg and Sujata

Tahuata, Marquesas -- 09 degrees 54 minutes South, 139 degrees 06 minutes West