Hanavave, Fatu Hiva 27 April 2010 10.4644S 138.6689W

There were many questions about life at sea before we left, most were veiled questions of our sanity, but one theme that stuck out as a big concern to our land lover friends, was the notion of community; how would we would survive the isolation of such a life, and especially how would our kids do without a school full of same age children to hang out with? It’s actually a repeat of one of the big concerns others have regarding our decision to homeschool the kids. What about socialization? No one seemed too worried that my own socialization for the past 15 years or so, consisted of spending more time with work colleagues and acquaintances, than with my own friends and family. And when the kids were in school, we were never asked about the notion of socializing them by placing them for seven hours a day in an arbitrary pool with 30 other kids, whose only commonality was age – and if we’d had more money (or if LA cost of living were lower), we could have put them in a private school, and added the commonalities of skin color and economic status. And yet, I don’t think anyone asking the question, “What about socialization” would consciously pick their own friends based on skin color, bank balance, age, or employment, although those end up being the biggest common factors in most of our relationships. Still, I think most of us feel honestly that we choose our friends based on common values not on those other four superficialities. With our nomad’s life now, I think I would add that even choosing friends based on common values could be limiting, there are an amazing array of values in other cultures that differ from our own, and yet which have their own validity – if you take a minute to think them through in a non-teleological fashion, examining why they arose, and what human issues they solve for a given individual, family or culture. Admittedly finding validity can be a stretch for this westerner when it comes to ritual cannibalism. Somehow it’s easier to swallow (sorry) in an historic context, than the reality of the last human consumed here in 1912 (officially, there are rumors of incidents as recent as 1950s, but those were officially “just” murders).

So what about socialization? I think it’s a good question, and one we should all be asking ourselves frequently. I have a feeling it’s a theme I may return to often, as our own notions of socialization get challenged daily, by the other local cultures we come in contact with, by the other cruisers each bringing their own culture bias along, and by our own beliefs being mirrored back to us as hypocrisy through the contrast with this wild mix of cultures. Our own values and judgments which seem so sound on the surface, sometimes fail in these new contexts, and I’m hoping that Frank, Logan, Kennan, and I all become better socialized as a result of exposure to these new contexts. Will that change the fact, that most of my closest friends are white middle income women within 10 years of my age, with whom I’ve worked or with whom I’ve sailed? Not likely and I’m not giving up a single one of you if I can help it, but I like a healthy mix, and I’m already seeing that this will be a time where we develop a broader spectrum, and where the kids will see and appreciate the amazing breadth that is possible in human relations.

Where we are anchored now is a great microcosm of an example of what I think the next couple of years will be like on the socialization front. there are 12-15 boats in the anchorage, 4-5 Americans, 3-4 French, 1 English, a couple Aussies, 1 Norwegian, 2 Italians, and 2 from Holland. 30-40 people in all, add the local village, which has a couple hundred people (600 on the whole island between two villages), and you have a diverse collection of folks. The boats range in size from minimally outfitted pocket cruisers to 60’ Swans with all the latest technologies. Some are Neptune’s neophytes, others have been cruising for 20 years and more. For some of the cruisers that come here, this is their first landfall, after more than 20 days from Mexico, Panama, or the Galapagos. For others, like us, it’s our first real taste of cruising the Marqueses. Fatu Hiva is the easternmost island in the archipelago, and everything will be downwind from here. Our stays here will vary only slightly – a few days, at most a few weeks. All of us would like to cram a hike to the “Cascade,” some fishing or snorkeling, and an authentic Thor Heyerdahl-like experience with the locals into that short time, and all the locals would like to squeeze a few francs and maybe a boat visit out of us before we leave. An additional separation between cruisers and locals emerges as the cruisers are all eager to get to know each other, since we’ll likely be crossing wakes many times in the months ahead; each nationality automatically reaches out to their own kind first.

We should have a leg up on the reaching out front, between Frank and I we have the Norwegians, the French and the Americans covered, (the English and the Aussies being a bit of a foreign culture for both of us, we’ve not made as much headway there, despite the common language), and with Frank’s experience with Polynesians, we can at least attempt to tread softly in their world, and avoid giving offense or getting a fleecing. But we tend to be on the shy side, I prefer to watch listen and then integrate but that’s not an efficient approach for short stays. You may be surprised to know that Frank is the outgoing one in our new life (or maybe not if you’ve been over to dinner and tried to get a word in edgewise;).

The lives of the locals look rich to us, with easy fishing and bountiful fruits; we look rich to them, with our large ships crammed with solar panels, wind generators, dinghies and kayaks. Seeking an honest moment, a common connection, a positive cultural exchange is hard. My own lesson in reaching out came from two American boats both with energetic young guys in their 20s. The first boat “Enchantress” had a group of three carefree young souls aboard, who found their way instantly to the hearts of the Fatu Hivans, arriving in the spirit of the Polynesian’s own ancestors – out of food, broken engine, playful and looking for fun – the common ground was instantaneous – the Polynesians place a high value on laughing, playing, and living life with reckless abandon. Another new friend of ours Eric on “Secret Agent Man” made a connection for us all with a Frisbee, and an open game of “ultimate”: cruisers and locals, young and old, girls and guys. In truth, I was not an active participant in this cultural exchange, I was busy writing you all; but Frank, Eric, Liz, two Norwegians and the kids came back beaming, with tales of an old Austrian guy doing cartwheels on the field, an old Marquesian high flying a young American, and a couple of young Marquisian women planning the moves to take the game. Those young guys, inspired my younger guys to plot their next cultural exchange – maybe a paper airplane building and flying contest? Can we make a mold of Eric’s Frisbee, and then make some onboard with epoxy to share at our next stop? Maybe we can get Marc to send us some Frisbees? I nixed most of Weaponmaster Kennan’s other ideas – after all we come in peace.

If socialization is really limited to socializing within your own society then the boys may end up feeling like outsiders. But at some level we all have moments of feeling like outsiders; maybe that’s a good thing and we all need to learn to better bring others inside with us. My socialization goals for my guys is that they end up being social adepts in multiple societies.

While I’ve been ruminating on on socialization, Frank had an American over to chat about places to see in the Tuamotus, invited 3 boats over for dinner, then he jumped into the dinghy to welcome a French catamaran that just anchored next to us. He’s the mentor for them. I guess I better go Be social too, or all my cultural exchanges will continue to be vicarious ones.

xoxomo

P.S. I did get a chance to post some pictures on our Picasa site before we left Hiva Oa. There should be two new albums visible if you go to http://picasaweb.google.com/margoreveil One for the 20 day crossing and one for a couple days on Hiva Oa (Well? how many pictures of that blue can one take?)

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Hanavave, Fatu Hiva 25 April 2010 10.4644S 138.6689W

Passage is one experience, the journey another. In passage it was easy to share a moment in a day and over the course of many similar days, I felt I was able to capture the moods aboard and bring you along. I’m thinking this may possibly be one of the most beautiful places on the planet that I’ve ever seen, and yet none of my pictures do it justice, and I’m worried that words will not paint this scene well for you either.

I’m sitting now in the salon, a rare quiet moment. Frank and the kids have gone ashore to play ultimate frisbee with other cruisers and locals. Only the night before last, we pulled up anchor from Atuona on Hiva Oa, and made way over here to Fatu Hiva. We’ve done hikes where we made more way vertical than horizontal. We’ve seen archaeological sites, and swum in freshwater pools below towering waterfalls. We’ve eaten a traditional meal with a family here. We’ve been to church and can still feel the resonance of the Marquesian catholic chants mixed with their harmonies. We’ve done all that and more in less than two days. It’s not that we’re rushing exactly, but maybe we are a little greedy for all that is here; especially after the quiet balance of passage, and then the busyness of entry and reprovisioning.

Our 3 months in French Polynesia are going to fly by. I can see how Gauguin and Jacques Brel, landed and stayed, each in their own way finding the ultimate challenge and the quintessential muse for their artistic expression. I could spend a lifetime describing just one aspect of this place for you, and still never quite capture the essence.

We’re anchored in more of an indentation than a cove, but it’s a deep V both in plan and in elevation. Our cove is lined with steep vertical dark lava and basalt cliffs, as always dripping with vegetation, wherever it can get a foothold. The vertical cliffs, as they march into shore, get higher and more dramatic, exploding through the greenery with big towering black Tiki shapes, which must have been the original Tiki inspiration. More tiki-like cliffs create vertical columns on either side of the village, and beyond you can see mountainous vertical cliffs in an amphitheater shape surrounding one of those sloppy green valleys. Some of the mountains beyond have deep cuts, and even holes through to blue sky beyond. The mountains seem to tickle the sky and catch every cloud in the vicinity squeezing rain out of the smallest puffs. Down where we are, the rain is rare, but you can see the dark clouds stop to laugh up their precious load for the highest walls of the amphitheater. The resulting lighting is equally dramatic. Horizontal sunbeams break through the clouds to spotlight mating tropic birds, with their bright white wings and tails vivid against the dark cloud, dark green and dark cliff backdrops. And the sunny patches race across the landscape turning dark green to bright green, with a time-lapse affect, they fly by so fast.

If you start with black, and move across the green spectrum to white, every shade of green can be found here. I could use some advice on photographing These Greens. In Baja, I always felt good about a day of photographing the clean lines of the shells, rocks and sand with neat highlights of green cactus. Here the lens just blends all These Greens, into a mushy boring green blend, capturing none of the subtle and not so subtle shifts in green yellow and black. And when the sun beams in at just the right angle, highlighting all the perfect spots, the lens just turns everything yellow. Bright colored flowers, look great with the green backdrop, but many are hidden in so much green, that only close-ups reveal their beauty. I guess that challenge, is why we revere Gauguin’s talents at capturing the lighting, colors and moods here.

Well, I’ll never paint like Gauguin, sing like Brel, or write like Steinbeck, but I’ll be happy if one phrase or sentence or image can transport you here with me for just a moment; I miss you all so.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean – Southern Hemisphere 19 April 2010 09.8031S 139.0306W

Apologies for leaving you at “We made it,” without even a little bit of description to bring you along. I knew once we arrived, we’d be consumed by the overwhelming amount of activities that come with an arrival in a new port. OK, overwhelming is relative, and most of you achieve more in a day than we’ve achieved in four (already!?); still compared to our passage days, it feels very busy here.

But first the arrival. There is something surreal, about the direct contrast between our last land sighting and this. Imagine Isla Clarion with it’s ancient rugged flowing plate tectonic red and yellow igneous rock cliffs, and it’s dry climate and spare vegetation – a few cactus, some dried yellow grasses, no other trees or greenery. Then picture 17 days of That Blue below with sky blue above – interrupted only by night’s dark seas with phosphorescence and dark skies with stars. Then imagine the essence of tropical paradise that all of you have tucked away – an island with high steep brand new (in the history of time new) jagged volcanic rock cliffs, dripping with tropical plants, the rainy weather weight of these plants destroying volcanic rock walls, sliding down vertical cliffs in giant mudslides to rest in lush sloppy valleys. All those plants are growing, flowering, dying, and composting at an accelerated rate in the heat and rain. There’s more rain here in a day than on Isla Clarion in a year (and they say there is a drought here now, an el Nino phenomena – only one rain shower in the evening every day, but too short, barely a refreshment). Those sweet smells of growth and rebirth carried far out to sea and the scents were more powerful than the first sights of land. Maybe because the very first sighting was just an impression of a giant jagged black mass darker even than the moonless pitch black early morning sky; while the smells sailed across that blackness, and screamed, “Tropical paradise here!” As the sun rose it lit up the black mass painting it deep lush green. That contrast: dry to humid, browns to greens, old to new, scent of sage to scent of plumeria, cool nights to hot nights – make it seem as if all our senses were flipped on end when we flipped hemispheres.

The initial impact was amazing, but very quickly on arriving all the busy-ness started. There’s the anchor to set, the dinghy to launch, desperate cravings for fresh fruits, vegetables (and of course cheeseburgers) to be appeased, paperwork and officials to deal with, a huge mess below to begin to tackle, a huge mess above to scrub, colonies of gooseneck barnacles on our bottom to dislodge, sleep to catch up on, new friends to meet (putting faces to those we’ve heard on the radio), school to start up again, and last but certainly not least, this incredible island to explore.

Dad, you’ll be thrilled to know that the boats that had arrived, who had tracked our progress through the net, were all sure we were a catamaran we’d advanced so quickly on the front pack. The southern trades were truly epic for Silver Lining.

Our radio email can’t make it past the high volcanic cliffs surrounding us, and free wifi has not arrived in the cafes here. There is a weak signal in the anchorage, but it’s slow and pricey. So after four days, I’m just now getting around to checking email, trying to find the good stuff in all the spam, which is especially frustrating when you’re paying for slow wifi by the minute – too bad there’s not some way to reverse the charges, back to the spammers! I’m not sure when we’ll manage to start posting some pictures, we may need to wait for a bigger town with better access. With all there is to do in a day on land, we’ll likely be back to our Baja schedule of postings (uh…almost weekly?). But know that we are happy and well.

Tomorrow, we’ll be renting a car to go visit Gauguin’s village where he painted many famous works, and some archaeological ruins, tikis and petroglyphs; and there will likely be some amazing views up higher than we can walk.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean – Southern Hemisphere 16 April 2010 09.8386S 138.989W

The sun just rose, we’re in the middle of a series of islands about to go into the port at Atuona on Hiva Oa. The cliffs are so high, around the port, that Frank says I may not be able to get an email out later today. So just a quick, “We made it!”

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean – Southern Hemisphere 15 April 2010 09.1385S 137.7574W

Before we arrive and I disappear into landfall life again for awhile, I wanted to share a few observations, tales and details that I just haven’t had time to write up.

That Blue has changed to a slightly lighter, greener, or turquoise color, at first I wasn’t sure, then I thought it was my own eyes, then Frank mentioned it looked lighter to him, and the kids confirmed. So we have agreement on board, That Blue is different.

For the past few days we’ve been starting to see little black Noddy terns (io pronounced eeh-oh in Tahitian), and the masked boobies are back.

The flying fish down here are giants, and we all keep mistaking them for birds. Their landings are no longer little splishes, but big kersplashes (giving the fishermen false hopes for a tuna school). I thought their tail acted as a rudder, but it looks like they use it not for steering, but to give themselves some extra acceleration when flying, they periodically brush the surface of the water with it, vibrating super fast, and they then catch more air. It’s a turbo tail. These guys can stay above water for huge distances. This morning we watched a boobie try to chase one down on the fly, it was close, but the flying fish won. He must have flown 300-400 yards.

I also did not mention that fishing has been good, but we have not done a whole lot of it. We’ve been running the refrigeration just enough to keep things cold, not frozen, so we have to eat whatever we catch within a couple days. So after a catch we take the lines out for a couple days. One 30 pound tuna can last a long time! Unfortunately, right now we’re going too fast for Mahi Mahi (Dorado) my personal favorite. Frank has some lines he made of 200# test tied to thicker nylon string which is wrapped around these heavy black rubber bungie things which soften the impact of the first strike. The lure is a large two pronged barbless hook with a colorful plastic squid skirt hiding it. When we catch something he or Logan just pulls in the fish by hand. We’ve used these same two setups for 15 years and caught lots of fish up to 30-40 pounds. Yesterday Logan let out a “Woah” and we heard a snap. Something very big hit, and it snapped the entire getup back at the rail where it was tied on. All that’s left is a little two inch segment of the chord, and a frayed end. Good thing we hadn’t attached it with cable, or it might have taken the whole radar arch. Frank of course has relevant fishing tales to go with every fishing event. Yesterday’s loss reminded him of the time he lost both of the wooden outriggers on a fishing boat to a school of 100 kilo Tuna hitting the multiple hooks on the outriggers at the same time. They then got out the rod and real and managed to catch just one 240 pound fish, it took them 2 hours (four guys taking turns) to wear it out enough to bring it on deck. Not very efficient fishing he said. So there are some leviathans out here still. I’d be happy with a little 4 meal sized Dorado, I’ll leave the Costco sized fish for boats with more refrigeration.

Winds had lightened up a bit today, so Frank raised the spinnaker. I thought we were going to ease up to time our arrival, but with the lightening winds, we don’t want to end up motoring tonight (and since when could Frank resist a chance to fly the spinnaker). So he’s up hand steering now, since the wind of course did not stay light. We have officially caught up with the front pack of the Pacific Puddle Jumpers fleet. We have our first boat in sight 4 miles ahead of us.

We expect to make landfall tomorrow morning early.

Happy Tax day! xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean – Southern Hemisphere 14 April 2010 07.4360S 135.5931W

Yet another very fast day, but the sailing is pretty easy, we hardly touch the lines. Silver Lining and Otto (pilot) do the lion’s share of the work (well not the dishes). All and all, I’m finding the long passage much like life with big highs and lows (in comparing notes with Cameron, it’s much like life with toddlers). Some of the highs: long periods of contemplative solitude, drawing house plans in the cockpit with the boys, scratching away at the string instruments with Logan(without having to worry about anyone overhearing), incredible night skies, discussing Scurvy the Rat’s adventures onboard, That Blue, writing you. Some of the lows: trying to unpeel eyelids glued together with sleep at midnight, trying to bake bread or wash dishes in the ever moving cabin drenched in sweat, having to go to bed when the party is getting started in the evening.

The first few days of the passage, the whole idea seemed whacked, the notion of keeping everyone happy and occupied for 20-40 days was overwhelming, and there was a feeling of urgency like we just needed to get there and fast. Then once you slip into the rhythm, everything starts to just feel right as it is – like time is going at just the right speed, and everyone seems to be balanced and happy with the state of affairs on board, and the boat seems to be behaving exactly as she should. Now as the boat has sped up, and we can see the TTG at 1-2 days I’m a mix of emotions; impatience is visiting me again, and I’m suddenly eager to get there, but there’s also that sense of not wanting to lose this. Gart’s metaphor of passage being like a good book that you can’t put down, but don’t want to end, is very apt.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean – Southern Hemisphere 13 April 2010 05.4366S 133.3218W

I just found out from Christina, that the map on my post describing the equator crossing, did not originally show in her browser. She had to go in and fix it, adding 00.0001 to get the map and our little marker to appear. Zero degrees, zero minutes does not exist for Google maps, so apparently there is no equator. I can understand The Google’s perspective, zero is in fact nothing, and the client is king, and since nobody wants to be a zero and everybody wants to be a one* – eradicating zero starting with the equator seems like a logical step. But this brings up so many questions! I wonder how much it had to pay for the equator before eliminating it? Did The Google foresee the impact on global climate change? What’s next? The dateline? The poles? Will we be computing with Gs and 1s instead of 0s and 1s?

So, I did not need to be worrying about slicing the line or pushing it down at all, since it has conveniently been removed for us. I guess Neptune’s ambassador is out of a job. But what kind of sacrifices would appease The Google? Probably not a single See’s candy. Sigh. We do not have access to a Google Ambassador on board; should we be sending the three bottles of rum the neophytes owe, to The Google? After all, since it is considered a citizen now by the U.S. supreme court, it should be allowed to consume alcohol. (Or maybe not since it’s not yet 21?) Does anyone know if it’s Mr. or Mrs. Google? Under 21 – maybe Master Google? Or just The Google? Does anyone have an address for The Google so we know where to send the rum. Or do we just mail the package C/O Topeka?

So many questions, so few answers!

The good news is The Google does not seem too perturbed with us. We continue to have great weather and fast days. 204 miles/day the day we crossed the equator, 196 miles/day yesterday, today we’re down to 186 miles/day since we lost our equatorial current (maybe due to the fact that the equator does not exist anymore). Still all record days for Silver Lining.

xoxomo

*Correspondents, I need to give due credit for the “nobody wants to be a zero, everybody wants to be a one” but I don’t have The Google here to help me find the originator. Was it Viktor Borga or George Carlin? or?

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Pacific Ocean – Southern Hemisphere 12 April 2010 03.3839S 130.9605W

Three new shellbacks entered the southern hemisphere yesterday. The neophytes were dowsed on the bow by Neptune’s ambassador, and welcomed to the better hemisphere, “where there’s more water than land.” There were no shaved heads, so each Neophyte owes Neptune’s ambassador a bottle of rum (according to Captain Cook). Still, Neptune seems to approve of our crossing – we’ve had continued strong southeast winds. Two days in a row now we’ve had two 200 mile days 8.5 knots average per day (measured noon to noon, point to point), I believe these are record days for Silver Lining’s 22 years on the water. The wind has been slightly forward of our beam and has gradually been moving aft coming more and more from the East. We did in fact find the thin spot in the ITCZ and are full into the southern trades. It looks like we’ll be arriving in les Marquises sometime Thursday afternoon or Friday morning. Frank’s educated decision to head south early was definitely the right one.

Silver Lining does deserve some serious credit. It doesn’t get much better than a schooner on a beam reach. The nice thing about a staysail schooner, is you can plaster the area above the boat with sail, There’s the jib, the staysail, the main, the fisherman (that upside down sail between the two masts), and with the wind perpendicular to the boat they are all working fully. If the wind comes up a little too much too fast, you take one of the sails down and she still rip roars along. None of the sails are big or cumbersome to work with, so even reefing the main (the largest sail on the boat – well not counting the spinnaker) is a pretty easy task. With all sails (but the spinnaker) up, and 15-20 knot winds, she doesn’t heal over too uncomfortably (especially compared to our last boat a 1968 Islander 37 – in similar conditions, Bille en Tete would give me the sensation that we’d soon be upside down). Silver Lining is amazingly comfortable in most seas, her movements are gentle and determined, and you get the sense that she’s attacking the waves not the other way around. She makes a great nest and we’re settling in very nicely with her. Even though she was designed for a sailing couple, she seems to have a very strong maternal side, and is caring for our polywogs nicely. I guess they’re really her grandkids too, since she’s watched them grow since birth.*

xoxomo

*Dad if you get time, I’m hoping you could scan and post some of your construction pictures so I can link them from our www.silverliningacademy.org website. We no longer have the album on board, and folks are curious about how you built her.

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Pacific Ocean 11 April 2010 00.000 127.2101W

In all my wildest imaginings of this moment, I never pictured a crossing on my dog watch howling along at 10 knots.

When I woke up late for my watch Frank had stepped on the gas (tightening the sails, probably thinking if they can sleep through it they’re comfortable), the GPS was showing our speed at a steady 10 knots, with spikes to 12 knots, nearly the 13 knot speed she’d attained at the famed Los Frailes entry 13 years ago. We have steady 15-20 knot winds, we’re on a broad reach and it actually is very comfortable on board. Frank went to bed with instructions not to wake him up for the crossing (he’s done this 5 times, so his priorities reflect that) – so I was on my own. As she approached the line, knowing that I was not going to be able to jump in and push the line down, I was worried Silver Lining would slice right through it allowing the northern hemisphere to flow into the southern hemisphere, wreaking who knows what havoc to global navigation. But in fact, she was just picking up speed to vault over the equatorial line. Moments before I saw a shooting star piercing the Southern Cross, in expectation. A brilliant leap it was.

The sky was full of stars above, some rapidly moving cloud cover on the horizon behind us, was making the rising red crescent moon look like it was rocking as the clouds exposed then covered one side then the other of the moon’s tips. It’s a beautiful night for a sail.

With such a spectacular performance on SL’s part, and the good omens from the sky; I’m hoping Neptune understands that it’s a sin to wake a sleeping teen, and his ceremonies will have to wait till morning. I did throw one Sea’s chocolate into the ocean for him. I thought that was a pretty significant sacrifice! And assuming he can’t spell See’s, I hope he will agree that it is an appropriate one too.

I guess we’ll be sharing mimosas with Neptune for breakfast in a few hours.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 10 April 2010 01.0836N 125.8408W

SE winds! I have to admit, the kids and I are a little disappointed. Yes the big dark columns of lightning rain, winds and calm worrried me; but I also had visions of lots of time between the clouds, bobbing about in a flat calm sea, diving in from the bow into the 78 degree water, swimming faster than the boat, trailing a toe in the water with barely a ripple, staring down into 2 miles of That Blue; you know the modern day doldrum experience, all along knowing that if it really did get dull you could crank up the engine and head on out. Frank says that’s the version guys present to wives and girlfriends, so the guys can spend 90% of the trip sailing in the trades. Guess I can’t ask for a refund on this voyage. Don’t get me wrong, the tradewind sailing is amazing (especially today), but just one afternoon of flat calm would have given me such great material to write about.

We definitely found the thin spot in the ITCZ (oh captain my captain!). We went from steady NE winds, to a night of steady rain, to yesterday’s beating against steady S/SW winds, working hard to keep a southern course so we could escape this dreaded ITCZ. But so far the only rain was gentle and the only becalming so far was last night during my dog watch; the wind died down to 5 knots, and I motored along for 4 hours. Marc, I did take some time to sit on the bow and watch the fireworks (bright flashes of phosphorescence, as the fish startle at our oncoming bow). Then after my watch the wind picked up from the SE. I woke up because I had slid to the bottom of the bed. Frank had us on a close reach; by 9 am, we were flying along at 9 knots – our TTG (time to goal) read 4.5 days! Our course is currently a straight rum line to Hiva-oa (the island we will check in at in the Marqueses). We eased the sails a bit, for a more comfortable angle inside the boat, so we’re down to 7-8 knots, or 5-6 days TTG (sorry to all you racers out there, but this is after all a house boat, comfort first). There are boats west of us who have been stuck in the ITCZ for a week now. But we have not crossed yet, and the ITCZ is known to be a fickle wind, I may yet get my afternoon off. I have to watch what I wish for, I’ve been wishing so hard for an easy time in the ITCZ, now I have to wish for a little ITCZ-like weather, but I need to be careful to fine tune my wishing, since it seems to be working a little too well. I probably owe some of that success to all of you who having been sending us such strong wishes for fair winds. OK now, don’t everyone at once wish an authentic ITCZ experience for us, but if just a few of you would, we’ll see if we can get it calm enough to jump in the water from the bow and push down the equatorial line so we can sail over sometime tomorrow.

I slept in yesterday and Frank listened in on the radio “net” for me – and volunteered me for the Sat. net controller slot, so now I have to get up early on Saturdays to run the net. Teach me to sleep in! It’s actually fun to watch everyone’s progress, eaves-drop on conversations (kind of like the old telephone party lines) and meet new people, remotely anyway. So I am looking forward to the task. Frank says I need to go easy on the roger-thats though”. Roger that – (probably just jealous, he’d likely prefer that I overuse “Frankly.”) I’m off to do the evening net now.

xoxomo

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