Pacific Ocean 8 April 2010 02.3092N 124.3091W

We had a pet boobie bird for 3 days and she’s left us. We had grown pretty attached to her. She camped out on the solar panel up on the radar arch, and was not afraid when we’d go back there to check fishing lines. Frank even tried to feed her some skipjack, but she seemed to prefer fresher fare – flying fish on the fly. I think she heard us talking about the need for Neptune sacrifices for our upcoming equator crossing, and she chickened out. She will be missed.

Last night was a wet night with mostly steady SE winds. But it was a steady wet, we’ve not yet seen the expected dark columns of gushing rain and chaotic winds. Today we had SW winds all day – a reasonable 10-15 knots, but still we’re beating upwind to cross the ITCZ. It’s too early to tell if we’re in the thin spot, but it’s looking very promising. We can almost taste the SE trades.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 8 April 2010 03.8729N 123.4695W

After another full day of trades, right at sunset, we saw a big raincloud ahead. The wind had calmed a bit and Frank had a sudden inspiration to jump in and check the prop – figuring that it would be a long night if we didn’t have a motor assist for the calm moments in the middle of doldrums. We took all sails down, hung a line off the back, and the captain abandoned ship. After less than a minute, Good News! Whatever had been there worked itself off after 8 days of 15-20 knot winds. Frank and I are cracking up right now, it may have been Silver Lining’s joke on us – the log says “April 1, prop fouled.” So she had us going for a week, enjoying the trades all decked out in a full suit of sails; she showed that stinky engine who’s boss.

I flashed today on the scene in the Princess Bride, where they’re partway through the swamp, and she’s scared, and he’s telling her, that everything’s under control, they listen for the sound and they know the flames are coming. She asks, “But what about the ROUSs.” His response is, “You mean the Rodents Of Unusual Size? Probably just a myth,” and there’s one right behind them. Each fear out here, I’ve managed to conquer by understanding a little better what’s going on, I was pretty nervous about him jumping over the side in fairly choppy seas, with 20 tons of steel bobbing overhead, but it was quick, easy no problem.

Me: “But Frank what about those ROUSs?” Frank: “Rainclouds of unusual size? They’re over-exaggerated.”

And the rain’s a coming down!

We had a truly unusual sunset. It was strange, we were in the middle of that dark blue-gray raincloud, and suddenly the entire sky turned brown/tan. Logan’s comment was that it looked like we’d sailed into an old sepia movie. After about 10 minutes, the color receded to one corner of the sky, then disappeared leaving us in darkness.

The kids enjoyed a cockpit “jacuzzi” this afternoon. It’s really hot, so we blocked the drains and filled the cockpit with water.

Last night we had a rare moment. We’ve had lots of high cloud cover even at night, but last night the night sky revealed herself to us in full dome, horizon to horizon, just in time to witness both the North Star and the Southern Cross in the sky at the same time.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 7 April 2010 06.3604N 123.8661W

This entry is mostly for my landlover friends. Those of you who have been cruising, bear with me; for you much of this will seem elementary. Landlovers can bear with me too; big sailing adventures have long moments with little excitement. The maxim “a little bit every day get’s you to your goal” holds true out here as well.

How do we pass the time? Well for starters everything takes longer. You set your expectations low for each day, and go with the flow; some would say I’ve had years of practice at that. My own schedule right now is driven by my midnight to 4 a.m. watch. Gart says it’s the “dog watch” and that it usually goes to the second mate. But Logan is dead to the world at that hour; his teenage brain reconstructing itself at a pace faster than during his first year of life – according to researchers. This time slot actually works pretty well for me. I’ve always had a built in low spot in my day between 5 p.m. and 8 p.m., and if I can get myself in bed within that bracket, I can usually fall asleep right away for 3-4 hours. Also, I often wake up between midnight and 2 a.m., it seems to be a light spot in my sleep cycle, so being awake in that zone seems to work as well. The watch can be a really special time or a really painful time depending on how tired I am, but it is my own time, not something I’ve really had for 14 years. So if the hours start to feel like they’ve slowed down too much and my watch will never end, I remind myself that this is time to be cherished, and I think of Cameron and Marc and Gart with their toddlers and little guys; and how they’d probably trade spots with me in a second, just to have one block of 4 hours that was theirs alone to control. I remember those early days only too well, so it’s an easy target. Everything is relative, if I don’t like my current situation I try to change what I’m relating it to, it works sometimes. Fatigue makes me myopic though and if I’m tired, I can’t see much beyond that exhaustion.

By the time my watch is over, I’m really ready to sleep, and I crash hard but short. For some reason in that second sleep time slot, I wake up after 40 minutes feeling like I’ve been sleeping for 12 hours, then falling asleep again for another 40 minutes. After 7 a.m. I can’t fall back asleep, so the day starts: Make tea, eat breakfast, listen to the PPJ net, log the positions of the other boats, start the bread rising (Barry, it’s so warm here, I can start it in the morning and cook it that same night!), and catch up with Frank. You’d be surprised how much there is to catch up on when you’re on somewhat opposite sleep schedules. Then Frank takes a morning nap 3-4 hours. The kids help during the day with watches, so if there are tasks and projects keeping me and/or Frank below, they keep an eye on things. I usually make lunch and Frank dinner. Breakfast is a free-for-all. Dishes have to be done right away. Otherwise, you risk a big mess. If a rogue wave comes along, it will send things in the galley flying. The boat is moving enough that all these tasks require extra time and an a 3 point support (two feet and one hand, or two feet with your back braced on a counter, or one foot one hand and your butt). And many of the things you’re working with require the constant presence of at least one hand (so for example if you pour a glass of milk, you can’t set it on the counter to put the milk carton back). All the activities around each meal take about 2 hours. I’ve noticed in myself and the boys that low blood sugar, makes us feel a little queasy, even though our sea legs are pretty solid by now (hmmm, solid sealegs?). It seems odd that not having food, makes you not want food, but I swear it’s so for us; and that’s a vicious cycle to be avoided. So meals and snacks are critical. After lunch I try to take a nap, sometimes I succeed, if I don’t I at least aim for deep relaxation. Basically after that nap it’s time for bread baking, the evening PPJ net while Frank naps then dinner. In between eating and sleeping, there’s lots of reading and writing for me, lots of reading and inventing for the kids, lots of reading and path planning for Frank. It is our tradewind schedule though, an ITCZ day will likely look quite different.

What about School? We’ve declared a spring break. A lot of kid boats take advantage of crossings to crank out the schoolwork so they have more time ashore, but I realized early on that if I haven’t slept, I am an unbearably disruptive presence in the classroom. And while they can do some things independently, they still need a lot of attention. In homeschooling, it’s already difficult to keep coaxing and encouraging from turning into nagging and badgering. Without rested teachers, the results would be an embarrassment to this academy. We made good progress in Baja often working 7 days a week (…a little bit every day…), so we’re about a month ahead anyway.

What about exercise? This kind of cruising-sailing does not exactly provide a rigorous cardio workout (well, not till we get to those squalls), but some muscles are in use all the time, even when sitting. I’ll admit we’re all turning into cockpit potatoes, but I make the kids do some calisthenics from the cockpit. One activity they invented yesterday was cockpit twister (each would call out a port or starboard item in the cockpit and a left or right body part on the other). It’s not yet an Olympic sport, but I think it has potential.

This may be way more detail than you cared to read, but maybe it gives some picture of our daily life. An adventure has many of the same mundane tasks that you experience on land; they just take more effort and more time. There is something freeing though in letting wind and weather be our project manager. They set the tasks and schedule. Our primary responsibilities are to stay rested, stay fed, and stay on the boat. We have to pursue those 3 with religious fervor; everything else is subordinate.

We had some rain again last night, but today is another gorgeous day with the Trades. Our noon rate was 163 NM in 24 hours mostly sunny steady winds. It’s officially hot, and we’re officially half way there if we’re measuring in miles. But the ITCZ is coming up in one to two degrees, the barometer just dropped a bit quickly, the distance between our markers in the “maproom” may start to get very close together. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, it will mean our hands are full. I wonder what the origin of the word doldrums is; it resonates so (dull drums? humdrum?) – correspondents?

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 6 April 2010 08.4303N 123.6418W

We have good wind 15-20 knots still out of the NE, and it’s starting to turn more and more from the east. The dark cloud I mentioned yesterday seemed to clone itself during the night; there were lots more of them, and some actually released water on deck. But still no sign of the squalls we should be seeing around Latitude 5 degrees. The 100% cloud cover of this morning has lifted, and we’re now in a blue sky zone. With the steady 15-20 knot winds, and the sunshine at just the right angle, the water is dazzling with millions of little sparkles. We have not seen another boat since Isla Clarion, not even on AIS (our onboard system that tracks big cargo ships through the VHF). According to Frank, what you see as the horizon is about 15 miles away, so a cargo ship going 20 knots, can arrive at your position faster than you’d believe. With AIS not only can we see big ships 100s of miles away, but you also see their course, speed, destination, and if you’re interested, whether or not their cargo is hazardous. But since Isla Clarion, we’ve not even seen anything on AIS. When you haven’t seen a thing in days, it’s a challenge to stay on your toes and do your 360 degree visual scan of the horizon every 15 minutes.

There is a group of at least 20 sailboats out here headed for the Marqueses. The closest is about 400 nautical miles away right now (imagine no one between L.A. and S.F.) This group of “Pacific Puddle Jumpers” are loosely organized by a good sailing rag out of S.F. (“Latitude 38”). They have a radio network twice a day where anyone can check-in and “pass traffic” (chit chat with each other – many of the boats know each other from forums, or from meetings at various popular departure points). We just started listening in and participating in their check-in. We now know that there are at least 3 other boats out there with kids on board, so new friendships will likely be blossoming in the months ahead. And more importantly we can now track position and weather for all the other boats. Now that we have others by which to compare our progress – the race is on! There’s a good-sized cluster of boats ahead of us, and a good sized cluster behind us. Funny how the stakes for every decision are higher when there’s another human by which to compare. Now that we can see we’re the only boat to have “turned south early” the suspense of wondering if that was the right decision is higher. Many of the others appear to be heading to where the ITCZ is usually thinner and easier to cross (west of here), but currently looks a little fat to Frank’s eye. He’s been watching an easterly narrow spot in the ITCZ for days now, and while the cells do keep flowing east to west, this “thin” area just keeps reappearing in about the same spot; and a big fat cell keeps appearing between us and those other boats, and moving toward them. This morning on the radio a number of boats in the forward westward pack sounded like they were not enjoying their conditions at all, and the lines we’ve placed on our chart for each boat with a dot for each day, went from being long to very short. One poor soul was saying he’d had a 36 mile day ugh. Today we had one of our own best noon to noon rate at 156 miles for the day (average 6.5 knots/hour). Suspense is relative though. We won’t actually know if we’ve made the right decision for another week or so. If it was the right decision it could cut about 2 days off our trip (so instead of 20-40 days, we may be able to say 18-38). Not only does crossing at a narrow spot shorten your time in the doldrums, it also puts us at an even better downwind angle for the final leg through the southern trades to the Marqueses.

We humans are strange, one minute we’re all excited about getting ahead of the other guy leaving him in the dust “see ya”, but if we look back and see he’s fallen, we stop everything to go save the day. Or if he asks for advice we become super helpful. That shift from enemy to friend can happen so quickly. In Ben Franklin’s diary (required reading this month in Silver Lining Academy), he talks about befriending a rival who had spoken against his re-appointment as clerk of the General Assembly. Later, Ben heard that this gentleman had a special rare book in his library. He asked to borrow it, kept it for a week, then returned it – effusive in his thanks, and ever after he and the gentleman were best of friends. His maxim for this was:

“He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do you another, than he whom you yourself have obliged.

Pretty big schemer that Ben.

Well if we do arrive all smug about our great timing, I guess (if I want to make any new friends), I better find some good excuses to ask for help when we get to La Baie des Traitres. If it was the wrong decision, we’ll join them on the beach when we arrive and commiserate over a Mai Tai. Either way, I’m looking forward to the new friendships ahead. And really missing all of you we’ve left behind. Yes, it’s a little ironic that 10 days of That Blue and no people (other than our little family unit), get’s me thinking a lot about people.

Thinking of you, xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 5 April 2010 11.5863N 122.0144W

We’ve turned south now. I’ll give some weather 101 background for those unfamiliar with winds at sea between the tropics. In the northern hemisphere at sea level, there’s a belt of steady northeast winds, with a matching belt of southeast winds in the southern hemisphere (a.k.a. Tradewinds or Trades or Alizees in French). Those winds collect moisture from the ocean, and when they reach the hot equator, they dump some of their moisture before turning straight up into the sky creating a relative calm at the earth’s surface (but sometimes a squally, wet calm). The dumping ground is called the ITCZ (inter tropical convergence zone a.k.a. the doldrums, or the sailor’s affectionate “equatorial embarrassment” where even skilled sailors are humbled). The dreaded doldrums are actually about 5 degrees north of the equator here, since the southern Trades are stronger than the northern. That dumping ground get’s these cells of low pressure (with rain). The cells generally flow on an east to west track like bunnies on a shooting gallery belt. Another mental model, if you’ve done any kayaking or canoeing, are the eddies and whirlpools that you see at the sides of a river where the current and counter current meet (only upside down and backwards). So the goal is to shoot the gauntlet BETWEEN these cells (I’ve never been one for shooting bunnies anyway). When we get to the other side, the wind should be southeast, directly on our beam, a beautiful point of sail on our boat, pure joy, and it’s all downhill to the Marqueses from there.

With that background, and looking at our path you may see that since our departure, we had about 3-4 days of weather driven by northern pacific and coastal conditions (some north, some calm) before catching these Trades. For the past 5-6 days the Trades have steadily pushed our boat southwest, with the NE winds coming about 45 degrees off our stern. As we gradually approach the dumping ground (ITCZ is approx. 500 miles from us now), we’re faced with the decision of where to turn due south to avoid the largest of these cells – although we will get some rain one way or another (otherwise the tropics wouldn’t be…well tropical). According to Frank generally the best place to cross is a little farther west of our current position, but our forecasts are showing an opening between big cells, due south of us in a couple days, so we’ve turned south early, to run this gauntlet. As a result the weather is feeling moister and warmer by the hour. And look at that latitude number drop!

After my own review lesson of all this with Frank last night, I was feeling extra on my toes looking for these infamous squall cells. When they come you need to be ready to take in sail, presenting them with less surface to push you around. When I first came up on watch at midnight, the sky was dark with millions of stars, there was a big even darker low cloud to the east of us, with what looked like an eerie brighter white light below (rain?). Wind was 15-18 knots, so blowing pretty good and the cloud was coming on fast. The wind started to shift more to our beam than our stern (this has the effect of causing the boat to heal over more. Normally this is no big deal, you head off the wind (turning so the wind stays at that 45 degree angle from your stern), but keep in mind that we’ve barely touched the sails or the helm in 5 days, so steady are these trades. But, you know that feeling you get when you’ve been driving for hours on the straight roads of Nevada, and as you approach the mountains that first turn is completely disorienting? For a moment you have that sensation of wonder, “Do I still know how to turn?” or “Will the steering wheel still work?” So here we are after days on the plains, moving toward the mountainous weather terrain of the ITCZ; and I have to wake Frank up, to make sure it’s OK to turn the boat. It was not a squall cloud, just a thicker than normal cloud, enough to affect the wind a bit. And that eerie glow? The moon rising, soon it emerged from the clouds, drowning out all the pretty stars; but brightening my own outlook.

It’s a gorgeous day today, with beautiful sailing, and the air feels soft. We sighted dolphins, and the ever present millions of flying fish. Speaking of, I’m convinced it’s me they’re organizing against. One flying fish leapt 10′ out of the air to land on my head; luckily he landed on the bimini over my head instead. Then one tried to jump through the hatch to attack me in my bed; luckily the mosquito netting caught him first. Kennan wants to get out full riot gear to fight off the onslaught. Logan keeps wishing they’d come closer and sticking his head out whenever there’s a wave of them – no joy yet. Frank amused himself (and Logan – not me), by placing a little one on my hat for me to find on my keyboard when I tipped my head down. So yes it’s me they’re after…all of them.

xoxomo

P.S. Yes, as my correspondents informed me, my loose brain can’t spell gait properly. Thanks Chris for fixing on the web!

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Pacific Ocean 4 April 2010 14.1911N 122.1915W

I’m early today for a position report, but I wanted to get in my Happy Easter early. Thanks to reminders from my correspondents, I actually remembered that it was Easter. My midnight to 4 a.m. watch passed quickly with the distracting activity of being an assistant to the Easter Bunny. I dug some of the green plastic strawberry containers out of the plastic trash (berries from our last day in LaPaz), attached pirate bunnies drawn on paper and filled them with very festive looking Mexican candies we’d picked up in La Paz as gifts for kids in the islands. Logan is in heaven, but too sweet for Kennan. I tasted one, and was surprised that it tasted sweeter than a straight spoonfull of sugar. How can anything taste sweeter than raw sugar?! The good news is those strawberry baskets are a lot smaller than your average Easter basket.

Here’s an apt paragraph for today from Ricket’s and Steinbeck’s log:

“And all this against the hot beach on an Easter Sunday, with the passing day and the passing time. This little trip of ours was becoming a thing and a dual thing, with collecting and eating and sleeping merging with the thinking-speculating activity. Quality of sunlight, blueness and smoothness of water, boat engines, and our-selves were all parts of a larger whole and we could begin to feel it’s nature but not its size.”

Wishing you all a quality day with friends and family and lots of egg collecting, eating and sleeping merged with that thinking-speculating activity. I would recommend avoiding the Jack Daniels though (especially in the quantities Ed and John consumed – the captain of their boat claimed they’d finish a bottle of Jack/day – even Frank is blushing). Stick with a moderate amount of champagne or wine – tomorrow is after all Monday.

xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 3 April 2010 15.2543N 120.8036W

A boat’s gait has a very chaotic rhythm compared to a man’s gait or a horse’s gait. The rocking motion at anchor, which is very soporific, only works because you’re riding the anchor, which keeps the boat steady into the wind, and generally the boat pitches in one direction working like a baby’s cradle, rocking on a single axis. At sea the boat’s pitch, roll and yaw follow the prevailing swell, any localized wind swell, and the whim of the ship, depending on it’s point of sail. So there’s no good way to anticipate the exact next movement. You can often anticipate a general direction but precise direction and intensity are where variation occurs. When you’re awake, you deal with this variation by keeping your knees loose and ready to bend or extend to compensate for the next variation on the theme – extra loose if you’re pouring hot tea. But loose knees do not help when you’re lying horizontal. I think I’m discovering that for sleeping what’s needed is a loose brain, and now with days of dipping in and out of the sleeping state like that baby flying fish flitting from sea state to air state, my brain is indeed loosening up. That may already be apparent to those of you reading my lengthening sentences and topic digressions (or maybe you already thought it was loose, when I announced this adventure).

In that loosened state this morning I had an epiphany. Early in our courtship, I discovered that it was impossible to hold hands with Frank while walking. My epiphany today was the “why” of that challenge. His gait is a sailor’s gait, a random varying chaotic step. If you try to anchor him with a hand, be prepared to hang on tight, as his arm will never swing in cadence with yours, and even arm and arm, his torso will never rise and fall in cadence with yours. I have a lot of sailing experience but nothing near his sea hours. My own gait developed at an early age, straight fast and regular (to keep up with those lemon drops in the high sierras). While I was matching my stride to my dad’s, so I could slip rocks into that sidepocket (and lemon drops out of the other), without him feeling the tug of the zipper as his pack bounced along – Frank was working the foredeck for his dad, on their sailboat Mai Tai in Brittany, where tides and storms from the bay of Biscay increased the randomness of their boat’s pitching. My mom and dad sailed with me too then, but it was day-sailing on a P-cat in Alamitos Bay (or in the ocean but behind the breakwater where the water was pretty flat). I would crawl up close to the mast (the area of least pitching and rolling), curl into a ball, and listen to the wavelets echoing through the fiberglass – there was no dancing around on the foredeck in big waves for me. So you’ll probably only ever see us holding hands when seated. Sometimes I’ll attempt a fingertip to fingertip touch, but it’s an active sport keeping those fingertips aligned. For the safety of the bride, there was no dancing at our wedding either. You never know where his foot might fall. In the cockpit it’s every toe for itself (can you tell he just stepped on one of mine).

There’s an interesting passage in the “Log From the Sea of Cortez” where Steinbeck envies the time Darwin had, to do his collecting and perceive the “whole” (years compared to their weeks). To quote part (if you have it, somewhere in the middle of Chapter 8 – page 50 in my Penguin edition):

“And in the writing of Darwin, as in the thinking, there is the slow heave of a sailing ship, and the patience of waiting for a tide. We COULD not do this even if we could. We have thought in this connection that the speed and tempo and tone of modern writing might be built on the nervous clacking of a typewriter; that the brittle jerky thinking of the present might rest on the brittle jerky curricula of our schools…. ”

and later:

“We can look with longing back to Charles Darwin, staring into the water over the side of the sailing ship, but for us to attempt to imitate that procedure would be romantic and silly. To take a sailing boat, to fight tide and wind, to move four hundred miles on a horse when we could take a plane, would be not only ridiculous but ineffective. For we first, before our work, are products of our time. We might produce a philosophical costume piece but it would be completely artificial. ”

However, the passage I tortured the kids with yesterday was a deeply philosophical treatise on teleologic vs. non-teleologic thinking*. It takes place at Bahia Amortajada. They weren’t staring into the blue, but they were lazing on the beach suffering the biting no-nos (ancestors of the ones that bit us there) and I’m sure whiskey was being used as medication for the bites. They (including biologist Ed Ricketts), had a long discussion on the “manners and methods of thinking” (and on crewman Tiny’s career, but he decided that “decoratively disreputable saga” must remain unwritten). I wonder if Steinbeck considered his own log an artificial “costume piece.” Still the character of the writing definitely reflects the character of their six week adventure. And my own lengthening paragraphs are probably a reflection of hours with That Blue.

I think the flying fish are organizing an invasion; the quantity in each squadron, is growing rapidly.

The spinnaker is up, but our wind is not – we may have to check that prop earlier than expected.

xoxomo

*My attempt at the short definition: non-teleologic – “is” thinking or thinking expansively to include the “whole” vs. teleologic – addressing a specific cause and effect in absence of context.

I wonder if it’s having the reflective time that encourages this thinking about thinking, and that helps us examine the connectedness of all issues. Is the lack of that reflective time what is allowing our “modern” society to rely on rhetoric to defend our positions, resulting in simplification of all issues down to two sides. Short catch phrases with little thought or understanding are used to describe what should be very complex subtle relationships between ideas. I now have a justification for adding daydreaming to the Silver Lining Academy curriculum. And Darwin’s “Voyage of the Beagle” is next up on their reading list.

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Pacific Ocean 2 April 2010 16.1228N 118.5809W

Today’s weather is mostly North winds, 15knots, seas maybe 10′ also from the north roughly, skies cloudy with patchy blue. When the sun peaks through a cloud, That Blue appears not just next to the hull but in big swaths farther out. Under the clouds the water is more of a gunmetal gray (with bluing) than the all steel gray of yesterday. We’re now sailing along SW at 5-7 knots between the swaths of That Blue and gunmetal gray. If the sun is at just the right angle, and we’re in a That Blue swath, there’s another neat emerald-turquoise blue that appears between the white caps of cresting waves and That Blue below – little ephemeral gems for the eye.

But whitecaps make the sea a little sloppy, and every onboard activity takes a little extra effort – including naps. So we’ve spent a lot of time staring at That Blue, dozing, then staring at it some more. I tried to read to the boys, but it was a pretty heavy philosophical chapter in Steinbeck’s “Log of the Sea of Cortez. We had set it aside for awhile, now I remember why. It’s very interesting, but a bit intellectual for the kids in spots, especially on a day where even thinking takes a bit of an effort. After torturing them with that chapter, I had to redeem myself – I broke out the gummy bears; that livened them up a bit.

The booby birds have left us now. We’re too far from their land for comfort. Frank was worried that the last booby on the mast would sleep too long and get lost at sea. We’re moving faster now, so she wouldn’t realize how quickly we were leaving her island behind. Fewer birds may explain the population explosion of flying fish today. I even saw a baby one fluttering next to the hull, for a disorienting moment, I thought it was a little blue butterfly, he was so tiny; and instead of flying in one long sweep like the others mostly do, he was dipping in and out of the waves next to the boat, flitting from wave tip to wave tip looking very like a butterfly. This morning Frank found him dead on deck (sniff). I don’t know if it was actually my butterfly flying fish, but one exactly the same size (about an inch long). He would have been really cute if he hadn’t been dead. They have a very triangular cross section, with flat heads and their eyes point down toward the vertex of their upside down triangle body. No wonder the birds feast so, poor guys can only look for and flee from predators coming at them from below. Their wings are almost as long as their bodies, and the bottom half of the tail is like a long boat rudder. Can you tell we’ve examined him closely? Now we have to decide if we dry him out on deck and dip him in epoxy, cut him up and examine him under the microscope, or toss him overboard and wait for another bigger one to eat.

Logan did get his goal met this morning, but he didn’t do it on his own, so I’m not sure if it counts – he had an assist – as his head was emerging from the sleeping bag, Frank tossed the morning flying fish find in Logan’s direction and met the targeted goal(s) (Frank’s and Logan’s). Somehow Logan didn’t seem very satisfied meeting his goal in this way (not nearly as satisfied as Frank was meeting his) Moral: it’s not just about the goal; the path counts too. Now Logan wants us to send him up on the main halyard in his bosun’s chair, and let the movement of the mast swing him out over the water so he can aim for his flying fish in the face all on his own. I think I may have to veto that path – mom’s, spoiling all the fun and always creating obstacles to meeting goals. Oh well, someone has to make sure the kids are challenged.

To those of you celebrating, Happy Good Friday! xoxomo

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Pacific Ocean 1 April 2010 17.0864N 116.4972W

Well, we dreamed up all kinds of possible April fools day posts: “We made it! with our position in Alaska, narwhal sightings, sea-mounts exploding in front of us into islands; but in the end Frank said April fools jokes only work first thing in the morning – guess you have to get your joke in before Google puts everyone on their toes for other jokes throughout the day – and I was still in yesterday-mode when I posted my last message (first message of today). Besides you’re all too informed to believe me if I said we’d seen a narwhal.

The map feature on the hypercities.com/mo site can’t be looking too interesting right now, just a whole lot of that blue I described (from here on out That Blue). There are sea-mounts ahead and if we weren’t passing by them at night, That Blue might change color a bit to a lighter version of itself, which would be interesting (doesn’t take much to get us excited these days). We’ll have to look for future sea-mounts on our path for that novelty.

Our correspondents have informed us that Clarion is known for it’s birds, it’s a prime tuna spot, and hacer carce, could have meant “are you carsick” in which case they could have been inviting us to stop on by. I did indeed see not one but two tropic birds there (a male and a female in spring no less). And we saw large quantities of tuna off the point. An opportunity missed perhaps, but we did find the trade winds early this morning and are now sailing along wing and wing keeping an eye out for other traders. We’re not exactly in a hurry, but when you see the slow advancement of our markers in the next 20-40 days, you may better understand our eagerness to make way.

I’m feeling a bit bad about saddling all of Mexico with the characteristic of being collective paperwork collectors in yesterday’s post. I should have written “Mexican officials love their paperwork” not just “Mexicans…” I’m sure the average citizens here get as frustrated as the rest of us having to bring every document in triplicate to a minimum of 3 official agencies to get simple things done. So apologies to the rest of Mexico for my unfair generalization. Our own officialdom has found new ways to frustrate it’s citizens despite the paperless office (as anyone who has attempted to fill out an online US government form will attest to). Reframed thus, their desire for official looking documents is almost an endearing quality (almost).

Logan just hollered from the cockpit that he saw an “Armada of flying fish.” His new goal is to get hit in the face by a flying fish, I guess he figures that would be something worth writing home about. We’ve been seeing a lot more flyng fish, so he may yet achieve that goal. As you can see our attempts to teach them to be goal oriented is working!

The trades came just in time, we got something caught in the propellor last night (yes my watch, but you can’t exactly see very well at night…when you’re busy composing emails…) Likely a fishing line, or a large plastic bag; if this thing is similar to things we’ve gotten caught in props in the past. The solution is to dive and take a look, but now that we have wind we get to wait for calmer seas which will likely be when we have warmer water…somewhere near the equator. We still have some maneuverability in an emergency, but using it now would just wrap whatever it is tighter, making a tougher job for our diver (I hope we’re not drawing straws for that task – as managing owner of this vessel, I do get to overrule some of the captain’s decisions).

With the coming of the wind we lost our sunshine, you win some and you loose some. The sky is full of big overlapping puffy clouds that block out all of the sky’s blue. That Blue still follows directly adjacent to the boat, but the rest of the ocean has taken on a steely gray look.

xoxomo

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Isla Clarion 31 Marzo 2010 17.6475N 115.6916W

Land-ho! We approached a beautiful island today – Isla Clarion. But the clarion call on the radio was “marcharce” or “hacer carce?” I think that means get the blankety-blank out of here. Since there is no wind, we arrived slowly and are leaving slowly – too slowly for their comfort, they’ve called 3 times since they sighted us from land, to make sure we are leaving. I know it may look like we’re standing still, but we’re going a whole 3 knots, with the little wind we have, I’m impressed – apparently the military men at the base here are not. No navy ships chasing us down yet though. We were not planning on stopping, just coming in for a closer look. The cliffs here are beautiful, a ribbon of red rock cuts through the yellow cliffs dramatically. Large tuna jumping off the point, two turtles getting friendly, whales surfacing for big gulps of air, and that blue I’d described seems bluer. I don’t know if all the color is really that bright, or if it’s just the contrast after 3 days of blue. The island is now slipping slowly astern, the colors fading as the atmosphere between us and land increases.

A little later: Well, the navy ship did chase us down. I’m exaggerating, but a ragtag crew* of 8 of the 13 guys on the island, packed in a 20’ Panga to come see who we were, and to do a quick “embarcacion” report. Maybe “marcharce” doesn’t mean what I thought it meant? Maybe they were saying “embarcarce”?? My Spanish still needs a whole lot of work. Rosetta stone does not cover any of terms one might need passing boats or entering ports. I could have asked and answered useful questions like “Su casa es roja?” Or “Quando escribe ustedes?” I did manage to let them know that, “Isla Clarion es muy bonita.” They must not get a lot of boats here. They were nice enough, I think the commandant was expecting a plea from us for a visit, Marc had sent us a quick google report on Isla Clarion** this morning with quotes from sailing bloggers who had visited in the past few years. So we knew the military manned a weather station, and with the approval of the local commondant, visits are possible. But we were on a mission, not wanting to break the stride and all that. Truly a beautiful place though. And they got to admire our handsome Zarpe and do some paperwork, which seemed to make them happy; there must not be a lot of opportunity for that in such a remote spot – one thing I’ve learned is the Mexicans love their paperwork, copies in triplicate with official stamps are de rigueur. They were disappointed that I did not have a copy of the Zarpe and our coast guard document on hand to give them. Not being a formal collector of official paperwork, it’s a little difficult for me to relate to, but I’m sure they would find it strange that I collect pictures of oddball rocks and shells and dirt and junk (and would collect the real thing if Frank would let me bring it on board). So we’re probably even on the global oddity scale. It will be a major culture shock when the paperless office arrives here though – as big of a shock as it’s been for me to realize that the digital image is all I can take away. As a kid one of my favorite things was to collect rocks and shells. I used to sneak them into the bottom side pocket of my dad’s Kelty backpack (opposite the pocket with the lemon drops) when we’d go hiking in the Sierras. He owes me in part for his current fitness, I’m sure that years of added weight helped build some lifelong stamina. Frank’s on to me though, and Silver Lining, while built for a heavy load, would sink if my collector’s instinct were set free of it’s digital bonds. When the same digital bonds arrive here, there may be another revolucion!

We had a little wind around the island, even flew the spinnaker after our visit. But back to motoring now. It’s 3 a.m. another hour of watch for me, before I hand it over to the captain.

xoxomo

*Kennan wondered at the military budget here. “They must not have a big military budget, did you notice they were sharing a uniform – one guy had the camouflage hat, one the camouflage pants, another the jacket…” Other than one fully uniformed officer and the smattering of camouflage, they were all wearing standard fishing attire – barefoot, shorts, brightly colored t-shirts.

**We did get it before we arrived thanks for the fast response on that one Marc!

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