Rapa, Les Australes 27 April 2011, 8:30 a.m. Tahiti Time 27S36 144W19

Last night we passed by some impressive rocks in the ocean. Marotiri is a collection of basalt peaks forming the rim of a volcano just starting to come out of the water. It’s a plentiful lobster spot, we were hoping to float there for the night, and set a trap in the morning (and see these majestic rocks by day), but the weather was just rough enough to make it uncomfortable. So we ooed and awed at the looming shapes in the darkness (first hard shapes we’ve seen at sea in weeks), and continued on slowly. Timing and wind were perfect for a crack of dawn arrival. Rapa is more beautiful than I expected. Lots of steep rocky spikey cliffs surrounding a large deep bay. The bay is the center of this old volcano. We’re hoping our anchor does not tickle it into an active state.

It’s blowing 20-30 knots in the anchorage, with squalls passing through regularly, yet we have this odd sensation of amazement at how calm and quiet it is – everything is relative. Fog and rain are rolling up and down the peaks. Logan said it looks like an island lava lamp.

Plan for the day – recover, maybe go ashore and sea if these rubber sea legs still work. Now let’s see if the radio email will work through all these basalt peaks.

xoxomo

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South Pacific 25 April 2011, 7:45 p.m. Tahiti Time 29S07 141W32

We passed into the 20 latitudes, and indeed the wind dropped from 30 knots down to the 20 knot range. So we’ve had wind speeds to match our latitudes in degrees this northbound half of the trip. The wind is clocking around to the north as predicted, but since we’d stayed east as we worked our way north, we should be able to arc back around as the wind comes around, and slide into our destination (now northwest of us), hopefully without tacking too much.

We have not passed the tropic line yet, but this warm north wind is decidedly tropical. Today everyone switched to shorts. Tonight wool blankets will be replaced by tifefes (light cotton Tahitian blankets, really just a sheet with 2 layers – thick enough to stop a mosquito, thin enough to keep cool). Tomorrow, we should be able to relish the cockpit again; even if we do get splashed, it’ll feel refreshing.

We’re a bit more than a day away from Rapa. The tricky part now is arranging for a daylight landfall. Marotiri, an uninhabited rocky outcropping, is on our way, a location of fond memories for Frank, and of a great lobster tale (and tails). It’s completely exposed with no good anchorage except in very calm weather, which we’re not expecting, but we’ll pass close enough to see. Today we passed 60 miles west of an active volcano bigger than mount Baker, but we couldn’t see it – it’s all underwater still. When Frank was last here about 20 years ago, it had risen to 9 meters below sea level, pretty amazing when everything else around is 3000m to 4000m down. I’d like to be a bug on the water to witness that island’s birth (but maybe not a human on a boat – too close for comfort).

xoxomo

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South Pacific 25 April 2011, 2:45 a.m. Tahiti Time 30S50 140W29

We’ve had mostly 30 knots in the 30 latitudes. We should cross over to the 20 latitudes in less than a degree now, maybe the winds will drop into the 20s too, that would be nice…as long as it’s not the 20 on the nose they’re predicting. About 300 NMi to go, but with winds predicted to clock around to the north, we may end up tacking the last bit, so our mileage may differ.

Despite the mariners tradition of avoiding even saying the word “Rabbit” on a boat, we laughed in the face of that bad luck danger, and invited the Easter Bunny himself onboard. Frank claims it’s only bad luck on wooden boats anyway (steel is apparently not good for their teeth). Of the two chocolate rabbits that Mr. E.B. left, one still has his feet, the other his ears. Logan said he was starting with the feet so it couldn’t run away. Kennan said he was starting with the ears, so it wouldn’t hear him coming. We skipped the egg cooking, the painting and the hunt. Boiling water is a challenge right now, any painting would likely result in a full interior redecoration of SL (and pastels are so passee), any eggs stashed on deck would necessarily involve a deep sea hunt, and anything inside would not stay hidden for long and could become a dangerous projectile, or alternatively would stay hopelessly hidden till we’d have to undertake the olfactory hunt(days after Easter), not recommended on a boat in the tropics…Yes it’s warmer, the wooly long johns were all officially shed yesterday. We’re still in long pants, but t-shirts on top.

Everyone is holding up fine, but cabin fever is setting in. Strange what a difference, just being able to hang out in the cockpit makes. Some of us have not set foot out there since we entered the 30s, and those that have did not come back dry. The preferred watch position is right behind the dodger in the companion way, feet inside, for the minute it takes to do a 360 degree scan. The rest of the watch is at the nav station (as if staring at the arrows on the weather charts would remove some of the intensity feathers on their tails), and even at the nav station we’ve discovered a particular angle of wave that comes along every hour or so and surprises us by turning our portal into a vaporizer/atomizer, spritzing our face with saltspray. I’ve never been a fan of facials as it is. Earlier today a particularly violent wave made it’s way past my face, all the way through to the galley wall on the opposite side. That got a “wow” out of me. The portal stays securely shut, so it’s not buckets pouring in (although with that one, it wasn’t just mist either), it’s just the gasket can’t take the pressure of a big hit, it still keeps the rain and lighter waves out. I tried explaining to it, that it’s just water, nothing to blow a gasket over…so far the gasket has stayed intact, just needs to blow off a little steam now and then. We’re trying to make short work of these latitudes. And I’m thinking storm shutters may need to be added to the list, although the rest of the stationary ports are doing pretty good, and the ones we replaced in the aft cabin (where last year’s book inundation and massacre took place), are bone dry (knock on…something).

Rapa and the Australes are so close we can almost taste them. But that then gets me thinking, remembering, reminiscing…hmmm, last year about this time, we spent 3 days in Raivavae before we could even launch our dinghy to go ashore. Then at the mayors office when we enquired about where to put our trash, the receptionist, who’s window looked directly out onto the bay peered out into the rain and said, “there’s a boat out there?” So I’m not sure if the Australes qualify as the tropics, but we’ll get slowly climatized there; after the frigid southern ocean, a direct run to Tahiti would be a huge shock to the system. And a straight run to Tahiti, would be more than another week away, and we are all soo ready to stretch our legs. And there is some history to the Australes, but I’ll save Frank’s fishing stories for another day.

xoxomo

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South Pacific 23 April 2011, noon position, Tahiti Time 35S14 139W48

OK, so I’ve been properly called to the mat on my last message: misspelling ‘grammar’ (in the subject line no less), and on at least two occasions adding apostrophes to the plural form, where there should be none. I’m sure the list is longer, with structural issues, run-on sentences, split infinitives, prepositions before periods, inappropriate hyphenation, no punctuation where there should be some, and lots where there shouldn’t be any, et cetera. But, I challenge any of you (except Barry) to write a few simple paragraphs with no mistakes, on your dog watch, after 2 weeks at sea, never lying (or laying yourself) down horizontal for longer than 4 hours at a time (and those “sleep” blocks must be interrupted for a variety of reasons, that are not gentle on the sleeper), using your husband’s computer (not a mac), with it’s dictionary that does not recognize “Easter” as a word and it’s sticky keyboard, getting periodically sprayed in the face through the “water-tight” portal 6 inches away, moving hands from said keyboard periodically to both mop up the water before it drips on the computer, and to brace yourself as particularly large waves tilt your world beyond the angle of repose (or alternatively you could leave the hands at the keyboard and risk falling off the nav station seat, and onto the galley floor), climbing out into the cockpit every 15 minutes to check for boats that are never there, and trying to complete and post your grammatically correct message, without heaving, before your watch is over – see how your grammar holds up.

The irony is not lost on me that in responding to a grammar call with a poor excuse, I made additional simple errors, and am now making more, and lots more excuses. Guess I’ll be reviewing Strunk and White on my dog watch tonight. You’re all correct, as the resident teacher onboard, I should be setting a better example. The good news is the kids rarely read my posts (too long).

When Frank went to l’ecole maritime to get his captain’s license, for the final exam he had to do the navigation calculations at sea. Apparently lots of students who did fine in the classroom, could not perform the calculations underway. He did fine. If I’d had to do my structures exam at sea, I never would have gotten my architect’s license. That’s why he’s the captain, and I’m slaughtering English with my sea addled brain.

xoxomo

P.S. Frank did see a cargo this morning, first on AIS, then later a visual when it passed 2 miles behind us. In meters, it was 198L x 31W x 12D, according to the AIS stats, and riding low in the water. It was headed into the wind, and with the 4-5 meter swell, it had slowed to 9 knots. Frank could see the spray from the bow reaching the wheelhouse.

P.P.S. We’re all cracking up because a big wave just hit the side of the boat, and knocked Frank’s reading glasses off his face – he was standing inside. If he’d been outside, one more pair would be making their way to the bottom right now (5000m down).

P.P.P.S. The layers are flying off, and Kennan came out of his sleeping bag, not quite the tropics, but getting closer.

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South Pacific 23 April 2011, position at 4:40 a.m. Tahiti Time 35S58 140W17

Leave it to mom’s to keep an eye on grammar. Mine, pointed out that I could not command Frank to “Hove to” since that would be the past participle of “heave to.” Mom’s are always right BUT, heaving on a boat is generally frowned upon, especially heaving to windward! And given the power of suggestion, I would not want to tempt fate and tell Frank, “heave to!!” Especially since as he says, it’s not his language. Clear communication between spouses rules over grammar (and grandma), especially in this case where I would be the one doing the clean up…and possibly heaving to (leeward) myself.

Other than that all’s well onboard, 25-30 knots again now, but from the stern so no heaving or hoving to, just a very fast downwind run. 550 miles to go, 78 hours to go at our current speed, but what are the chances of that? Still we won’t be there for Easter.

xoxomo

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Back in the 30s, South Pacific 21 April 2011, position at 5:15 p.m. Tahiti Time 39S15 142W50

Not much new to report today, that hasn’t stopped me from going on too long in the past. Winds were calm, now they’re picking up (along with Frank’s spirits, even with the rain). For myself, I think this boat could stand for a little more estrogen onboard. I’ve got Silver Lining to help balance out the feminine side of this voyage, but she has a decidedly strong masculine streak, she’s definitely tougher than me. Each of my guys has their own unique feminine side, and they’re not ashamed to express it now and then, but between the three of them, it doesn’t quite add up to one good girlfriend.

Three men in this tub, and they could all use a bar of soap (one each). There’s the real rub (a dub dub). It’s raining out, and we made water for a day while the engine ran. I think I’ll go lock them in the shower. I’m not letting them out till they’re clean.

xoxomo

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Not so roaring anymore 40s, South Pacific 20 April 2011, position at 6:45 a.m. Tahiti Time 40S56 145W06

Despite all your dedicated knocking on wood on our behalf, after a day of slamming into the low, winds increased to 35 knots (with gusts way over that), and the seas were steep and boisterous. At 2 a.m. yesterday we switched tactics and hove to (a.k.a. hunkered down). That’s a sail configuration that basically sets you on a controlled drift. For the uninitiated, you backwind the foresail (bringing its sheet to the windward side of the boat), that jib sail will then want to point downwind, and the staysail (still in it’s normal position) will want to head foreward (we dropped the main completely). With the helm then locked pointing to windward, the boat find its balanced state with the nose off the wind it slows way down and drifts to leeward.

In this weather, we slowed down from 7 to about 4 knots at a 120 degree angle from the wind, so not quite moving backwards, still gaining some easting, but one heck of a lot more comfortable, than the teeth jarring pounding we were experiencing.

We have hoved to before, but only as a holding tactic to wait for daybreak before attempting a landfall. I don’t recall a time we’ve tried it due to weather. That’s either a testament to the captain’s good weather planning tactics, or to his tenacious nature – never wanting to give up a hard earned mile. And as he points out we basically lost a day. I’m not sure where we lost it to, it felt like a pretty normal day to me, we got lots of sleep, watched movies, read a lot, none of which we were doing the day before (well, to be truthful, none of which I was doing the day before – the crew have barely stopped reading to sleep in the past 10 days). I think Hove To is my new favorite point of sail;) Frank’s bummed, next time we get the slightest bit of weather, I’ll be advocating, “Hove to, Hove to, Let’s hove to!” It really was amazing to me how quickly everything settled down, how quickly my white knuckles turned pink, and how quickly and soundly I slept.

So as predicted, by midnight last night the winds died down, the storm sails came down, and we were off, trying to exit the 40s again motoring at 4 knots – feast or famine, all or nothing, how about a little more even wind distribution?? The seas while no longer steep are peaky and confused at their new windless state, “Where’d all the wind go?” Not the most comfortable condition, but the crew does not seem to mind – we’re definitely acclimated to this southern ocean.

So Christina researched knocking on wood for me, and it may come from medieval germanic superstitions about entering the forest and politely letting the mischievous Waldgeist know you’re coming. Next time, I better come up with a better more seaworthy way to have you all request luck for us out here – suggestions welcome. Although we did do just fine, thanks for the help.

All’s well onboard.

xoxomo

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Really roaring 40s, South Pacific 18 April 2011 position at 4:45 p.m. Tahiti Time 40S34 148W08

We liked the 40s so much we crossed back over the line, but the prions were not there to meet us. We’re now due south of Tahiti, but we won’t be turning up to the Australes for about 24 hours if the GRIBs hold true (BTW GRIBS are the weather charts we get, they’ve been pretty accurate and we spend a lot of time looking at them, contemplating, dreaming, wishing, planning).

The corner of that low has arrived. Storm sails are up, 2 reefs in the main, we’re rocking and rolling, and slamming and bamming. The kids, unphased, are deep into their books. Frank equally unphased naps just fine. Only I stare out in awe at the water flying off our bow as we plow through the waves. We had 25 knots most of the day and it just pumped up to 30 plus, where it should stay for the next 24 hours. Earlier today I was feeling a little intimidated by 25, at 30 the intimidation grew correspondingly. Then I thought of something a friend had said after their very rough crossing from Chile to the Gambiers (where we met them*). She was talking about how relieved she was when the winds died down to 30 knots. So I’m taking a deep breath, and feeling that relief. It’s only 30 knots. It’s only 24 hours. The boat is fine. I’m cozy back under our trusty new dodger**, with it’s big clear windows. I can kick back and admire the beauty and power of the ocean spray as it flies off the bow, and drenches the windows in front of my face. That blue is back, and to see it airborne is a sight to behold. Yikes that was a big one.

xoxomo

*Thanks Brandy, we’re missing you guys out here.

**And thanks to Nelson Boatbuilders. Dan, Goldie, and Zander, we sing your praises every hour (sometimes more often right now).

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30s, South Pacific 16 April 2011 position at 6:00 p.m. Tahiti Time 39S48 151W03

Poof, this morning the whalebirds were all gone – not a prion in sight. Maybe yesterday was our farewell show, and they were escorting us to the exit of the roaring 40s. They were probably thinking, “Good riddance, ye whale of little krill.” Once over that line, they turned tail in search of a real whale.

The wind has cycled around to the N/NE, so no longer the nice beam reach, but for now 15-20 knots and reasonable seas, not too harsh. The tropical low chasing us looks like it will pass southwest of us (thanks for all the knocking), but we still expect higher winds sometime tonight or tomorrow for a day or so. If I go silent with these messages for a few days, it’s just us hunkering down, not feeling up to sitting at the computer. Rapa is about 800 miles away at 025 degrees (as the crow flies). Another week or more away.

Decidedly warmer up here, I traded my fleece lined jeans for just fleece (still with the wool long-johns). And inside I can shed the fleece hoodie I think this tropical storm and the resulting northerlies getting sucked toward it, are giving us a decidedly different perceived temperature quality (or was that just because the oven was on today?)

xoxomo

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Roaring 40s, South Pacific 16 April 2011 position at 5:15 p.m. Tahiti Time 40S52 154W11

These little prions (a.k.a. whalebirds) following us are a sight in the morning. They are a tiny 8 inches each wingtip to wingtip. I think their flock grows each night as we get new joiners. At first there were a few hundred, yesterday I would have put the number at 500, this morning there must be thousands. I tried to count a small section between two stanchions, but they move too fast. We must be the only whale in town.

They perform amazing aeronautic displays, in loosely synchronized groups. Sometimes the groups come together and as the flock grows denser, they become more synchronized. Today they become so dense at moments, that the swarm acts like a particle enhancer, allowing me to visualize the air currents over the waves. When their backs are turned toward us they almost blend in with the rain clouds south of us. If their timing is right, as they bank their turn, presenting their bellies to the rising sun, the flock shimmers as the contrasting white under feathers light up on each bird against the dark sky behind.

They are perfectly color coordinated with today’s steely blue-gray sea and pale blue-gray seafoam. Their own blue-gray backs are accented by a dark line of feathers that runs from both wingtips, along the leading edge of their wings, across their shoulders and down their back. The line meets in a ‘V’ just before their tale feathers. It’s a perfect pinstripe that accentuates their aeronautic form. When they fly in close to the boat, a dark line of mascara appears to underline their black eyes. Their cheeks are framed by blue-gray sideburns.

Every rare once in awhile, one will dip close to the water, but they don’t seem to really be eating. Maybe they’re just using the more complex currents created by our sails and wake, to work up a morning appetite, or burn off their night-time meal. Whales probably scare up lots of krill; I hope they’re not starving themselves, expecting us to do the same.

We have about 20 knots of apparent wind on our beam, or just aft. We climb up these following seas at about 8 knots then surf down the backs of each wave at 9 plus knots (sometimes lots of plus). The dodger gets doused every 5-10 minutes by an enthusiastic whitecap. Amazing sailing, it’s as if Silver Lining knows that the fast approaching low west of us, would not be as much fun as this. Can we outrun it?

My biscuits are smelling good, I wonder what Frank is dreaming up for yesterday’s catch. I saw his napping eyes twitching in the aft cabin; It must be something good.

xoxomo

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