Hilo, Hawaii 18 Feb 2012 20:00 19N43 155W03

A very quick Hilo hello. We arrived yesterday . We’re officially stateside. The entry was extremely friendly and easy. It’s cold here (relatively), and all these waterfalls stay full for a very good reason, a couple of 13,000 ft plus reasons in fact. Suffice to say we should have no problem keeping our water tanks full catching rain. We’re anchored here in Radio bay, surrounded by shipping containers and barbed wire fences. We get escorted in and out by guards. There are few pedestrian sidewalks or crossings between here and the two miles into town, and absolutely nothing is close or easy from a cruiser’s perspective. We’re definitely not in French Polynesia anymore. That said, there’s only one other cruising boat here in the small anchorage with us, and from all the literature, it sounds like there are some amazing things to see…if we rent a car or stowaway on a tourbus. Yes we’re stateside…the car culture is as strong here in funky Hilo as it is in L.A.. The bus does come by, once an hour, but it doesn’t take you much of anywhere.

Radio bay is not the best place for radio email, too much noise. And there is no wireless here so it’ll take us some exploring to find a connection worthy of posting some pictures. But we’re safe and sound, and it’s incredibly calm and rainy.

xoxomo

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Northern Pacific 15 Feb 2012 16:40 17N46 151W42

We had an amazing Sei whale sighting earlier this afternoon. I was in the cockpit staring at the sea frustrated with this interminable wind. When it’s not windy, it’s windier. The days of constant muscle movement every sleeping and waking hour were taking their toll, when “BLOW” I called. There was a moment between getting the crew on deck with my call and the next sighting, when I almost had myself fooled, that I’d just seen some extra spray coming off a darker than usual wave peak, yet seconds before I’d been 100% sure. Then Frank spotted her also, she was underwater about 100 feet off, surfing down the face of the next swell over. As the face of swell came up at a nice steep angle to our vision, you could clearly see her lighter green outline against the deep bluegreen sea background. She was about our size, going a lot faster than we, and headed to cross our path. As the next swell period approached, she surfaced and dove. The swell now is running at about an 8 second period, and it’s roughly 3 meters, or 8-9 feet high. We’re headed NW, the swell is coming from the East/NE. That leviathan in the lane next to us did not bother to signal before passing in front.

My mom gave me a book just before we left the Marquisas, by Tony Hiss “In Motion: The Experience of Travel.” He presents a notion of deep travel, describing the moments when traveling where time takes on a new dimension, (not just when traveling, but it seems to happen more frequently when we’re confronted by newness or moments of wonder).

He talks about the illusion of time (even scientists, aren’t so sure about it), and how our perception of time varies so widely whether the years race by because we haven’t done much, or the minutes fly by, because we’ve been absorbed in a task, and a single 60 second period can seem deep and long, or tedious and painstaking.

There I was, after 3 hours of biscuit making (probably another essay as to why it took 3 hours to whip up a quick batch of cheese biscuits), I was tired and I’d slipped into watching-the-clock mode. 233 miles to go, yet the TTG kept flashing from 1.5 days to 3.8 days depending on if we were surfing down the face of a wave, or climbing up the next one. It had been saying we’d be there in 3 days, on and off, for at least 3 days. It was feeling like groundhog day. And before my watch ended it said 276 miles to go – I’d slept for a long time (at least 3 hours), and it had only gone down 21 miles (7 knot average is really not bad, and 1527 miles behind us is great…but 21 miles shifting from the in-front-of-us to the behind-us column didn’t seem so great when mentally I wanted to BE there).

Then BOOM, one short 8-second moment, and time onboard warped. That moment felt like a glorious long time – one moment of whale silhouette, now permanently etched in my brain. And for a couple hours after that moment, time slowed to almost still – every whitecap (and there are lots) seemed unique, and I anticipated each eagerly not wanting to miss the glimpses of the myriad shades of blue between the white cap and its blue body. This sea, that blue, this wind, these squalls, these flying fish, these tropic and boobie birds, were enough to fill this time. Hawaii? 2 days away? Already?

All it takes is a moment of wonder to chase the drudgery of the day away.

I was talking to Logan about the book the other day, and using the analogy of how it seems in some ways like we’ve been doing this cruising thing for a long time, and yet 17 years working in L.A., prior to these two years, seemed like a short chapter in our lives. His response, “Were not really doing now, we’re being.”

Yep ..well ideally anyway…is it time to go to bed yet?

xoxomo

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Northern Pacific 13 Feb 2012 4:00 a.m. 12N46 147W24

I’m back on the keyboard, evidence that the winds have calmed a bit, or maybe they just appear to be calmer as we slowly fall off. Every day we vear to port a bit, making a slightly more direct path to Hilo, putting the wind more and more to our back. As a result some of the kick has gone out of those angry wasp stings, and we’re not bucking around quite so much; the mare’s gait has more of a roll to it.

At night we’re under constant attack by flying fish. I’m ever more grateful for our Kiwi built hard dodger, but the fish do not seem to be dodging it. There are a couple of thuds or clangs per hour (depending on whether they hit metal or plexiglas). Each thwack or twang is followed by the rythmic death throws of the poor fish. In the morning we make the rounds of the deck to clear off the stiff bodies. They’ve made their way into the strangest spots, and if we don’t find them right away, within a few hours the stench leads us to their hiding places, although some will be difficult to fish out till we anchor. One made its way up under the dinghy and face-planted on the plexiglass hatch above the settee, where the kids sleep underway. Good morning sailors! At least the hatch wasn’t open. I think the birds are following ever closer because of our new aroma de poisson.

The arc of the sun, moon and planets is falling further and further behind us as we climb the latitude ladder north. Tonight, or rather early this morning, Polaris was faintly visible above the horizon, with the southern cross bright, but ever lower, in the south.

Today’s excitement was another popped clew -staysail this time, which is a little less critical than the forward jib. We put the storm sail up in it’s place, and Frank had a new clew, made of strapping, sewed on before nightfall (practice makes perfect), but it was too windy to put the sail back up. So we’ve lost some speed, not just from calmer winds. Still, we’re making steady progress forward. We should arrive in Hilo before the end of the week.

xoxomo

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Northern Pacific 11 Feb 2012 18:23 07N13 143W06

The Grey mare has a long white mane, jumping over ten feet waves at a full gallop. On deck we get hosed like hooligans in a riot. This is why Margo is not on the key board tonight. -Frank-

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Northern Pacific 10 Feb 2012 18:23 07N13 143W06

The north pacific tradewinds are boisterous right now, and it looks like they’ll be at it till we reach Hawaii, in the next week or so. Silver Lining has acquired this galloping gait, maybe similar to a mare in heat leaping over evenly spaced logs in a field of angry wasps. This pace affects all of our waking moments…even our sleeping moments are impacted, as Frank, Logan and I realized, comparing dreams in the cockpit this morning.

So I had dreamed that I was stuck in one of those mall shops with the massage chairs. At first I was ready to relax into a nice massage, but the hideous blue vinyl chair had “shove” mechanisms installed, so that when I sat and relaxed, it shoved random parts of my body upward away from the chair: my head, my arms, my feet, my butt, each launched independently. I woke up trying to figure out how to tell the salesman that I really wasn’t interested.

Logan dreamed he was a member of the Cirque de Soleil acrobat team. He was flying through hoops and walking on the tightwire, when his team mates jumped on the wire sent him flying twisting turning through the lines and nets. He woke up when his wire broke, and he landed on the cabin sole…where he’d been sleeping.

Frank dreamed he’d been tossed by gangsters into the trunk of their get-away car. And they went speeding away from the cops, fishtailing around sharp city blocks, and racing through alleys filled with potholes bouncing him airborn. He was sleeping in the aft cabin bed, where the movement of the boat has a more enhanced up and down, and side to side movement.

Kennan claims he’s not had any dreams. We’re actually not sure he’s even slept, whenever any of us checks up on him, he’s deeply engrossed in another book. Is it possible to sleep read?

xoxomo

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ITCZ, Northern Pacific 9 Feb 2012 18:23 04N56 141W59

We could not send this morning’s message due to sunspots. Our radio email just would not send. Usually, we’re able to get something out, even if it takes awhile.

Which reminds me of a special request I have for all of you collectively, NEVER WORRY ABOUT US because of lack of blog posts or email. I can think of at least a dozen technical difficulty reasons why we might suddenly go quiet until we reach another port: sunspots, fuel issues, battery/power issues, computer issues, software issues, radio electronics issues, antennae cabling issues…the list of potential problem areas is long, despite our multiple backup positions for many of those areas. The tropical marine environment is extremely hard on all electronics – salt, water, constant motion, high heat, high humidity – all things avoided in, say, a data center.

I read an article recently about a sailor who had stopped updating his blog and a well meaning follower contacted the Coast Guard. The USCG, promptly went in search, found him bobbing around absolutely fine, but forced him to abandon ship. They had received a distress call, and even though it was not from him, they were not going home empty handed. I’m not actually sure of the legality of this, and I’m very fuzzy on the details (news reports are not always the best source of real info on situations like this), but it was a sobering thing to consider.

We have an EPIRB onboard (emergency position indication relay beacon), recently serviced with a fresh battery (replaced in NZ). If anything were to happen to us and we were not able to make radio contact, that is how we would send a distress alert. Radio and internet silence would in no way be an indicator of any kind of emergency for us.

Besides, I’m the Chief Worrier on this voyage, I have the epaulettes to prove it, and no one else is allowed to take that job away from me. Captain’s orders!

xoxomo

-There is a sign on the door of our cabin, it was already there when we moved in but still applies. “I am the captain of this ship, and I have my wife’s permission to say so.” -Frank-

P.S.S. We’ve been ITCZed, the wind, no wind, wind, no wind, is over. We now have wind and lots of it. A little more on the nose than we’d like, but we’re reluctant to fall off till we’re sure of a nice run to Hawaii. We sure do not want to be tacking up the last couple days.

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ITCZ, Northern Pacific Ocean 9 Feb 2012 4:30 a.m. 03N46 141W36

At least I think we’re in the ITCZ. Last night we became becalmed, and cranked up the iron genoa. Then I heard Frank and Logan taking down the Fisherman for a squall, which ended up not bringing that much wind, so they put it back up. Then right when I came on watch at 1 a.m., the wind picked up, so we took it down again and turned off the engine. So far on my watch I had an hour of sailing at 6 knots, then an hour at 2 knots, and now an hour of 3-6 knots. Wind, no wind, wind no wind. Must be the ITCZ. All in all, we’re making progress and the wind appears to be mostly from the East. The squalls are not too aggressive.

I know why I’m not emailing daily even though we’re on passage. It’s this starboard tack business, makes for a very uncomfortable nav seat. To avoid tumbling into the galley, I have to brace myself with a foot, and sometimes a hand when a big wave comes. I’ve never been good at typing with one hand. I can sort of brace with the palms of my hands while the fingers fly, but it’s awkward.

Looking back, we’ve been on port tacks for two years – most of the way to NZ, and most of the way through the roaring 40s. But since we headed North, we’ve been mostly on starboard tacks. We may now have right of way, but starboard has it’s disadvantages.

Another disadvantage we recently discovered, is that it appears we may have a leak in the caps to the fuel tanks on the port side (our port and keel tanks). When we heel over they are often underwater, and seawater is getting in. This means the engine has stalled a few times, awaiting Frank’s fix, of tidy dry filters. So we’re consuming fuel filters at an unhappy rate. But the starboard tank appears to be high and dry, and looking at the weather, it appears that we may in fact be in a thin spot in the ITCZ, and in less than 24 hours we should arrive in a zone of 20 knot north-easterly winds. With winds like that from the North-east, we should make quick work of the rest of this passage, and we won’t need the engine much to charge the batteries (or power us through dead wind zones). So hopefully our starboard tank will see us through. Otherwise, we’ll have to start filtering the fuel before it gets to the prefilters…a messy business underway (yes we already have prefilters, and even pre-pre filters, so next is pre-pre-pre-filtering).

xoxomo

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Equator (just after), Pacific Ocean 7 Feb 2012 7:55 a.m. 00N01 141W097

The captain woke up, I think he has a direct line to Neptune, and feels the equator getting closer, maybe he can even see it. But he corrected me (maybe he could senses me goofing the details). The horizon is only about 2 miles away…about the same as the reef (assuming the imaginary reef did not rise above the waterline). It is a cargo ship that I might be able to see on the horizon at 15 miles. So in fact, there’s not that much ocean visible around us – only 12 and a half square miles depending on whether I’m standing or sitting on the boat – or swimming around it. Not such a vast expanse after all – an easy day’s walk across or around, Napoleon’s army could do two rounds in a day, artillery and all. It would be a tougher swim, still, it’s nothing like the vast area visible from OaPou’s peaks.

You’d think after 2 years, I would have caught myself on that mistake.

Also, longitide is not a new kind of line showing where the long tides are; just me making another typo.

All that for a bunch of somewhat arbitrary invisible lines.

Meanwhile we crossed the equator by Neptune!

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Equator (almost), Pacific Ocean 7 Feb 2012 6:13 a.m. 00S11 141W07

The equator is on the horizon literally; we’re about 12 miles away now. I think the horizon is about 15 miles away. Frank says you can see a coconut tree at 7 miles, and a reef at 2, all depending on visibility of course. If there were a coconut tree on that invisible line, we’d see it in about 40 minutes. And at our current speed of +/-7knots we’d hit the tree in a little under 2 hours. But luckily, coconut trees are scarce in these parts. Pretty much everything is scarce in these parts, except for sky and water – there’s lots of both.

There is a strange disconnect coming below, staring at a screen with lines all over, the nav program shows squigly lines of sea mounts and trenches, latitude and longitide lines, equator and tropic lines, bright lines showing our path, course and track (where we’ve been, where we’re supposed to be headed, and where we are headed) – then going back up to no lines at all (not counting the lines on the boat), even the horizon is not a line, but a circle surrounding us. All I can see is 15 miles of sinuous waves and endless miles of almost cloudless sky. There is lots of blue, even the few clouds are more blue than white today. On land so many of of the invisible lines are visible with fences and hedges and plantings and roads and paths, all following property lines, country lines, or terrain lines. Out here it’s rare to see even a line of current, although sometimes we see squall lines. No lines today, enough to confuse a flatlander.

We have super easy sailing right now, 10-15 knots out of the east, we’re heading north doing 7 knots on a comfy beam reach. The boat is heeling less than it was the day before yesterday which makes for a more comfortable nav seat, and we have more wind than yesterday so the engine is off. There is hardly any swell to speak of. We’re just gliding along. It feels almost like flying. Frank said this ocean would be packed if every day were like this. I think he’s right, you’d all give up land living and come join us out here if this were the norm. I wouldn’t mind a few more friends nearby, but it would make for more intense watches. Still any of you that are tempted, come on in, the water is fine.

Almost two years since we sailed from the hemisphere with more land than water to the hemisphere with more water than land. I suppose I ought to rouse the crew to pay homage to Neptune, and to greet the northern hemisphere properly. It’s awfully quiet in here. Last time we crossed in the wee hours of the morning, barreling along at over 10 knots (with help from the equatorial currents). All in all, Neptune seems a patient dude – maybe I’ll let sleeping sailors lie (they probably wouldn’t tell Neptune the truth anyway).

xoxomo

45 minutes since I started this…that imaginary coconut tree is in sight.

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Eiao, French Polynesia 5 Feb 2012 5:13 p.m. 07S59 140W42

Well we’re actually 200 miles due north of Eaio, officially outside of the French Polynesia 200 mile economic zone, but I never sent a message from Eiao, and a position near land is always more interesting in Google earth than a position on passage, just blue blue blue. We did not stay long, due to a north swell that made for an uncomfortable anchorage, and impossible landing. The island looked dry. They’ve had a drought here for a couple years (two la nina’s in a row). Frank said he visited Eaio with the army over 20 years ago, and remembers it as being a tropical green mound with steep cliffs. To me it looked like a desert island with steep cliffs. One zone at the bay where we anchored was green, but it was a small steep area, where some water seemed to be oozing out of the cliff. The surrounding landscape was brown with white tree skeletons. Not a goat in sight.

We’re on a fast beam reach headed straight for the equator actually at about 04S00. This passage should take 12-18 days…but at our current speed, our nav program is predicting less than 10 days. I’m sure the doldrums will impact that ETA upward. We’re again looking for a thin spot in the ITCZ, aiming for the backside of a low moving through up there. We’ll see if our aim is good.

For now we’re healing enough to make sitting here an athletic endeavor. I’m going back up to see if today’s sunset will produce another green flash (I’m hooked).

xoxomo

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