Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Settling into port
So greetings from Martinique, where we arrived safely last Friday afternoon after a 20 day Atlantic crossing. This was an incredibly slow time due to the fact that the trade winds disappeared. We suspect that we had no wind because of all the storms they were having further North. The same storms that had some people worried about us, however I can assure everyone that the storms up around Madeira were a thousand miles North of where we were.
Since arriving in port we've been busy reorganising ourselves from life at sea to life in port, and there's quite an amount of work in that. On top of that there's our own recovery, the repairs and the maintenance, a 3,000 mile trip takes its tole not only on the boat, but on her crew as well.
Our first order of business was to let immediate family etc. know of our safe arrival, a task not helped by my phone running out of credit in the process. We had been saving a bottle of bubbly for our journey's end, and as soon as we saw land it went in the fridge. Once we had the boat securely tied to our marina berth we celebrated. Later we went for dinner in the nearest cafe, conveniently situated literally on our marina pontoon, the “Mango bay” can boast poor quality, an overpriced menu, and sloppy service, but it still knocked the socks of cooking and washing up for ourselves in a rolling boat.
Then we had to get details of Neil's flight, which we were expecting to be Monday at the earliest, but it turned out to be the next morning. That lit a bit of a fire under us, as the immigration office was closed by the time we got into port, and we had to check in when they opened Saturday at 7 a.m. with Neil's airport taxi waiting outside the door. All went well I'm glad to say and flights were duly caught.
The marina was full and was only able to give us a berth for a single night. In many ways that's just as well, because it's cheaper to anchor (well, free actually), and much more pleasant swinging free on the anchor than being packed like sardines. However, the marina has plus points too, the conveniences of being able to step ashore, unlimited electricity, etc. are particularly welcome after three weeks at sea. At anchor there is a much greater urgency about getting reorganised, without shore power sorting out our power generation is an immediate concern, we have to inflate the dinghy before we can go ashore, and so on. Of course these are all things we would have had to do eventually, but we could have used more of a rest first.
Saturday morning after Neil left we went back to the boat, filled up with water, washed the decks, checked email, rang home on Skype, and then, before dark took the boat out and found ourselves a spot in the anchorage.
Sunday, we took out the big dinghy and inflated it. It's a 3.8 metre dinghy, with five air chambers, and takes about 2,000 depressions of the pump to inflate, in addition, everything had been stowed for our ocean passage, every tool and accessory that we needed had to be dug out from the bottom of another locker, plus the fact that we're still recovering from 3 hours on 6 hours off for the last three weeks, the dinghy took us all day.
Martinique, as you probably know, is a French Department, and I am struggling with my 1974 pass Leaving cert French. Worse, they all just ignore my attempts and speak to me in English. Now that we had the dinghy we thought we'd have a look ashore, where we found a nearby restaurant. The barman decided he was going to be my new best friend, but despite the fact that his entire English vocabulary consisted of the word "Hello" and an assortment of "Ers" and "Ehs" and "Ums", he resolutely avoided speaking French to us to the extent that we were on our second beer before discovering the chef was on a night off, and the restaurant was closed! Not having the energy to go looking for another restaurant we settled for the increasingly obvious mediocrity of Mango Bay.
The big dinghy is made of PVC, which under the hot sun has a tendency to sweat, and being red, the red dye runs, gets on our clothes and skin, and the dinghy gets sticky and dirty and awful looking. So Catherine had resolved to put our €55 Lidl sewing machine to good use, and to make a cover for it. She had even bought the material months previously. So with the dinghy up, she went to work first thing Monday morning.
For my part, my main concern was our power needs. During the crossing our solar panels were producing only about half the power that they used to. In hindsight the obvious thing to check was whether each panel was still working. However I'd gotten it into my head that the connections were corroding, so I first wasted half a day checking them, and only when I found them all in as new condition did I think to try the obvious. By Monday evening I had established that the starboard panel was indeed the culprit, and fixed the problem.
I was expecting Catherine's dinghy cover to be a loose baggy thing, but as the first segment took shape on Monday I could see that it was turning out to be more like a tailored suit. On Tuesday, as she continued with it, I set about restoring the towed generator to wind generator mode. Were I a bit more of a DIY expert this task might have taken me an hour or two, but as it is, under normal circumstances I'd be at it for half a day. This is not normal circumstances, I am still suffering the sleep deprivation from three weeks at sea, plus, I'd never done this job before, so it was getting dark on Tuesday evening when I finally had the Wind generator reassembled and ready to be hoisted at first light.
Wednesday morning, before breakfast, soon after daybreak with hardly a breadth of wind, conditions were ideal for hoisting the wind generator on top of it's eight foot mounting pole. I perched precariously on the pole while Catherine used a halyard (that's a rope) on a winch to hoist the generator and I guided it into place.
Wednesday, the 17th March, that is. Catherine continues to beaver away at the dinghy cover, which is looking great as its ultimate shape becomes more apparent. Meanwhile, I'm contemplating what job I'm going to tackle next, when I see a dinghy headed our way. Mike and June Kelly, from the sailing boat “Idunno” out of New York, having seen our Irish flag, stopped by to say happy St Paddy's day. Mike being obviously of Irish American stock, so we celebrated with tea and biscuits.
I settle for being gofor for Catherine as she repeatedly climbs in and out of the dinghy, measuring and adjusting the pattern. In between, I manage to return the pilot berth to “workshop” status, making all my tools more accessible, and I also got the v-berth rearranged. All the while, I'm counting the amps going in and out of the batteries from the solar panels and the wind gen. We're doing alright, except that the sewing machine is chomping up a lot of the battery power. Even still, we are generating almost as much as we are using, and when the cover is finished we should be quids up on our power generation/consumption.
Wednesday evening, it's Paddy's day, we're going out. Now eating out three times within a week was a rarity for us at our most affluent times. Now, as penny pinching live-aboards, it's a no-no. Yet here we are, but the first two times we've had the mediocrity of “Mango Bay”, it's Paddy's day, and we've just sailed the Atlantic. We're not going to penny pinch tonight. We found a nice little restaurant, where we shared a tasty scallop starter, I had lamb cutlets, Catherine had spare ribs, and we even eventually persuaded our waitress to talk to us slowly in French. Washed down with a bottle of fairly ordinary wine, and a glass of brandy before bed back on the boat. I think I am rejoining the human race at last.
Thursday. Again I awake just before dawn, and eventually give up trying to get back asleep and get up as day breaks. I contemplate. The setting not so bad, 9 a.m. local time, sitting under the bimini (bimini = a kind of sun shade over the boat's cockpit), temperature hasn’t gotten too high yet, probably not yet over 30 in the shade, I've just finished my morning coffee and considering another. Although, life does still retain a few challenges, my task list is now down to the jobs that have to wait until the interior of the boat ceases to be a sewing workshop. Among these are unblocking the heads, and jobs I have to recruit expertise for, electronics problems, getting main sail repaired so that the battens will stay in, and getting the batteries tested to find out why they aren't holding their charge. I am resigned to the fact that the battery bank will have to be replaced, a right kick in the budgetary teeth that'll be, but more importantly, I want to have the wiring checked, as the batteries are only three years old, and I want to make sure that the new ones won't be thrashed due to some undiagnosed electrical problem.
So now I take out my computer and start to catch up on some emails and my blog.
You might be a bit surprised that I'm up so early, but there are a few drivers to that. First, we stayed on Irish time (= Canarian time) for the entire trip, where as they are 4 hours behind here in the Caribbean, so body clock is somewhere in between at the moment. Second, at these latitudes you get pretty much 12 hours day and 12 hours night, with only a little variation Summer and Winter, and that means we have daylight from about 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. local, (or 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Irish, much more civilised!). Thirdly, the winder on my watch is stuck, so I've been unable to switch it to local time!
Since arriving in port we've been busy reorganising ourselves from life at sea to life in port, and there's quite an amount of work in that. On top of that there's our own recovery, the repairs and the maintenance, a 3,000 mile trip takes its tole not only on the boat, but on her crew as well.
Our first order of business was to let immediate family etc. know of our safe arrival, a task not helped by my phone running out of credit in the process. We had been saving a bottle of bubbly for our journey's end, and as soon as we saw land it went in the fridge. Once we had the boat securely tied to our marina berth we celebrated. Later we went for dinner in the nearest cafe, conveniently situated literally on our marina pontoon, the “Mango bay” can boast poor quality, an overpriced menu, and sloppy service, but it still knocked the socks of cooking and washing up for ourselves in a rolling boat.
Then we had to get details of Neil's flight, which we were expecting to be Monday at the earliest, but it turned out to be the next morning. That lit a bit of a fire under us, as the immigration office was closed by the time we got into port, and we had to check in when they opened Saturday at 7 a.m. with Neil's airport taxi waiting outside the door. All went well I'm glad to say and flights were duly caught.
The marina was full and was only able to give us a berth for a single night. In many ways that's just as well, because it's cheaper to anchor (well, free actually), and much more pleasant swinging free on the anchor than being packed like sardines. However, the marina has plus points too, the conveniences of being able to step ashore, unlimited electricity, etc. are particularly welcome after three weeks at sea. At anchor there is a much greater urgency about getting reorganised, without shore power sorting out our power generation is an immediate concern, we have to inflate the dinghy before we can go ashore, and so on. Of course these are all things we would have had to do eventually, but we could have used more of a rest first.
Saturday morning after Neil left we went back to the boat, filled up with water, washed the decks, checked email, rang home on Skype, and then, before dark took the boat out and found ourselves a spot in the anchorage.
Sunday, we took out the big dinghy and inflated it. It's a 3.8 metre dinghy, with five air chambers, and takes about 2,000 depressions of the pump to inflate, in addition, everything had been stowed for our ocean passage, every tool and accessory that we needed had to be dug out from the bottom of another locker, plus the fact that we're still recovering from 3 hours on 6 hours off for the last three weeks, the dinghy took us all day.
Martinique, as you probably know, is a French Department, and I am struggling with my 1974 pass Leaving cert French. Worse, they all just ignore my attempts and speak to me in English. Now that we had the dinghy we thought we'd have a look ashore, where we found a nearby restaurant. The barman decided he was going to be my new best friend, but despite the fact that his entire English vocabulary consisted of the word "Hello" and an assortment of "Ers" and "Ehs" and "Ums", he resolutely avoided speaking French to us to the extent that we were on our second beer before discovering the chef was on a night off, and the restaurant was closed! Not having the energy to go looking for another restaurant we settled for the increasingly obvious mediocrity of Mango Bay.
The big dinghy is made of PVC, which under the hot sun has a tendency to sweat, and being red, the red dye runs, gets on our clothes and skin, and the dinghy gets sticky and dirty and awful looking. So Catherine had resolved to put our €55 Lidl sewing machine to good use, and to make a cover for it. She had even bought the material months previously. So with the dinghy up, she went to work first thing Monday morning.
For my part, my main concern was our power needs. During the crossing our solar panels were producing only about half the power that they used to. In hindsight the obvious thing to check was whether each panel was still working. However I'd gotten it into my head that the connections were corroding, so I first wasted half a day checking them, and only when I found them all in as new condition did I think to try the obvious. By Monday evening I had established that the starboard panel was indeed the culprit, and fixed the problem.
I was expecting Catherine's dinghy cover to be a loose baggy thing, but as the first segment took shape on Monday I could see that it was turning out to be more like a tailored suit. On Tuesday, as she continued with it, I set about restoring the towed generator to wind generator mode. Were I a bit more of a DIY expert this task might have taken me an hour or two, but as it is, under normal circumstances I'd be at it for half a day. This is not normal circumstances, I am still suffering the sleep deprivation from three weeks at sea, plus, I'd never done this job before, so it was getting dark on Tuesday evening when I finally had the Wind generator reassembled and ready to be hoisted at first light.
Wednesday morning, before breakfast, soon after daybreak with hardly a breadth of wind, conditions were ideal for hoisting the wind generator on top of it's eight foot mounting pole. I perched precariously on the pole while Catherine used a halyard (that's a rope) on a winch to hoist the generator and I guided it into place.
Wednesday, the 17th March, that is. Catherine continues to beaver away at the dinghy cover, which is looking great as its ultimate shape becomes more apparent. Meanwhile, I'm contemplating what job I'm going to tackle next, when I see a dinghy headed our way. Mike and June Kelly, from the sailing boat “Idunno” out of New York, having seen our Irish flag, stopped by to say happy St Paddy's day. Mike being obviously of Irish American stock, so we celebrated with tea and biscuits.
I settle for being gofor for Catherine as she repeatedly climbs in and out of the dinghy, measuring and adjusting the pattern. In between, I manage to return the pilot berth to “workshop” status, making all my tools more accessible, and I also got the v-berth rearranged. All the while, I'm counting the amps going in and out of the batteries from the solar panels and the wind gen. We're doing alright, except that the sewing machine is chomping up a lot of the battery power. Even still, we are generating almost as much as we are using, and when the cover is finished we should be quids up on our power generation/consumption.
Wednesday evening, it's Paddy's day, we're going out. Now eating out three times within a week was a rarity for us at our most affluent times. Now, as penny pinching live-aboards, it's a no-no. Yet here we are, but the first two times we've had the mediocrity of “Mango Bay”, it's Paddy's day, and we've just sailed the Atlantic. We're not going to penny pinch tonight. We found a nice little restaurant, where we shared a tasty scallop starter, I had lamb cutlets, Catherine had spare ribs, and we even eventually persuaded our waitress to talk to us slowly in French. Washed down with a bottle of fairly ordinary wine, and a glass of brandy before bed back on the boat. I think I am rejoining the human race at last.
Thursday. Again I awake just before dawn, and eventually give up trying to get back asleep and get up as day breaks. I contemplate. The setting not so bad, 9 a.m. local time, sitting under the bimini (bimini = a kind of sun shade over the boat's cockpit), temperature hasn’t gotten too high yet, probably not yet over 30 in the shade, I've just finished my morning coffee and considering another. Although, life does still retain a few challenges, my task list is now down to the jobs that have to wait until the interior of the boat ceases to be a sewing workshop. Among these are unblocking the heads, and jobs I have to recruit expertise for, electronics problems, getting main sail repaired so that the battens will stay in, and getting the batteries tested to find out why they aren't holding their charge. I am resigned to the fact that the battery bank will have to be replaced, a right kick in the budgetary teeth that'll be, but more importantly, I want to have the wiring checked, as the batteries are only three years old, and I want to make sure that the new ones won't be thrashed due to some undiagnosed electrical problem.
So now I take out my computer and start to catch up on some emails and my blog.
You might be a bit surprised that I'm up so early, but there are a few drivers to that. First, we stayed on Irish time (= Canarian time) for the entire trip, where as they are 4 hours behind here in the Caribbean, so body clock is somewhere in between at the moment. Second, at these latitudes you get pretty much 12 hours day and 12 hours night, with only a little variation Summer and Winter, and that means we have daylight from about 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. local, (or 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Irish, much more civilised!). Thirdly, the winder on my watch is stuck, so I've been unable to switch it to local time!
Bananas
Over the Winter of 2008/2009 we berthed in Portimao marina in the Algarve, where I had the pleasure of making friends with Ron and Grace Newton from London on their Catamaran “Flo”. Ron and Grace with three other crew crossed the Atlantic with the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) in 2001 on their previous catamaran, “Kim”. One of their crew was inspired to summarize their journey in verse, and his lines capture our trip in a way that I cannot express better.
One little caveat, this is written by a sailor, for sailors, and therefore contains a little “sailors' language”!
“Provisions”
Too many fucking bananas
That was the problem we had
We thought of the fresh fruit and vitamins
We'd be ever so glad.
But too many fucking bananas
That's what we went and bought
Despite all the careful planning
The discussions and the forethought.
So many fucking bananas
We hoisted them up the backstay
And got a huge cheer in Las Palmas
When we finally got under way.
Too many fucking bananas
It was obvious from day one
As they quickly started to ripen
Under the tropical sun.
We had fucking bananas for breakfast
And fucking bananas for lunch
If you needed a snack in between meals
Bananas you had to munch
We tried fucking bananas in Brandy
Bananas in fucking gin
For a treat we had bananas in custard
But we knew we just couldn't win.
One morning at fucking day break
We beheld a terrible sight
Our pristine yellow bananas
Had gone fucking black overnight.
Skipper gathered the crew in the cockpit
And said with a heartfelt sigh
As he chucked the bananas over the side
Fuck off, cheerio, and good bye.
The moral of this story is simple
Let the voice of experience speak
when buying fucking bananas
Just buy enough for one week.
So whenever the going is heavy
With the wind and the waves looking grim
Smile as you read our story
And remember your friends on yacht “Kim”
Luke Priest
ARC 2001
One little caveat, this is written by a sailor, for sailors, and therefore contains a little “sailors' language”!
“Provisions”
Too many fucking bananas
That was the problem we had
We thought of the fresh fruit and vitamins
We'd be ever so glad.
But too many fucking bananas
That's what we went and bought
Despite all the careful planning
The discussions and the forethought.
So many fucking bananas
We hoisted them up the backstay
And got a huge cheer in Las Palmas
When we finally got under way.
Too many fucking bananas
It was obvious from day one
As they quickly started to ripen
Under the tropical sun.
We had fucking bananas for breakfast
And fucking bananas for lunch
If you needed a snack in between meals
Bananas you had to munch
We tried fucking bananas in Brandy
Bananas in fucking gin
For a treat we had bananas in custard
But we knew we just couldn't win.
One morning at fucking day break
We beheld a terrible sight
Our pristine yellow bananas
Had gone fucking black overnight.
Skipper gathered the crew in the cockpit
And said with a heartfelt sigh
As he chucked the bananas over the side
Fuck off, cheerio, and good bye.
The moral of this story is simple
Let the voice of experience speak
when buying fucking bananas
Just buy enough for one week.
So whenever the going is heavy
With the wind and the waves looking grim
Smile as you read our story
And remember your friends on yacht “Kim”
Luke Priest
ARC 2001
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Martinique. Nous sommes arrivé!
I've got to tell you about these French guys, they call each other Bouchon & Chou Chou (that's “Cork” and “Cabbage”, aka Stefan and Patrick). Bouchon/Stefan is a real character. He can't be much more than forty, he has a round face and a round shape, a permanent twinkle of mischief in his bright blue eyes, and a long and bushy mustache that is quintessentially French, If you haven't got the picture yet, he looks like he has just stepped out of an Asterisk and Obelisk comic strip.
We met him first in Las Palmas, where his boat was berthed on the same pontoon as us, and he introduced himself to me by playing a few bars of “Dirty ol' Town” on his flute as I walked past his boat. I obliged by singing a verse and we've been pals since, a mean achievement, since he has no English and we've been working with my little bits of pigeon French and Spanish and lots of body language. When Paul and Maura on Noble Warrior arrived I heard him again use his flute to introduce himself, this time with a few bars of “God Save the Queen”, like I said mischief!
And the pigeon French and Spanish is not to be sneezed at, they speak Portuguese in the Cape Verdes, and “Please” and “Thank you” being about the extent of my vocabulary in that idiom, I chanced my arm with my laboured Spanish. This was not only understood, it earned me the appreciation of the locals – my Spanish being so bad they couldn't tell it wasn't just bad Portuguese!
Anyway, leaving Mindelo 20/02/2010, Saturday, 16:45, Chou Chou and Bouchon came to cast off our lines, and they came armed with air horns to ensure that our exit was anything but quiet. Once free of the pontoon we let Aragorn drift about the bay while we lashed stuff down on the deck in places where it would have been in the way while casting off. Then we set sail under genoa only (a single forward sail), and left Mindelo bay and out in the rolling Atlantic.
We had met Greg and Paul from “Roma” an English boat, while in Mindelo, and they left at the same time as us. This was reassuring as it meant for at least our first night at sea there would be another boat within radio range. However it has worked out even better than that as both of us are traveling at similar speeds and we seem to have arrived at an unspoken agreement to keep each other in sight. Without this we'd be certain to be out of contact with each other very quickly. It's now Monday morning and we have just been within fifty yards of each other, taking pictures that we'll exchange later via email.
Yesterday, Sunday, we gave up on genoa only sailing as we were barely making four knots. Neil has a flight home to catch from Martinique, and at that rate it would be touch and go whether he made it. So in the morning, at the 9 a.m. watch change Catherine and Neil hoisted the mainsail, and we have been getting up to six knots since. However the winds have been a bit slack, and traveling slowly means that the towed generator is not creating as much power. That combined yesterday with a cloudy day, so we ran the engine for ninety minutes after dinner to make sure the batteries had enough juice to get through the night. A good wind all night meant we had a good charge through the night from the towed gen., so as long as we continue to have half decent winds we shouldn't have to resort to the engine for a while.
This morning shortly after dawn I noticed that one of the top battens in the sail was coming out. The battens help to keep the sail at the best angle to the wind, so when Catherine came up to relieve me at 9 we dropped the sail and fixed it. To drop and re-raise the sail we simply sailed close to the wind on genoa (headsail) only, this is a new technique for us that we learned from Neil. Having done the 3 to 6 pre dawn watch, Neil was sleeping (or trying to) for the exercise.
Later we had a call over the VHF from Roma to say they'd caught a Dorado, and Greg was recommending putting out a line. I was a bit concerned about letting out a fishing line simultaneously to the towed generator line, but reasoned that both lines should swing together. Readers of older blogs will recall the results of my previous attempt at fishing in Cadiz, where I caught a fish that was all of two inches long, and I was anxious to improve. So out went the fishing line and ten seconds later it was well and truly snagged in the towed generator rope. I spent the next hour unraveling the mess & that was the end of fishing for today.
Bad things happen in threes they say, and sure enough, after the sail's batten problems, then the fishing line tangle, before the sun had set the forward heads blocked. Neil had a look at fixing it, but the blockage is in the pipe and he didn't think it was one he could tackle at sea. Over the next few days I will summon the courage to tackle it, or at least take a look for myself. In the meantime, thankfully, we have the aft heads.
Speaking of trials & tribulations, here's a thing that I picked up from my Spanish lessons in Las Palmas. English words that end in “ation” generally translate directly into Spanish by changing the ending to “ación”, therefore “preparation” becomes “preparación”, “station” becomes “estación”, “nation”, nación”, and so on. Got the idea? OK. Spanish lesson for today, the word for “crew” is “tripulación”!
You may cringe at the poor humour, but I am already flinching at the abuse I am going to have to face from my tripulations for that.
.....
Tuesday, 23rd February.
Last night while I was on the midnight to three watch I saw that we were gradually separating from Roma on different tracks. By the time Catherine took over their light was disappearing and reappearing as we rolled about in the swell, and they were out of sight by the time Neil took over at six. When I came on again at nine I tried to raise them on VHF, and searched for them on the radar, but there was no sign. No particular problem with this, but it was reassuring to have had the company.
This morning we had another batten pop out of the sail. This time it was the bottom one, so we didn't have to lower the sail as much to fix it. I think the problem is that the shackles holding the sail to the mast are on the wrong way, causing them to chafe at the webbing that holds in the batten.
Since leaving the Cape Verdes we've been sailing on a “broad reach”. This morning we changed to a “Goose wing”. For the benefit of the non sailor, “broad reach” is sailingese for the wind is blowing from behind but not quite directly behind, or from the “aft quarter”. However now the wind is blowing directly in the direction we want to go, but when we steer that way the genoa (forward sail) is completely blanketed by the main sail. So we have gybed the genoa (pulled it out the other side) and used a pole to hold it in position. The only suitable pole we have is a big heavy spinnaker pole, so Neil and I had a bit of grunt work on the fore deck, but eventually got it set up. This set up, with the main out one side and the genoa out the other, is called a “goose wing”. It is not a very fast point of sail, but it looks elegant.
Commercial shipping have a piece of whizzkiddery on board called “AIS”. This device is linked into the ships systems and broadcasts its position, heading, speed and other relevant information by radio wave to any other AIS. Before leaving Ireland we had one of these devices installed and from time to time we pick up other ships with it. When we do we call them up and ask them for an updated weather forecast. Today we saw the Dutch tug “Statum”, first on AIS, but then he came within a couple of miles of us. We chatted briefly over the radio to Jos, the update to the forecast is more of the same, which is good.
After dinner we ran the engine for ninety minutes to boost the batteries. I am now convinced that there is a problem with the solar panels, as we are getting so little juice from them. Making matters worse is our slower speed, a combination of our “goosewing” and the fact that the winds are dropping. The slower speed means we are getting less from the towed gen. There's not much I can do about the solar panels before we reach port. Another job for the list when we get there. In the meantime, we have enough diesel to run the engine for as much battery charging as we need, and I can switch off some of the non essential systems during the day to save power if necessary.
Speaking of dinner, chili fajitas, prepared by Catherine who is today's scheduled mother. Neil being scheduled daughter today got to do wash up. As it was my turn to be son I marked our position on the chart.
Overnight the winds were slack, however with the genoa poled on a goosewing we decided that we'd keep sailing downwind, which unless there was a dramatic change in wind direction was approximately our course.
...
Wednesday 24th February
Our goose wing point of sail has sailing a little south of our ideal course, as opposed to a little north while we were broad reaching. Last we saw of Roma they were on a course diverging southerly. With our new course there is a slim chance that we might catch up with them again. Roma is a slower boat, but they are a bit more trigger happy to use the engine.
Sure enough early this morning I got a blip on the radar about six miles off our beam. Once the hour was respectable enough I gave them a call over the radio, and in a few hours we were back in sight of each other. Greg, Roma's skipper, continues to tell us of his fish dinners, caught by trailing a line. So today, while we were running the engine to charge the batteries I decided to have another go, having first hauled in the towed generator.
After about an hour I got a bite. This was a first for me, aside from two goldfish sized things that I caught in Cadiz last summer, I'd never caught a fish before, and neither had Catherine or Neil. So of the four of us, it was only the fish that had any idea what to do!
I reeled him in slowly as the fight wore him down, and got him to the back of the boat. Apparently fish change colour to the grey we're used to in the shops when they die. I still don't know what type of fish this guy was, but in the water he was a beautiful yellow green. Neil came back with net and bucket. The fish was about the size of a full grown salmon, we estimated at the time at least 18 inches, although he grew substantially subsequently! Neil was trying to get the net under him, but the net wasn't big enough, it did have the effect of panicking the fish into one final flurry of resistance that I wasn't expecting, and the line broke. Dinner escaped. I had an odd mixture of feelings; respect for this beautiful creature, relief that I wasn't going to kill it, and a part of me was glad to see him go. I wished him luck and hoped that he would be able to eject the hook from his mouth.
I put the line out again, and after about another thirty minutes I got another bite. A smaller fish, we think a dorado. He was easier to manage and we got him on board, although, as I'd never killed a fish before I made a bit of a messy job of it. Catherine cleaned and gutted him, but as there was only really enough meat on him for one dinner, or two at a push, we had him as a starter, and had a main course of sausage and mash. I'm mum today, so I got to cook him too, although once again under supervision.
The wind has been up and down all day. We continue to sail on a goosewing, and we are staying within sight of Roma. Overnight though the wind dropped very light. However we decided to follow the same strategy as last night and continue directly downwind.
Thursday, 25th February.
In the early morning the wind had died away to nothing, and with light winds for the previous 24 hours we had not been getting much power from the towed generator (the slower you go the less it produces). So when Catherine came up to relieve my watch at 9 a.m. the batteries were low and we ran the engine to charge them,. This time we put the engine in gear so that we'd have some propulsion as well. We rolled up the genoa and motored at a fuel efficient 4 knots.
Overnight Roma had overtaken us and motored ahead. Just before dawn I could barely see their nav light on the horizon, but as daylight came I lost sight of them. A little later Greg called us on the radio to say that his autohelm (automatic steering) had failed, and so had his backup steering. He was trying to fix it, and we would probably overtake him. Roma also has wind steering, but so far they have been unable to get it working properly. Wind steering is a piece of kit that I am very envious of, at it steers the boat at an angle to the wind, and you can set the angle, therefore it doesn't require any power. Unfortunately Greg and Paul on Roma haven't had much success getting that working either. If they don't sort something out they will have to steer the whole way to the Caribbean, two weeks non stop steering with only two people on board they will arrive two very tired men.
We have neither wind steering nor backup autohelm. Our fall back plan in the event of automatic steering failure is to hand steer, that would be a huge amount of extra work, but with three of us less of a nightmare than what Roma face.
As we are heading west at in excess of 100 miles a day, and since we have kept all our watches on UT (Irish time), the sunrise and sunset are both getting later every day by about eight minutes.
At home we'd also be getting the benefit of the lengthening days,. but in these latitudes the amount of daylight only varies about an hour or so between our mid winter and mid summer.
Continued light winds mean that our batteries keep getting drained. Neil has suggested that we let them drain during the day, and then run the engine at night when there is a greater drain on our power resources.
We are getting to sail slowly, but I have calculated that if we can make 90 miles a day (average 4 knots) we should be in Martinique by the 14th March. Neil has a flight home to catch, we won't know exactly what date until we arrive, other than on or after the 15th.
This afternoon, buoyed by my success yesterday as “hunter gatherer” I took out the fishing rod and sat at the aft of the boat for a couple hours. I took the line in before coming back to the cockpit for lunch to find that the lure was gone! After lunch I had another go, and another fruitless couple of hours reading my book. Finally, about 6, after a chat over the radio with Roma in which Greg told us of yet another fish that they have caught, I went aft with rod one more time. Third time lucky, or so it seemed, as soon enough I was reeling in another fish that we think is a dorado. Once again he was big enough to make a hearty meal for one, or could be stretched to a meal for two, but definitely not big enough to feed the three of us. I cast the hook again, but I sensed the crew had a little less enthusiasm as they set about the gutting and cleaning, and I could hear plans being discussed for dinner of chili con carne. I took the hint and put away the fishing gear.
Friday 26th February
Catherine's comment in the log at three o'clock this afternoon “Whoever heard of Westerley trade winds in this neck of the woods!?” The trade winds, reliably as clockwork the books tell us, blow consistently from the North-East at about 20 knots. Yet here we are beating into light airs, and having to go way north of our track. And even still we are glad of the breeze such as it is, it's better than sitting in the swell going nowhere with our sails banging about. Progress towards Martinique on our current course is about 2 knots (= 2 MPH), with almost 1,500 miles to go, and Neil with a flight to catch, my old teacher's line of “must do better” comes to mind.
Saturday 27th February
Still becalmed, plodding along with banging sails, occasionally the breeze getting up enough to push us along at 4 knots, then dying away again. Catherine ran the engine for a couple of hours during her early morning watch when the batteries got so low they were threatening to drop the autohelm. This brought the days miles covered figure to a still-not-nearly-respectable 80. One week out of the Cape Verdes today, and after the last two days of calm, we have barely averaged a hundred miles a day. Our target is 120, and I had been harbouring ambitions of 150.
All day we barely drifted along in almost no wind. At times making 2 knots, more often less than that. In this the third day of calm morale is visibly dropping.
I cheered myself up this morning by going for a swim. Not just any old swim, a swim in the Atlantic over a thousand miles off both Africa and any point in the Americas, only the Cape Verdes, 700 miles behind us are nearer, unless you count the ocean bed beneath three miles plus of water. It was a rather short swim, jumping off the front of the boat and swimming directly to the transom ladder at the back. The mention of sharks and killer whales as I was jumping in doing enough to ensure my prompt return.
Earlier on a ship passed on the horizon, Roma called them on the radio to get an updated weather forecast, force three today, but force 4 tomorrow, north easterly too, very promising! As we were finishing lunch we saw another ship, and as we were chatting with Roma over the radio trying to identify her, she called us. They too gave us a forecast, but said tomorrow's wind would be from the northwest. Not so good.
Lunch, now that I mention it, included home made brown bread that Catherine made yesterday on her “mother” shift”. And it wasn't made from a mix either, not bad for mid Atlantic! Me being mum today I served it up with ham, salami and cheese. For dinner I made them spaghetti carbonara – a fistful of spaghetti, a carton of carbonara sauce, with a packet of rashers chopped up small to supplement the bacon content. Catherine stuck some pre-bake garlic bread in the oven to go with it.
We spent the afternoon reading in the shade of the bimini (sun shade over the cockpit). The wind did occasionally reach force 3, however most of the time it was varying between beaufort 1 and 2, that's between no wind and no wind at all at all at all!
Working the watches three hours on, six hours off, no one gets a full 8 hours sleep in one go, so usually at least one of us peels off for an early night shortly after dinner (about 9ish), and usually it is midday before all three of us are up and about again. This has the advantage that despite the fact that the three of us our eating, sleeping, working, 24/7 in an area the size of a small room, we are not tripping over each other all the time, at least not as much as one would expect.
Sunday, 28th February
Last day of the month, and as I take over from Neil's watch at 6 a.m. we are still crawling along, rolling about in the swell and making very little progress. However, just before Catherine came up to relieve me at 9 a.m. a gently breeze got up and we were making 4 knots, not long after it had reached its promised force 4, and from the North East to boot! Thus with the wind on the starboard quarter we are now broad reaching nicely at 5 knots. Aragorn doesn't sail as well as some boats on this point of sale, especially not in her current state loaded to the gills with provisions, so we'll gladly take 5 knots. If we can keep it up we'll be in Martinique by the 10th March despite the last three days.
Neil is mother today, and as I type he is preparing lunch. Catherine has once again slipped into the galley ahead of him and made some more brown bread, we fairly demolished yesterday's.
And then the aft heads blocked! You'll remember the forward heads blocked on Monday, so it was looking like we were out of options, until I figured that we could still use it via the holding tank. Another job for when we reach port.
Other than that we spent the day reading our books, and Neil and I had a few games of chess. I have to be careful with him, in most games now he is getting an initial advantage, I have maintained the upper hand against him only on the strength of his slip ups.
For dinner Neil prepared what is becoming our “Aragorn Atlantic special” - Tinned duck and sausages. We got the duck in Carrefoure in Las Palmas as a special treat dish. We had come across it in Carrefoures in previous ports, but it was usually in short supply. In Las Palmas they were well stocked, and we cleaned them out. However first time we had it Neil barely touched his, so since then we cook it with sausages, Neil gets them, Catherine and I have duck, and everyone is happy.
Monday 1st March
The wind that got up yesterday morning has been holding, so we've been making good progress. Miles covered in the 24 hours up until noon today is 111. However, not quite as good as it seems, as overnight Catherine saw what she thought was a green flare in the sky to the South East just as Neil was taking over the watch. Distress flares always burn either red or white and we all thought it most likely that this was a shooting star, but we hadn't been in touch with Roma for a couple of days, and from our diverging courses the last time we saw them, South East was the direction we thought they'd be. Catherine woke me to let me know and I agreed that we should investigate. So we spent the next few hours going in the wrong direction.
There were no more flares, nothing on the horizon in any direction, and we could not make radio contact with anyone even though we called Roma several times and put out a “pan pan” relay call. So when I came up for my watch at 9 a.m. we resumed our course, Westward.
With the continued favourable wind, everyone's in good humour and spirits are high. Neil has been entertaining us by singing old Beatles numbers off key until we threaten to make him walk the plank. We don't seem to have quite exhausted our repertoire of riddles and corny jokes. For the latter Neil has been benchmarking them against those his father tells, and so we have arrived at the Jim Maher award for same!
Tuesday 2nd March
Overnight I saw a “green flare” in the sky. This time it was definitely a shooting star, but having seen it I felt more comfortable about having abandoned our detour yesterday morning.
Unfortunately from this morning the wind started to ease and go a bit southeasterly, slowing us down and forcing us to steer North of our best course. The miles covered in the 24 hours to noon was 117, one of the best since the Cape Verdes, but at an average of under 5 knots nothing to write home about -- hmm, even though that's what I'm doing, isn't it? And now with the wind failing again, it looks like that'll be a record for some time. No one is talking about it, but the drain on everyone's previous good form is noticeable. In addition, we're all pretty tired. Yes, we've gotten into our rhythm of 3 hours on 6 hours off, but it's a tiring one. We cheer ourselves up with facts like we have covered 2,000 miles since leaving the Canaries – a threshold I think we crossed yesterday, tomorrow we expect to cross the half way point between the Cape Verdes and Martinique, and the next day our distance to go should dip below the 1,000 miles. This afternoon I got really low and fed up as we wallowed around in the swell barely making three knots, and even that is not in the most direct course.
Enough of this depressing introspection. Today I'm mother, and as the sun went down I began to prepare this evening's gourmet presentation, salmon pasta. This is a dish we hadn't done before, but seemed straightforward, cream sauce, tin of salmon, pasta, seasoning. Not being a fish eater, it took a bit of encouragement to get Neil to go along with this, but as our menu is limited he went along.
Now perhaps if it had been Catherine, with her culinary skills, to have prepared this dish at least the first time, then maybe it would have worked out better. I had been thinking more on the lines of the tasty smoked salmon pasta that we used to enjoy in La Strada in Dun Laoghaire. But the gruel I slopped up was yee-uch! We all managed to force it down, but I am afraid it will be a while before that particular dish gets another outing.
After dinner I took over the watch from Neil and he took off to bed promptly, but Catherine stayed up long enough for the two of us to have a cup of tea. We had been discussing the overnight sail plan earlier, and we had switched from a goose wing to a broad reach in the hope of at least a more comfortable night – Aragorn feeling a little less prone to the swell at that point of sail in the light winds. However as we finished our tea the wind disappeared completely. Rather than spend another night with sails banging as we wallowed in the windless swell I decided to burn some of our precious diesel and run the engine. We have enough diesel left for three days motoring, provided we go slowly, that's about 100 miles a day, however with over 1,000 miles to go we have to use it judiciously. So before Catherine went to bed we took in the sails and started motoring.
It was then, as I settled myself down on my own for the last two hours of my watch that I had my extra terrestrial experience. First I saw an area of clouds on the horizon behind us in the East light up, too bright to be a ship, it was more like the light pollution from a small city, except brighter, and impossible where we are – a thousand miles from land. I watched, momentarily startled, as a bright yellow dome emerged from the sea. Slowly the dome on the horizon grew becoming more round, until it lifted itself clear of the water altogether as a bright yellow disk of light. Of course I had realised after the first half second that I was looking at the full moon rising, but it was none the less awe-inspiring for that. Last night too, I noticed Catherine had remarked in the log about another spectacular moonrise.
You weren't expecting me to talk about little green men, were you?
Wednesday, 3rd March
Once again this morning I am on the 6 – 9 dawn watch. Well I've been calling it the dawn watch, but as we travel westwards dawn comes later every day, and in fact today dawn was just after 9 a.m.
As I took over from Neil at 6 a.m. We noticed a slight breeze getting up, we decided it would be worth trying to sail again, so we unrolled the genoa, killed the engine, adjusted our course slightly to windward, and sure enough we were getting 4 knots on the calm sea.
After Neil had gone to bed I realised that we had not redeployed the towed generator, which we took in when we turned on the engine last night. The engine generates all the power we need, and there is no need to trail a propeller on a rope for extra juice, aside from the risk of wrapping the generator's rope around the engine's propellor, it slows us down. So later, when Catherine came to relieve me at 9, as we were still sailing, we relaunched the towed genny before breakfast.
Over the period of my watch we had been averaging 4 knots in the light winds. If we can keep this up all the way to Martinique, we should just make it in time for Neil's flight, which he tells us will be on or after the 15th. However, having had mainly light winds since leaving the Cape Verdes, lighter even than this morning, I'd be happier if we could put something in the bank, so to speak. So after breakfast, leaving Neil to enjoy his well earned kip, Catherine and I set about deploying the last card in our hand for improving our sailing speed – the cruising chute.
The “cruising chute” is a huge light wind headsail, which we can use instead of the genoa. It is so much like an asymmetric spinnaker that I couldn't tell you the difference. Thus far in this crossing we hadn't used it for a few reasons, including that it is a rather finicky sail to both deploy and sail with, and requires extra work from the crew. Also, based on our previous attempts with it, I wasn't entirely sure that we'd get any more speed from it. However, I'd estimated about 17 days for the entire trip, Cape Verdes to Martinique, yet here we were on the eleventh day, and thanks to the disappearance of the trade winds, we weren't quite half way yet. Something had to be done.
So I spent the next 45 minutes crawling about the foredeck, getting whacked by sails and lines, while Catherine laboured over the halyards and winches from the cockpit. Because we've used it so rarely, there was also a bit of trial and error before we got it right. Eventually though we got there, and when I hauled up the snuffer to release the sail I immediately felt Aragorn surge forward, and add a knot to our speed.
I mentioned half way, well this morning we crossed the halfway mark of this final leg of the crossing (Cape Verdes to Caribbean). The total distance for the leg is 2,070 miles, and as of today we have less than 1,035 to go. To celebrate we all had showers, such a simple luxury, but our only source of fresh water is what we carry in our tanks, so we have to use it carefully.
Of course we have sailed more than 1,035 miles to get here, on account of the way we have been fish tailing about to make the most of the winds. Later today we crossed another milestone, when the distance to go dipped below the 1,000 mile mark. These distances do not reflect our trip from the Canary Islands to the Cape Verdes, nor our passages between the Cape Verdes' islands, all of which accounts for another 1,000 miles plus, so the optimist in me says that we are past the two thirds stage. One more fact buried in all these numbers is that we are a thousand miles from the nearest land. Sobering.
We occasionally see passing ships, the last one was a few days ago, “Advantage”, we chatted briefly over the radio with the American crew and they gave us an updated forecast. They also mentioned that there was a fleet of rowing boats ahead of us, (in case you thought we were mad!!) - we might catch upon them over the next couple of days. We haven't had any contact with Roma since then either.
Neil being Mum today made us a fry up of sausage, rashers, mashed potatoes and beans, although I passed on the beans.
We had a busy day, as we spent a lot of time steering the boat, the cruising chute did indeed prove finicky and we had to make constant intersessions as the autohelm lost its way. Then, at sunset, the wind increased, and though Neil was enjoying himself piloting the boat at 8 knots with the big light wind sail, I chose discretion over speed and we reverted to the genoa, which poled out in a goose wing enabled us to follow a more direct course. The change of sail meant another 20 minutes on the foredeck getting whipped and beaten by the lines and sails flogging in the wind, and leaving a lump of skin off my toe there in the process. Although I am daughter today, seeing the state of me when I came back, Catherine volunteered to do the wash-up, I was too wrecked to protest and went straight to bed.
Thursday, 4th March
I was awoken ahead of my 8:45 alarm clock by the swell as Aragorn surged and rolled in a way that told me the trade wind was back. Still tired, I clung to my half-sleep, hooking my knee over the edge of the bed to stop me rolling on top of Catherine, and managed a few more minutes doze. I envy the way Neil apparently wakes two minutes before his watch, and is wide awake in the cockpit, ready for duty within 60 seconds, still early for his watch. I need at least 10 minutes, to gather my thoughts, get dressed, and stumble bleary eyed into the cockpit.
Sure enough, bleary-eyed or not, it was quite apparent that the trades were back, blowing us directly towards our target of Martinique, and at speeds up to 7 knots. Although 5 knots was the more usual, and sometimes even a little less, with the result that we covered 16 miles in my three hour watch up to 12 o clock. If we could repeat that in every three hour period we'd be there in a week. Our 24 hours to noon miles traveled figure today is 121 miles, bringing us110 miles closer to our target – we lost the extra 11 miles due to our fishtailing.
Sunrise was about half nine this morning (still Irish time, when we arrive in Martinique we'll gain four hours). Not as spectacular as some, due to a lot of cloud about. Before too long I was sheltering under the spray hood from a light rain that fell for a few minutes, but afterwards it cleared up and I could feel the sun burning me through my jeans. Today we've reached 45 degrees west, Martinique is approximately 60. The significance is that sunrise/sunset is exactly one hour later for every 15 degrees west you go.
Yet another batten is slipping out of the mainsail this morning, we'll have to drop the sail at some stage today to sort it. Another thing that Neil noticed was the genoa sheet (that's the rope we use to control it) was chafing on the spinnaker pole. I dug up some hosing to protect it, which we can put on at the same time.
As the day wore on the wind veered southerly and we had to keep pointing more and more north to maintain our goose-wing. Eventually we had to gybe the mainsail, and before we could do that we had to sort out the batten. Another foray onto the foredeck, but we got it sorted with out much fuss, we're improving!. Then in the afternoon the wind dropped again and backed, so this time we gybed the genoa, and poled it out on the other side, so we're back to a goose-wing again for the night.
That's right, I said the wind dropped, and our speed is down to little more than a crawl once more. At least there's enough to keep the sails full, and they're not banging about uselessly as they had been, but our speed is down to three and a half knots.
Dinner tonight was sweet and sour chicken, Catherine being mum today, and the chicken came from a tin, but it was very tasty,.
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Tuesday 9th March
Ok, I've skipped a few days. What'd I miss? Not a lot, the wind gets up from the East or North east and we think the trades are back, but then it dies away again, and we are left at best tootling along at a snail's pace of three knots, or worse, going nowhere at all with the sails just banging about as we drift with the current. Why don't you turn on the engine I hear you ask, simple fact is we brought enough diesel for at best 100 hours of very economic motoring at about 4 knots, in other words 400 miles worth. We didn't have room for any more, and even at that we have jerrycans tied to the deck. Anyway, we're not supposed to need it, the trade winds blow reliably from the East or North East non stop from December to June, and my chart announces authoritatively, the North Equatorial Current flows West at between a half and one and a half knots. I wonder if whoever proclaimed these pieces of wisdom was ever out here, heck I wonder do they know what a boat or the sea looks like!
Enough belly-aching. Actually we have had both wind and progress, and even some excitement, in the last few days, and the westward current does seem to have resumed, albeit with as much South in it as West.
The wind that we've been getting has been from the South, so hardly the trades, but we've had it on and off since Saturday. It's been good enough to keep our mileage over 100 a day, although, now that we're getting closer to land, we are feeling affluent enough with the diesel to run under engine in the calms. The 24 hours up to noon today were the best since we left the Cape Verdes, coming in at 129 miles. On Sunday the winds were light so we put up the cruising chute again, and sure enough it added a knot or two, but it was a lot of work to hoist and to sail by, the watch having to sit on the autohelm to take over when things went askew, which they did regularly. Eventually, during the night when the wind died away we took it down again and motored for a few hours until the wind returned. We had gambled on the wind holding overnight to keep up the good speed, but we lost the bet and had the added grief of taking the thing down in the dark. The downside of this wind is that the boat is leaned over and bouncing about a lot on the waves, which is alright when sitting in the cockpit, but working in the galley, i.e., cooking, washing up, etc, is a bit more difficult. I think all of us have received minor scalds in the process. Still, we'll take it, it's a lot better than wallowing around in the swell and not making any progress.
We have started to see more shipping again as we get closer to the Caribbean. We can only see for a few miles to the horizon in any direction, but we get advance warning from either the AIS our radar detector. This latter screeches at us when we've been pinged by radar – at which point we turn off the sound and look for the approaching vessel on our own radar or the AIS. The AIS is another piece of whizzkiddery that big ships use to broadcast their position, speed, direction etc., and we have the kit too, so we can pick them up. Then we call them up, say hi, and get an update of the weather forecast, if they answer us that is.
Last Friday we saw a sail on the horizon. As the day wore on it seemed to inch closer to us. We tried calling them on the radio several times, but they didn't respond, presumably they had their radio switched off, or maybe they don't speak English. By nightfall they were probably only a couple of miles away, but then after dark they didn't seem to turn on any navigation lights and in the morning they were out of sight.
Then on Sunday, I was making one of our routine checks on the instruments, when I saw this boat pop up on the AIS, 5 miles ahead of us, and traveling South West at less than a knot. Just as I was guessing it must be one of the rowers, albeit headed in the wrong direction, he called us over the radio. And that was how we met Pete the single handed rower from South Africa. He explained that he was taking a break, hence was just drifting with the current. I'll repeat that for anyone that thinks we're mad sailing the Atlantic, Pete is rowing single handed across. Apparently there's an Irish guy doing it single handed as well, but I didn't catch who it was. Pete told us that he was rowing from the Canaries, and had left nine weeks previously. We didn't have to make any significant adjustment in our course to meet up with him, as he was right on our course. Spotting his little boat in the ocean swell wasn't so easy, even with him standing up, but with the help of our instruments we rendez-vous'd mid ocean.
We'd had time to prepare a goody bag containing a couple of beers from the fridge, some fresh scones that Catherine had baked, with some Kerrygold and jam, all made as waterproof as we could get it, and tied to an empty water bottle for buoyancy. As we were sailing under cruising chute at the time we were whizzing along at 6 knots as we passed him, Neil steered us as close as we dared, I lobbed the goodies towards him, and Catherine took the pictures. Then as the Crusoe figure disappeared behind us we sang him a verse of Molly Malone. For anyone interested, Pete's boat's name is “Nyamezela” and his web site is www.rowpeterow.co.za, and he's updating the site from the boat. So you don't have to wait until he arrives in Antigua to get his latest.
This evening the wind has died down a bit, which means we've slowed down, but as we'd been thumping along at up to seven and a half knots, slowing down to 5 overnight will be a bit of a relief. Especially as it means I'll be able to get a nights sleep without having to cock one leg over the side of the bed to stop me sliding on top of Catherine.
We would be going quite a bit faster, except that we are probably losing half a knot on account of all the extra provisions we are carrying, plus another half knot on account of the growth and barnacles beneath our waterline – I haven't scrubbed the bottom since lifting out last July. Then we are losing half knot because of the resistance caused by trailing the towed generator, and the other day, we had to give up on the battens in the mainsail and take them all out before they came out by themselves, thus losing another half knot. I'm thinking if we lose any more half knots we'll be going backwards.
Dinner tonight is chili again, out of a tin of course. Neil being Mum is doing the cooking, me being today's daughter, I get to wash up.
We crossed the 300 miles to go milestone just after eight this evening, so it looks like we'll arrive in Marin, Martinique, probably Friday. Or if we're real lucky Thursday. However, if it's after dark we'll wait off shore until morning to go in in daylight.
Wednesday, 10th March
Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we nearly there?
The wind has gone light again. We'd hoist the cruising chute, but we've had such grief getting it up and down that nobody has the will or the energy. The trip is taking its tole that way.
Aside from our routine chores, cooking, cleaning, watch duty, etc., we usually entertained ourselves reading, either fiction, or one of our Caribbean cruising guides, or one of our astrology guides. The downside of the latter was we could only read during daylight, but the stars obviously are only visible at night. Also, I've had the occasional game of chess with Neil, and the three of us have played cards – when there was no wind to blow the cards away. Otherwise we have engaged in such mentally challenging enterprises was “I Spy”.
Thursday, 11th March
Watching the miles to go's slow but relentless decrease helps counterbalance the lethargy of almost three weeks at sea. The light winds have made our arrival in tomorrow almost a certainty in le Marin, Martinique. As the wind dropped away to nothing we turned on the engine, and with only a hundred miles to go, we have enough diesel to motor all the way.
Friday, 12th March
LAND!
Almost twenty days at sea, and we have sighted land. When I handed over the watch to Catherine at 9 a.m. this morning (Irish time) it was before dawn, but with only 35 miles to go, I expected that land would be visible with daylight. But after grabbing a few hours sleep I was disappointed to come up to the cockpit with 18 miles to go to see only a haze on the horizon.
Staring into the distance we were unsure whether we were looking at the vague outline of mountains or whether we were just straining our eyes. But finally it cleared a little and we were looking at the low contours of South East Martinique.
It has been a slow crossing, 14 days would have been good, 17 average, but by the time we tied on at 6 pm Irish time it was 20 days to the minute after we'd untied in the Cape Verdes.
Before we saw land we got reception on our phones, and started to send and receive SMS messages – until that my phone ran out of credit, and I discovered I need the Internet to top up. Neil's flight, we've just found out is 10 a.m. tomorrow, which cuts it just about as fine as we can be.
Saturday, 13th March, Martinique
We had to wait until 7 a.m. this morning to check in with immigration. Neil's airport taxi was waiting outside while I went through the formalities, which I had to do before I could give him back his passport.
The marina is full, but they have given us a berth for one night only, so we've got to get back to the boat now and get her ready to go out into the anchorage. Then it's back to the to do list, and plan where we go from here.
Au-revoire!
We met him first in Las Palmas, where his boat was berthed on the same pontoon as us, and he introduced himself to me by playing a few bars of “Dirty ol' Town” on his flute as I walked past his boat. I obliged by singing a verse and we've been pals since, a mean achievement, since he has no English and we've been working with my little bits of pigeon French and Spanish and lots of body language. When Paul and Maura on Noble Warrior arrived I heard him again use his flute to introduce himself, this time with a few bars of “God Save the Queen”, like I said mischief!
And the pigeon French and Spanish is not to be sneezed at, they speak Portuguese in the Cape Verdes, and “Please” and “Thank you” being about the extent of my vocabulary in that idiom, I chanced my arm with my laboured Spanish. This was not only understood, it earned me the appreciation of the locals – my Spanish being so bad they couldn't tell it wasn't just bad Portuguese!
Anyway, leaving Mindelo 20/02/2010, Saturday, 16:45, Chou Chou and Bouchon came to cast off our lines, and they came armed with air horns to ensure that our exit was anything but quiet. Once free of the pontoon we let Aragorn drift about the bay while we lashed stuff down on the deck in places where it would have been in the way while casting off. Then we set sail under genoa only (a single forward sail), and left Mindelo bay and out in the rolling Atlantic.
We had met Greg and Paul from “Roma” an English boat, while in Mindelo, and they left at the same time as us. This was reassuring as it meant for at least our first night at sea there would be another boat within radio range. However it has worked out even better than that as both of us are traveling at similar speeds and we seem to have arrived at an unspoken agreement to keep each other in sight. Without this we'd be certain to be out of contact with each other very quickly. It's now Monday morning and we have just been within fifty yards of each other, taking pictures that we'll exchange later via email.
Yesterday, Sunday, we gave up on genoa only sailing as we were barely making four knots. Neil has a flight home to catch from Martinique, and at that rate it would be touch and go whether he made it. So in the morning, at the 9 a.m. watch change Catherine and Neil hoisted the mainsail, and we have been getting up to six knots since. However the winds have been a bit slack, and traveling slowly means that the towed generator is not creating as much power. That combined yesterday with a cloudy day, so we ran the engine for ninety minutes after dinner to make sure the batteries had enough juice to get through the night. A good wind all night meant we had a good charge through the night from the towed gen., so as long as we continue to have half decent winds we shouldn't have to resort to the engine for a while.
This morning shortly after dawn I noticed that one of the top battens in the sail was coming out. The battens help to keep the sail at the best angle to the wind, so when Catherine came up to relieve me at 9 we dropped the sail and fixed it. To drop and re-raise the sail we simply sailed close to the wind on genoa (headsail) only, this is a new technique for us that we learned from Neil. Having done the 3 to 6 pre dawn watch, Neil was sleeping (or trying to) for the exercise.
Later we had a call over the VHF from Roma to say they'd caught a Dorado, and Greg was recommending putting out a line. I was a bit concerned about letting out a fishing line simultaneously to the towed generator line, but reasoned that both lines should swing together. Readers of older blogs will recall the results of my previous attempt at fishing in Cadiz, where I caught a fish that was all of two inches long, and I was anxious to improve. So out went the fishing line and ten seconds later it was well and truly snagged in the towed generator rope. I spent the next hour unraveling the mess & that was the end of fishing for today.
Bad things happen in threes they say, and sure enough, after the sail's batten problems, then the fishing line tangle, before the sun had set the forward heads blocked. Neil had a look at fixing it, but the blockage is in the pipe and he didn't think it was one he could tackle at sea. Over the next few days I will summon the courage to tackle it, or at least take a look for myself. In the meantime, thankfully, we have the aft heads.
Speaking of trials & tribulations, here's a thing that I picked up from my Spanish lessons in Las Palmas. English words that end in “ation” generally translate directly into Spanish by changing the ending to “ación”, therefore “preparation” becomes “preparación”, “station” becomes “estación”, “nation”, nación”, and so on. Got the idea? OK. Spanish lesson for today, the word for “crew” is “tripulación”!
You may cringe at the poor humour, but I am already flinching at the abuse I am going to have to face from my tripulations for that.
.....
Tuesday, 23rd February.
Last night while I was on the midnight to three watch I saw that we were gradually separating from Roma on different tracks. By the time Catherine took over their light was disappearing and reappearing as we rolled about in the swell, and they were out of sight by the time Neil took over at six. When I came on again at nine I tried to raise them on VHF, and searched for them on the radar, but there was no sign. No particular problem with this, but it was reassuring to have had the company.
This morning we had another batten pop out of the sail. This time it was the bottom one, so we didn't have to lower the sail as much to fix it. I think the problem is that the shackles holding the sail to the mast are on the wrong way, causing them to chafe at the webbing that holds in the batten.
Since leaving the Cape Verdes we've been sailing on a “broad reach”. This morning we changed to a “Goose wing”. For the benefit of the non sailor, “broad reach” is sailingese for the wind is blowing from behind but not quite directly behind, or from the “aft quarter”. However now the wind is blowing directly in the direction we want to go, but when we steer that way the genoa (forward sail) is completely blanketed by the main sail. So we have gybed the genoa (pulled it out the other side) and used a pole to hold it in position. The only suitable pole we have is a big heavy spinnaker pole, so Neil and I had a bit of grunt work on the fore deck, but eventually got it set up. This set up, with the main out one side and the genoa out the other, is called a “goose wing”. It is not a very fast point of sail, but it looks elegant.
Commercial shipping have a piece of whizzkiddery on board called “AIS”. This device is linked into the ships systems and broadcasts its position, heading, speed and other relevant information by radio wave to any other AIS. Before leaving Ireland we had one of these devices installed and from time to time we pick up other ships with it. When we do we call them up and ask them for an updated weather forecast. Today we saw the Dutch tug “Statum”, first on AIS, but then he came within a couple of miles of us. We chatted briefly over the radio to Jos, the update to the forecast is more of the same, which is good.
After dinner we ran the engine for ninety minutes to boost the batteries. I am now convinced that there is a problem with the solar panels, as we are getting so little juice from them. Making matters worse is our slower speed, a combination of our “goosewing” and the fact that the winds are dropping. The slower speed means we are getting less from the towed gen. There's not much I can do about the solar panels before we reach port. Another job for the list when we get there. In the meantime, we have enough diesel to run the engine for as much battery charging as we need, and I can switch off some of the non essential systems during the day to save power if necessary.
Speaking of dinner, chili fajitas, prepared by Catherine who is today's scheduled mother. Neil being scheduled daughter today got to do wash up. As it was my turn to be son I marked our position on the chart.
Overnight the winds were slack, however with the genoa poled on a goosewing we decided that we'd keep sailing downwind, which unless there was a dramatic change in wind direction was approximately our course.
...
Wednesday 24th February
Our goose wing point of sail has sailing a little south of our ideal course, as opposed to a little north while we were broad reaching. Last we saw of Roma they were on a course diverging southerly. With our new course there is a slim chance that we might catch up with them again. Roma is a slower boat, but they are a bit more trigger happy to use the engine.
Sure enough early this morning I got a blip on the radar about six miles off our beam. Once the hour was respectable enough I gave them a call over the radio, and in a few hours we were back in sight of each other. Greg, Roma's skipper, continues to tell us of his fish dinners, caught by trailing a line. So today, while we were running the engine to charge the batteries I decided to have another go, having first hauled in the towed generator.
After about an hour I got a bite. This was a first for me, aside from two goldfish sized things that I caught in Cadiz last summer, I'd never caught a fish before, and neither had Catherine or Neil. So of the four of us, it was only the fish that had any idea what to do!
I reeled him in slowly as the fight wore him down, and got him to the back of the boat. Apparently fish change colour to the grey we're used to in the shops when they die. I still don't know what type of fish this guy was, but in the water he was a beautiful yellow green. Neil came back with net and bucket. The fish was about the size of a full grown salmon, we estimated at the time at least 18 inches, although he grew substantially subsequently! Neil was trying to get the net under him, but the net wasn't big enough, it did have the effect of panicking the fish into one final flurry of resistance that I wasn't expecting, and the line broke. Dinner escaped. I had an odd mixture of feelings; respect for this beautiful creature, relief that I wasn't going to kill it, and a part of me was glad to see him go. I wished him luck and hoped that he would be able to eject the hook from his mouth.
I put the line out again, and after about another thirty minutes I got another bite. A smaller fish, we think a dorado. He was easier to manage and we got him on board, although, as I'd never killed a fish before I made a bit of a messy job of it. Catherine cleaned and gutted him, but as there was only really enough meat on him for one dinner, or two at a push, we had him as a starter, and had a main course of sausage and mash. I'm mum today, so I got to cook him too, although once again under supervision.
The wind has been up and down all day. We continue to sail on a goosewing, and we are staying within sight of Roma. Overnight though the wind dropped very light. However we decided to follow the same strategy as last night and continue directly downwind.
Thursday, 25th February.
In the early morning the wind had died away to nothing, and with light winds for the previous 24 hours we had not been getting much power from the towed generator (the slower you go the less it produces). So when Catherine came up to relieve my watch at 9 a.m. the batteries were low and we ran the engine to charge them,. This time we put the engine in gear so that we'd have some propulsion as well. We rolled up the genoa and motored at a fuel efficient 4 knots.
Overnight Roma had overtaken us and motored ahead. Just before dawn I could barely see their nav light on the horizon, but as daylight came I lost sight of them. A little later Greg called us on the radio to say that his autohelm (automatic steering) had failed, and so had his backup steering. He was trying to fix it, and we would probably overtake him. Roma also has wind steering, but so far they have been unable to get it working properly. Wind steering is a piece of kit that I am very envious of, at it steers the boat at an angle to the wind, and you can set the angle, therefore it doesn't require any power. Unfortunately Greg and Paul on Roma haven't had much success getting that working either. If they don't sort something out they will have to steer the whole way to the Caribbean, two weeks non stop steering with only two people on board they will arrive two very tired men.
We have neither wind steering nor backup autohelm. Our fall back plan in the event of automatic steering failure is to hand steer, that would be a huge amount of extra work, but with three of us less of a nightmare than what Roma face.
As we are heading west at in excess of 100 miles a day, and since we have kept all our watches on UT (Irish time), the sunrise and sunset are both getting later every day by about eight minutes.
At home we'd also be getting the benefit of the lengthening days,. but in these latitudes the amount of daylight only varies about an hour or so between our mid winter and mid summer.
Continued light winds mean that our batteries keep getting drained. Neil has suggested that we let them drain during the day, and then run the engine at night when there is a greater drain on our power resources.
We are getting to sail slowly, but I have calculated that if we can make 90 miles a day (average 4 knots) we should be in Martinique by the 14th March. Neil has a flight home to catch, we won't know exactly what date until we arrive, other than on or after the 15th.
This afternoon, buoyed by my success yesterday as “hunter gatherer” I took out the fishing rod and sat at the aft of the boat for a couple hours. I took the line in before coming back to the cockpit for lunch to find that the lure was gone! After lunch I had another go, and another fruitless couple of hours reading my book. Finally, about 6, after a chat over the radio with Roma in which Greg told us of yet another fish that they have caught, I went aft with rod one more time. Third time lucky, or so it seemed, as soon enough I was reeling in another fish that we think is a dorado. Once again he was big enough to make a hearty meal for one, or could be stretched to a meal for two, but definitely not big enough to feed the three of us. I cast the hook again, but I sensed the crew had a little less enthusiasm as they set about the gutting and cleaning, and I could hear plans being discussed for dinner of chili con carne. I took the hint and put away the fishing gear.
Friday 26th February
Catherine's comment in the log at three o'clock this afternoon “Whoever heard of Westerley trade winds in this neck of the woods!?” The trade winds, reliably as clockwork the books tell us, blow consistently from the North-East at about 20 knots. Yet here we are beating into light airs, and having to go way north of our track. And even still we are glad of the breeze such as it is, it's better than sitting in the swell going nowhere with our sails banging about. Progress towards Martinique on our current course is about 2 knots (= 2 MPH), with almost 1,500 miles to go, and Neil with a flight to catch, my old teacher's line of “must do better” comes to mind.
Saturday 27th February
Still becalmed, plodding along with banging sails, occasionally the breeze getting up enough to push us along at 4 knots, then dying away again. Catherine ran the engine for a couple of hours during her early morning watch when the batteries got so low they were threatening to drop the autohelm. This brought the days miles covered figure to a still-not-nearly-respectable 80. One week out of the Cape Verdes today, and after the last two days of calm, we have barely averaged a hundred miles a day. Our target is 120, and I had been harbouring ambitions of 150.
All day we barely drifted along in almost no wind. At times making 2 knots, more often less than that. In this the third day of calm morale is visibly dropping.
I cheered myself up this morning by going for a swim. Not just any old swim, a swim in the Atlantic over a thousand miles off both Africa and any point in the Americas, only the Cape Verdes, 700 miles behind us are nearer, unless you count the ocean bed beneath three miles plus of water. It was a rather short swim, jumping off the front of the boat and swimming directly to the transom ladder at the back. The mention of sharks and killer whales as I was jumping in doing enough to ensure my prompt return.
Earlier on a ship passed on the horizon, Roma called them on the radio to get an updated weather forecast, force three today, but force 4 tomorrow, north easterly too, very promising! As we were finishing lunch we saw another ship, and as we were chatting with Roma over the radio trying to identify her, she called us. They too gave us a forecast, but said tomorrow's wind would be from the northwest. Not so good.
Lunch, now that I mention it, included home made brown bread that Catherine made yesterday on her “mother” shift”. And it wasn't made from a mix either, not bad for mid Atlantic! Me being mum today I served it up with ham, salami and cheese. For dinner I made them spaghetti carbonara – a fistful of spaghetti, a carton of carbonara sauce, with a packet of rashers chopped up small to supplement the bacon content. Catherine stuck some pre-bake garlic bread in the oven to go with it.
We spent the afternoon reading in the shade of the bimini (sun shade over the cockpit). The wind did occasionally reach force 3, however most of the time it was varying between beaufort 1 and 2, that's between no wind and no wind at all at all at all!
Working the watches three hours on, six hours off, no one gets a full 8 hours sleep in one go, so usually at least one of us peels off for an early night shortly after dinner (about 9ish), and usually it is midday before all three of us are up and about again. This has the advantage that despite the fact that the three of us our eating, sleeping, working, 24/7 in an area the size of a small room, we are not tripping over each other all the time, at least not as much as one would expect.
Sunday, 28th February
Last day of the month, and as I take over from Neil's watch at 6 a.m. we are still crawling along, rolling about in the swell and making very little progress. However, just before Catherine came up to relieve me at 9 a.m. a gently breeze got up and we were making 4 knots, not long after it had reached its promised force 4, and from the North East to boot! Thus with the wind on the starboard quarter we are now broad reaching nicely at 5 knots. Aragorn doesn't sail as well as some boats on this point of sale, especially not in her current state loaded to the gills with provisions, so we'll gladly take 5 knots. If we can keep it up we'll be in Martinique by the 10th March despite the last three days.
Neil is mother today, and as I type he is preparing lunch. Catherine has once again slipped into the galley ahead of him and made some more brown bread, we fairly demolished yesterday's.
And then the aft heads blocked! You'll remember the forward heads blocked on Monday, so it was looking like we were out of options, until I figured that we could still use it via the holding tank. Another job for when we reach port.
Other than that we spent the day reading our books, and Neil and I had a few games of chess. I have to be careful with him, in most games now he is getting an initial advantage, I have maintained the upper hand against him only on the strength of his slip ups.
For dinner Neil prepared what is becoming our “Aragorn Atlantic special” - Tinned duck and sausages. We got the duck in Carrefoure in Las Palmas as a special treat dish. We had come across it in Carrefoures in previous ports, but it was usually in short supply. In Las Palmas they were well stocked, and we cleaned them out. However first time we had it Neil barely touched his, so since then we cook it with sausages, Neil gets them, Catherine and I have duck, and everyone is happy.
Monday 1st March
The wind that got up yesterday morning has been holding, so we've been making good progress. Miles covered in the 24 hours up until noon today is 111. However, not quite as good as it seems, as overnight Catherine saw what she thought was a green flare in the sky to the South East just as Neil was taking over the watch. Distress flares always burn either red or white and we all thought it most likely that this was a shooting star, but we hadn't been in touch with Roma for a couple of days, and from our diverging courses the last time we saw them, South East was the direction we thought they'd be. Catherine woke me to let me know and I agreed that we should investigate. So we spent the next few hours going in the wrong direction.
There were no more flares, nothing on the horizon in any direction, and we could not make radio contact with anyone even though we called Roma several times and put out a “pan pan” relay call. So when I came up for my watch at 9 a.m. we resumed our course, Westward.
With the continued favourable wind, everyone's in good humour and spirits are high. Neil has been entertaining us by singing old Beatles numbers off key until we threaten to make him walk the plank. We don't seem to have quite exhausted our repertoire of riddles and corny jokes. For the latter Neil has been benchmarking them against those his father tells, and so we have arrived at the Jim Maher award for same!
Tuesday 2nd March
Overnight I saw a “green flare” in the sky. This time it was definitely a shooting star, but having seen it I felt more comfortable about having abandoned our detour yesterday morning.
Unfortunately from this morning the wind started to ease and go a bit southeasterly, slowing us down and forcing us to steer North of our best course. The miles covered in the 24 hours to noon was 117, one of the best since the Cape Verdes, but at an average of under 5 knots nothing to write home about -- hmm, even though that's what I'm doing, isn't it? And now with the wind failing again, it looks like that'll be a record for some time. No one is talking about it, but the drain on everyone's previous good form is noticeable. In addition, we're all pretty tired. Yes, we've gotten into our rhythm of 3 hours on 6 hours off, but it's a tiring one. We cheer ourselves up with facts like we have covered 2,000 miles since leaving the Canaries – a threshold I think we crossed yesterday, tomorrow we expect to cross the half way point between the Cape Verdes and Martinique, and the next day our distance to go should dip below the 1,000 miles. This afternoon I got really low and fed up as we wallowed around in the swell barely making three knots, and even that is not in the most direct course.
Enough of this depressing introspection. Today I'm mother, and as the sun went down I began to prepare this evening's gourmet presentation, salmon pasta. This is a dish we hadn't done before, but seemed straightforward, cream sauce, tin of salmon, pasta, seasoning. Not being a fish eater, it took a bit of encouragement to get Neil to go along with this, but as our menu is limited he went along.
Now perhaps if it had been Catherine, with her culinary skills, to have prepared this dish at least the first time, then maybe it would have worked out better. I had been thinking more on the lines of the tasty smoked salmon pasta that we used to enjoy in La Strada in Dun Laoghaire. But the gruel I slopped up was yee-uch! We all managed to force it down, but I am afraid it will be a while before that particular dish gets another outing.
After dinner I took over the watch from Neil and he took off to bed promptly, but Catherine stayed up long enough for the two of us to have a cup of tea. We had been discussing the overnight sail plan earlier, and we had switched from a goose wing to a broad reach in the hope of at least a more comfortable night – Aragorn feeling a little less prone to the swell at that point of sail in the light winds. However as we finished our tea the wind disappeared completely. Rather than spend another night with sails banging as we wallowed in the windless swell I decided to burn some of our precious diesel and run the engine. We have enough diesel left for three days motoring, provided we go slowly, that's about 100 miles a day, however with over 1,000 miles to go we have to use it judiciously. So before Catherine went to bed we took in the sails and started motoring.
It was then, as I settled myself down on my own for the last two hours of my watch that I had my extra terrestrial experience. First I saw an area of clouds on the horizon behind us in the East light up, too bright to be a ship, it was more like the light pollution from a small city, except brighter, and impossible where we are – a thousand miles from land. I watched, momentarily startled, as a bright yellow dome emerged from the sea. Slowly the dome on the horizon grew becoming more round, until it lifted itself clear of the water altogether as a bright yellow disk of light. Of course I had realised after the first half second that I was looking at the full moon rising, but it was none the less awe-inspiring for that. Last night too, I noticed Catherine had remarked in the log about another spectacular moonrise.
You weren't expecting me to talk about little green men, were you?
Wednesday, 3rd March
Once again this morning I am on the 6 – 9 dawn watch. Well I've been calling it the dawn watch, but as we travel westwards dawn comes later every day, and in fact today dawn was just after 9 a.m.
As I took over from Neil at 6 a.m. We noticed a slight breeze getting up, we decided it would be worth trying to sail again, so we unrolled the genoa, killed the engine, adjusted our course slightly to windward, and sure enough we were getting 4 knots on the calm sea.
After Neil had gone to bed I realised that we had not redeployed the towed generator, which we took in when we turned on the engine last night. The engine generates all the power we need, and there is no need to trail a propeller on a rope for extra juice, aside from the risk of wrapping the generator's rope around the engine's propellor, it slows us down. So later, when Catherine came to relieve me at 9, as we were still sailing, we relaunched the towed genny before breakfast.
Over the period of my watch we had been averaging 4 knots in the light winds. If we can keep this up all the way to Martinique, we should just make it in time for Neil's flight, which he tells us will be on or after the 15th. However, having had mainly light winds since leaving the Cape Verdes, lighter even than this morning, I'd be happier if we could put something in the bank, so to speak. So after breakfast, leaving Neil to enjoy his well earned kip, Catherine and I set about deploying the last card in our hand for improving our sailing speed – the cruising chute.
The “cruising chute” is a huge light wind headsail, which we can use instead of the genoa. It is so much like an asymmetric spinnaker that I couldn't tell you the difference. Thus far in this crossing we hadn't used it for a few reasons, including that it is a rather finicky sail to both deploy and sail with, and requires extra work from the crew. Also, based on our previous attempts with it, I wasn't entirely sure that we'd get any more speed from it. However, I'd estimated about 17 days for the entire trip, Cape Verdes to Martinique, yet here we were on the eleventh day, and thanks to the disappearance of the trade winds, we weren't quite half way yet. Something had to be done.
So I spent the next 45 minutes crawling about the foredeck, getting whacked by sails and lines, while Catherine laboured over the halyards and winches from the cockpit. Because we've used it so rarely, there was also a bit of trial and error before we got it right. Eventually though we got there, and when I hauled up the snuffer to release the sail I immediately felt Aragorn surge forward, and add a knot to our speed.
I mentioned half way, well this morning we crossed the halfway mark of this final leg of the crossing (Cape Verdes to Caribbean). The total distance for the leg is 2,070 miles, and as of today we have less than 1,035 to go. To celebrate we all had showers, such a simple luxury, but our only source of fresh water is what we carry in our tanks, so we have to use it carefully.
Of course we have sailed more than 1,035 miles to get here, on account of the way we have been fish tailing about to make the most of the winds. Later today we crossed another milestone, when the distance to go dipped below the 1,000 mile mark. These distances do not reflect our trip from the Canary Islands to the Cape Verdes, nor our passages between the Cape Verdes' islands, all of which accounts for another 1,000 miles plus, so the optimist in me says that we are past the two thirds stage. One more fact buried in all these numbers is that we are a thousand miles from the nearest land. Sobering.
We occasionally see passing ships, the last one was a few days ago, “Advantage”, we chatted briefly over the radio with the American crew and they gave us an updated forecast. They also mentioned that there was a fleet of rowing boats ahead of us, (in case you thought we were mad!!) - we might catch upon them over the next couple of days. We haven't had any contact with Roma since then either.
Neil being Mum today made us a fry up of sausage, rashers, mashed potatoes and beans, although I passed on the beans.
We had a busy day, as we spent a lot of time steering the boat, the cruising chute did indeed prove finicky and we had to make constant intersessions as the autohelm lost its way. Then, at sunset, the wind increased, and though Neil was enjoying himself piloting the boat at 8 knots with the big light wind sail, I chose discretion over speed and we reverted to the genoa, which poled out in a goose wing enabled us to follow a more direct course. The change of sail meant another 20 minutes on the foredeck getting whipped and beaten by the lines and sails flogging in the wind, and leaving a lump of skin off my toe there in the process. Although I am daughter today, seeing the state of me when I came back, Catherine volunteered to do the wash-up, I was too wrecked to protest and went straight to bed.
Thursday, 4th March
I was awoken ahead of my 8:45 alarm clock by the swell as Aragorn surged and rolled in a way that told me the trade wind was back. Still tired, I clung to my half-sleep, hooking my knee over the edge of the bed to stop me rolling on top of Catherine, and managed a few more minutes doze. I envy the way Neil apparently wakes two minutes before his watch, and is wide awake in the cockpit, ready for duty within 60 seconds, still early for his watch. I need at least 10 minutes, to gather my thoughts, get dressed, and stumble bleary eyed into the cockpit.
Sure enough, bleary-eyed or not, it was quite apparent that the trades were back, blowing us directly towards our target of Martinique, and at speeds up to 7 knots. Although 5 knots was the more usual, and sometimes even a little less, with the result that we covered 16 miles in my three hour watch up to 12 o clock. If we could repeat that in every three hour period we'd be there in a week. Our 24 hours to noon miles traveled figure today is 121 miles, bringing us110 miles closer to our target – we lost the extra 11 miles due to our fishtailing.
Sunrise was about half nine this morning (still Irish time, when we arrive in Martinique we'll gain four hours). Not as spectacular as some, due to a lot of cloud about. Before too long I was sheltering under the spray hood from a light rain that fell for a few minutes, but afterwards it cleared up and I could feel the sun burning me through my jeans. Today we've reached 45 degrees west, Martinique is approximately 60. The significance is that sunrise/sunset is exactly one hour later for every 15 degrees west you go.
Yet another batten is slipping out of the mainsail this morning, we'll have to drop the sail at some stage today to sort it. Another thing that Neil noticed was the genoa sheet (that's the rope we use to control it) was chafing on the spinnaker pole. I dug up some hosing to protect it, which we can put on at the same time.
As the day wore on the wind veered southerly and we had to keep pointing more and more north to maintain our goose-wing. Eventually we had to gybe the mainsail, and before we could do that we had to sort out the batten. Another foray onto the foredeck, but we got it sorted with out much fuss, we're improving!. Then in the afternoon the wind dropped again and backed, so this time we gybed the genoa, and poled it out on the other side, so we're back to a goose-wing again for the night.
That's right, I said the wind dropped, and our speed is down to little more than a crawl once more. At least there's enough to keep the sails full, and they're not banging about uselessly as they had been, but our speed is down to three and a half knots.
Dinner tonight was sweet and sour chicken, Catherine being mum today, and the chicken came from a tin, but it was very tasty,.
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Tuesday 9th March
Ok, I've skipped a few days. What'd I miss? Not a lot, the wind gets up from the East or North east and we think the trades are back, but then it dies away again, and we are left at best tootling along at a snail's pace of three knots, or worse, going nowhere at all with the sails just banging about as we drift with the current. Why don't you turn on the engine I hear you ask, simple fact is we brought enough diesel for at best 100 hours of very economic motoring at about 4 knots, in other words 400 miles worth. We didn't have room for any more, and even at that we have jerrycans tied to the deck. Anyway, we're not supposed to need it, the trade winds blow reliably from the East or North East non stop from December to June, and my chart announces authoritatively, the North Equatorial Current flows West at between a half and one and a half knots. I wonder if whoever proclaimed these pieces of wisdom was ever out here, heck I wonder do they know what a boat or the sea looks like!
Enough belly-aching. Actually we have had both wind and progress, and even some excitement, in the last few days, and the westward current does seem to have resumed, albeit with as much South in it as West.
The wind that we've been getting has been from the South, so hardly the trades, but we've had it on and off since Saturday. It's been good enough to keep our mileage over 100 a day, although, now that we're getting closer to land, we are feeling affluent enough with the diesel to run under engine in the calms. The 24 hours up to noon today were the best since we left the Cape Verdes, coming in at 129 miles. On Sunday the winds were light so we put up the cruising chute again, and sure enough it added a knot or two, but it was a lot of work to hoist and to sail by, the watch having to sit on the autohelm to take over when things went askew, which they did regularly. Eventually, during the night when the wind died away we took it down again and motored for a few hours until the wind returned. We had gambled on the wind holding overnight to keep up the good speed, but we lost the bet and had the added grief of taking the thing down in the dark. The downside of this wind is that the boat is leaned over and bouncing about a lot on the waves, which is alright when sitting in the cockpit, but working in the galley, i.e., cooking, washing up, etc, is a bit more difficult. I think all of us have received minor scalds in the process. Still, we'll take it, it's a lot better than wallowing around in the swell and not making any progress.
We have started to see more shipping again as we get closer to the Caribbean. We can only see for a few miles to the horizon in any direction, but we get advance warning from either the AIS our radar detector. This latter screeches at us when we've been pinged by radar – at which point we turn off the sound and look for the approaching vessel on our own radar or the AIS. The AIS is another piece of whizzkiddery that big ships use to broadcast their position, speed, direction etc., and we have the kit too, so we can pick them up. Then we call them up, say hi, and get an update of the weather forecast, if they answer us that is.
Last Friday we saw a sail on the horizon. As the day wore on it seemed to inch closer to us. We tried calling them on the radio several times, but they didn't respond, presumably they had their radio switched off, or maybe they don't speak English. By nightfall they were probably only a couple of miles away, but then after dark they didn't seem to turn on any navigation lights and in the morning they were out of sight.
Then on Sunday, I was making one of our routine checks on the instruments, when I saw this boat pop up on the AIS, 5 miles ahead of us, and traveling South West at less than a knot. Just as I was guessing it must be one of the rowers, albeit headed in the wrong direction, he called us over the radio. And that was how we met Pete the single handed rower from South Africa. He explained that he was taking a break, hence was just drifting with the current. I'll repeat that for anyone that thinks we're mad sailing the Atlantic, Pete is rowing single handed across. Apparently there's an Irish guy doing it single handed as well, but I didn't catch who it was. Pete told us that he was rowing from the Canaries, and had left nine weeks previously. We didn't have to make any significant adjustment in our course to meet up with him, as he was right on our course. Spotting his little boat in the ocean swell wasn't so easy, even with him standing up, but with the help of our instruments we rendez-vous'd mid ocean.
We'd had time to prepare a goody bag containing a couple of beers from the fridge, some fresh scones that Catherine had baked, with some Kerrygold and jam, all made as waterproof as we could get it, and tied to an empty water bottle for buoyancy. As we were sailing under cruising chute at the time we were whizzing along at 6 knots as we passed him, Neil steered us as close as we dared, I lobbed the goodies towards him, and Catherine took the pictures. Then as the Crusoe figure disappeared behind us we sang him a verse of Molly Malone. For anyone interested, Pete's boat's name is “Nyamezela” and his web site is www.rowpeterow.co.za, and he's updating the site from the boat. So you don't have to wait until he arrives in Antigua to get his latest.
This evening the wind has died down a bit, which means we've slowed down, but as we'd been thumping along at up to seven and a half knots, slowing down to 5 overnight will be a bit of a relief. Especially as it means I'll be able to get a nights sleep without having to cock one leg over the side of the bed to stop me sliding on top of Catherine.
We would be going quite a bit faster, except that we are probably losing half a knot on account of all the extra provisions we are carrying, plus another half knot on account of the growth and barnacles beneath our waterline – I haven't scrubbed the bottom since lifting out last July. Then we are losing half knot because of the resistance caused by trailing the towed generator, and the other day, we had to give up on the battens in the mainsail and take them all out before they came out by themselves, thus losing another half knot. I'm thinking if we lose any more half knots we'll be going backwards.
Dinner tonight is chili again, out of a tin of course. Neil being Mum is doing the cooking, me being today's daughter, I get to wash up.
We crossed the 300 miles to go milestone just after eight this evening, so it looks like we'll arrive in Marin, Martinique, probably Friday. Or if we're real lucky Thursday. However, if it's after dark we'll wait off shore until morning to go in in daylight.
Wednesday, 10th March
Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we nearly there?
The wind has gone light again. We'd hoist the cruising chute, but we've had such grief getting it up and down that nobody has the will or the energy. The trip is taking its tole that way.
Aside from our routine chores, cooking, cleaning, watch duty, etc., we usually entertained ourselves reading, either fiction, or one of our Caribbean cruising guides, or one of our astrology guides. The downside of the latter was we could only read during daylight, but the stars obviously are only visible at night. Also, I've had the occasional game of chess with Neil, and the three of us have played cards – when there was no wind to blow the cards away. Otherwise we have engaged in such mentally challenging enterprises was “I Spy”.
Thursday, 11th March
Watching the miles to go's slow but relentless decrease helps counterbalance the lethargy of almost three weeks at sea. The light winds have made our arrival in tomorrow almost a certainty in le Marin, Martinique. As the wind dropped away to nothing we turned on the engine, and with only a hundred miles to go, we have enough diesel to motor all the way.
Friday, 12th March
LAND!
Almost twenty days at sea, and we have sighted land. When I handed over the watch to Catherine at 9 a.m. this morning (Irish time) it was before dawn, but with only 35 miles to go, I expected that land would be visible with daylight. But after grabbing a few hours sleep I was disappointed to come up to the cockpit with 18 miles to go to see only a haze on the horizon.
Staring into the distance we were unsure whether we were looking at the vague outline of mountains or whether we were just straining our eyes. But finally it cleared a little and we were looking at the low contours of South East Martinique.
It has been a slow crossing, 14 days would have been good, 17 average, but by the time we tied on at 6 pm Irish time it was 20 days to the minute after we'd untied in the Cape Verdes.
Before we saw land we got reception on our phones, and started to send and receive SMS messages – until that my phone ran out of credit, and I discovered I need the Internet to top up. Neil's flight, we've just found out is 10 a.m. tomorrow, which cuts it just about as fine as we can be.
Saturday, 13th March, Martinique
We had to wait until 7 a.m. this morning to check in with immigration. Neil's airport taxi was waiting outside while I went through the formalities, which I had to do before I could give him back his passport.
The marina is full, but they have given us a berth for one night only, so we've got to get back to the boat now and get her ready to go out into the anchorage. Then it's back to the to do list, and plan where we go from here.
Au-revoire!
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