Pacific NW

Expeditions

Privateer glides across the blue plains, like a paper plane riding on a gentle breeze. Today the winds and seas mellowed out, as forecast, and we shook out the reefs. Dry decks, hatches open, easy motion, happy sailors!! It almost feels like cheating after all of the challenging sailing across the Indian Ocean and South African coast. We’ve got a perfect 13 knot breeze and more of the same in the long-range forecast. Yes!!!!

This morning we found several more squid with their strange blue eyes on deck, and a few robust flying fish too. The waters have gone back to a deep crystal blue, as we are now sailing over depths of 15,000 feet plus again. We haven’t seen any on the horizon since leaving Cape Town, but we’re always checking because we’re astride the Cape Town to New York route.

Neptune is the perfect watch mate, always getting out of bed before his watch. I give him parameters to stay within while I sleep, so I know he will wake me if anything goes awry while I am off-watch. We’re both getting a lot of sleep. Double-handed sailing is largely a solo experience, because most often the off-watch goes to sleep.

It’s a great feeling to have all the time in the world with these easy watches. I’ve been catching up on small boat maintenance projects and reading a book by a fellow sailor we just met, about sailing across the Atlantic Ocean with his wife and 4 of his kids. In the book, he talks about the need to do things slowly. And he also describes that sometimes there’s a need to do things quickly, but carefully. I’ve been taking that advice to heart these past few days and it’s worked well. For example yesterday we fixed the Monitor rudder quickly, but carefully. And with these easy watches, I can go all around the boat with a fine-tooth comb, really taking my time, enjoying even the most mundane tasks.

The days are quickly growing hotter and the nights pleasantly warm as we approach the tropics. Today we stowed the sleeping bags and traded them for thin cotton sheets. Privateer is all ship-shape and effortlessly cruising along at 5-6 knots, day and night, day and night…

The past 24 hours have been “sleigh ride sailing”, and our noon-to-noon mileage came out to 176 miles made good! Privateer is like a horse shooting out of the barn. Life has been a bit rolly for the past few days now, but we were happy to see the 1/4 way to St. Helena mile slip by & it hardly even seems like the voyage has begun.

Early this morning before daylight, Nep woke me up urgently. The boat was rounding into the wind. I shot out of bed from a deep slumber and instinctively jumped out into the cockpit and checked the Monitor. Once again, the rudder post tube had sheared off. Unlike the clean break like in the Indian Ocean, this time to rudder was bent off at 90 degrees. Damn! Thank god I got that extra spare for the spare in San Francisco before we left. I can clearly remember the moment.

This time, the repair went much smoother than the Indian Ocean heaving-to “astronaut” experience. I knew exactly what needed to happen now. We quickly rigged up the new electric tiller pilot to take over while we made the repair. Nep still had to hold me by the ankles as I hung upside-down over the rail to slip a few cotter-ring pins out. I was careful to tie multiple safety lines to each precious part of the Monitor that I disassembled. We lit up the cockpit with the LED deck lights, and at some point a squid must’ve been attracted to the light, because later on in the day we found a squid in the cockpit. I didn’t know they could leap out of the water! It’s human-like eyeballs dangled out of the sockets and it lay in a pool of black ink.

I worked quickly and carefully down below at the tool bench, and soon had the new tube installed. I also got a good look at the cracked hinge lever, which we need to repair in St. Helena ASAP. My cruising notes say there’s a good stainless steel welder on St. Helena, so hopefully we can find them when we get there. We’ve got 6,500 more miles of sailing in front of us and no chance of flying in any spares, so any fixes will be Alaskan “Wrangellized” style, as we like to say in Wrangell Alaska. We will also try and make new shorter rudder tubes by sawing off the broken ends and drilling new holes. The rudder is back on again and we are back in business.

Fortunately, it looks like the weather is taking a turn for the ideal! Winds are forecast to drop to around 10-13 knots with seas diminishing to 1.5 meters throughout next week. We’re looking forward to some quiet sailing, with hopefully enough wind to keep the sails from flogging.

Another setback with boat equipment today–our water-maker is producing un-potable water again, even after I had cleaned it out in Cape Town. I suspect we may have a problem with the membrane itself, which basically means we can’t rely on the water-maker on this passage across the Atlantic. Fortunately, we have loads of fresh bottled water on board already. And Privateer also has massive water tanks–about 250 gallons in 3 separate tanks, which are totally full. We will still use the water-maker to top up one or two of our tanks for doing dishes and showers, but all of our drinking water will have to come out of bottles filled in St. Helena from here on out.

Talking with the other circumnavigators in Africa, it seems as if we’re all at a point in the voyage where we’re all dealing with multiple breakages and gear failure. After using everything on the boat to the max for so long, it’s only a matter of time before things start to give out. We all take what spares we think we’ll need, and then deal with the problems as they come. Improvisation is key to success.

In other news, we hear that the orange-faced clown was sworn in as President of the USA today. Quite the contrast to Billy Bush, who lost his job after the jocular video surfaced. I smell a fraud…

I’m on graveyard watch tonight. The moon isn’t up yet and the winds are brisk. Bursting galaxies of bioluminescence create an eerie green glow around the boat as we charge through the waves. Privateer herself is creating her own night lights as she tears a wide wake through the ocean swell.

250 NM off to starboard lays the shore of the Namibian desert. Cape Town is already several hundred miles astern, and the cold Benguela current is giving us an extra boost. We’re making good speeds in the SE winds, clocking a solid 8.3 knots with regular accelerations to 9 and 10 knots. The miles are slipping by. It looks like the forecast will settle down in a few days, with the winds moderating to 10 knots. For now it’s a bit rolly, but an OK price to pay for the added speed. I noticed a problematic hairline crack in the stainless steel hinge on the Monitor rudder shaft. We’ll get that looked at by a welder ASAP in St. Helena. In the meantime I am going through in my head what I’d do if the piece failed out here. Sailing is all about perceiving the dangers around you and trying to eliminate a problem before it arises.

Speaking of problems, we have a major cockroach and ant infestation on board Privateer! Such is the problem with tying alongside the docks in Africa–the marinas are teeming with roaches. Every now & then as I type, a roach crawls onto & across my computer screen. I think they like the heat inside the laptop. They’re very smart & quick–if you take the time to find something to smash them with, they will certainly get away. They have a disturbing ability to slip off countertops and literally disappear before your eyes. The only way to get them is to pound them with your bare fist, a method Kelsey pioneered and perfected. It all started when we spotted one roach a few weeks ago, and then found a hatched egg nest inside a clove of garlic. Now they have gone through a few generations=85 I’ve laid out dozens of “hotels” in all the lockers & bilges. Hopefully between that and the old fist-smash, we can get them under control without resorting to fumigation. I’d like to bring the boat to a freezing climate in North America for the winter, and freeze them off the boat. The ants were making highways across the bulkheads. Tiny little things-they didn’t have the gross-out factor like the roaches. Neptune and I laid out poison syrup traps for them and within a few hours, I was surprised to see literally thousands of ants swarming the traps. Within 24 hours almost all the ants have vanished, and my tool bench is littered with dead ants like a civil war battlefield.

We’ve just crossed latitude 30S and are now climbing back into the 20s and toward the tropics again. The nights are growing warmer and more pleasant as we sail north. In a few days we will also cross the Prime Meridian, longitude 0, and pass back into the Western hemisphere, =BD way around the world from Fiji! And shortly after St. Helena we’ll cross the Equator into the Northern hemisphere. There will be many milestones on this trans-Atlantic passage.

Nep and I are settling into our offshore routine, and the days and nights are once again blending together into the series of watches and naps. It’s pretty ideal, but I miss Kelsey & especially Taz, and tend to daydream about what they’re doing back in Minnesota right now.

It’s been awhile since our last post, so here’s a quick run-down to get you back up to speed:

My Dad & I are sailing the boat across the Atlantic now, a 7,000 NM voyage to the US Eastern Seaboard. We are currently on passage to St. Helena, 1,700 NM distant from Cape Town, South Africa. Kelsey and Taz have flown ahead to the USA, as we didn’t want to risk having baby #2 in the middle of the ocean! They are back with the Grammys in Minnesota & Taz is reportedly enjoying the snow and being the center of attention.

After Kelsey, Taz, and I made landfall in Richards Bay, South Africa, we picked our way down the treacherous coast, weathering storms in each of the ports we came across–Durban, East London, Port Elizabeth, Mossel Bay, and finally on to Cape Town. Until we post our journals of this leg, be sure to check out our pictures from the safari we took in Hluhlue/Imfolozi game park! Just like being in Jurassic Park… we were blown away by the magnitude of wildlife.

It’s been a very busy last two months sailing down the infamous Agulhas current to Cape Town–it took us almost 4 weeks to accomplish the 850 or so NM in between weather windows, and we spent Christmas at sea, rounding the Cape of Good Hope. In Cape Town we spent several weeks getting Privateer in order for her next major ocean passage across the Atlantic.

Privateer has come so far already this year. Of special note is that during 2016, Privateer has had her bow in 3 oceans: The Pacific (NZ-Vanuatu-Australia), all the way across the South Indian Ocean, and finally into the Atlantic at Cape Agulhas, just before reaching Cape Town. 3 oceans this year, and also across the breadth of the Coral Sea, the Arafura Sea, and the Timor Sea. And all with baby Taz (now over 2 years old!) and baby #2 has crossed the Indian Ocean & into the Atlantic in the womb, feeling every ocean wave. It has been a crowning achievement what we did this year. I am very sad to see Kelsey & Taz go off the boat for the Atlantic crossing–it’s as if one world voyage has come to an end, and another one beginning. If all goes well we should re-unite in about 2.5 months in North America.

My Dad (whom I will refer to as “Neptune” hereafter) & I departed Cape Town at 1100 hrs on Jan 17 & have been at sea for a few days now, settling into the new rhythms of the Atlantic. The first 24 hours were pretty ideal in light winds & sunny skies. Good old Privateer is all organized and shipshape. The passage from here to St. Helena and onward to the Caribbean is considered one of the most pleasant downwind sails in the world, but the first few days out of Cape Town can be bouncy.

Sure enough, the winds piped up to SE 25, but the seas were much kinder than the cross-swells of the Indian Ocean. We kept a double reef in the Main and are using our same “Indian Ocean sail plan” with the pole out to port, but we’re taking the swells at a much better angle now that we’re sailing off to the NW, & back into the tropics. Yesterday we had covered 124 NM in light winds and our noon-to-noon today shows we’ve covered 164 NM now that we’ve got a decent breeze. Things have tapered off a bit now, and we’re hoping for generally pleasant conditions from here on out, maybe with a bit more high winds tonight. Yesterday was just too bumpy to write, and it takes a few days to readjust to the ocean after sitting in a marina for a few weeks.

Nep and I are on a regular watch schedule now that Taz is no longer the determining factor. It’s nice for me to know exactly when my watch will end! We break the night watch into three 4-hour blocks, and the day into two sets of 6 hours. This gives us 6-hour stretches of sleep during the day, and one night will be sunset/sunrise watches and the next night the “graveyard” watch, from midnight to 0400. It should take us a few weeks to reach our first destination, St. Helena, a tiny dot in the middle of the South Atlantic…

Our beam reach ended around sunset last night when we got to within 70 NM NE of Richard’s Bay. It is prudent to aim north of the destination, as the strong Agulhas currents sweep you to the south as you cross the main bulk of the stream. We definitely did not want to get swept south of Richard’s Bay and into the advancing low pressure system! However, the winds stayed very S and SW, despite the light E-SE winds forecast. Our last 70 NM were once again a beat to windward.

Dawn rose another red-sun-in-morning-warning day, with massive mushroom clouds marching along the shores of Africa. We sighted our first glimpse of the African continent in between a few of these cells, before the misty rains closed in again and obscured the land. There appeared to be a mixture of jungle and open savanna land. It was so amazing to think that lions and giraffes and elephants and hippos walk these shores! The lands on Privateer’s starboard beam promise adventure and mystery: Swaziland, Zululand, Mozambique, Lesotho…

The winds became very unstable near the mushroom cells, buffeting Privateer from every direction and raising a high, vigorous, and heavy chop in the Agulhas current. We lurched through steep and angular waves as hot and cool winds swirled through the rigging. The mist brought our first smells of the land–the smells of a new continent. We could smell the sweet grass, like a freshly mown lawn on a dewy morning, and I swear I could smell Elephant dung on the warm breezes as well. First smells from the sea are always the most vivid after being on the ocean for many days. The nose goes into overdrive for about an hour before the new smells become “normal” and the brain shuts them off and tells you not to notice them anymore. For that first sweet hour, my mind took me back to a time of childhood with these smells and sent shivers down my back.

We gave up on the sailing for the last 25 NM. The winds were coming from all directions, and the sooner we could make port the better. It is no joke out here in the Agulhas current. These waves are wicked, and it’s not even a windy day by South African standards. We were seeing the effects of 20 knots SW against the current, and it wasn’t pretty. I can easily see why, when met with a SW gale, the Agulhas current produces vertical waves 60 feet tall, capable of (and regularly) cracking freighters in two. A small boat would not have any chance of survival these conditions. With our SW gales to come in a day or two, there was a strong urgency not to linger here. These are considered the most dangerous seas in the world, and sailing along here today is about as fun as playing that game where you fan out your fingers and stab a dagger into the table between them. We got lucky and did not get stabbed.

Our beloved electronic tiller pilot, however, steered its last course before a nasty rogue wave smacked the boat and flooded the cockpit, submerging the precious unit and destroying the internal fluxgate compass. I was forced to hand steer the last 5 hours and it nearly ripped my arm out of the socket. As we approached the land the waters turned muddy and milky, and we had a close call with a 55-gallon barrel. It was lurking just below the surface of the waves and I noticed it only because a rainbow sheen of gasoline blossomed outwards from the hazard. A few minutes later I saw another. Despite not sleeping more than 3-4 hour stretches for the past ten days, and being up all night last night, I was very alert and aware of my surroundings–you kind of have to be!

At last, we radioed Richard’s Bay Port Control and passed in behind the massive breakwater walls that protect the bay. We made it!!!!!!! Yeah Privateer!!!!! The winds dropped to zero very politely (& luckily!) for our arrival. We found a slip in the rickety Tuzi Gazi marina docks and gingerly tied alongside. An excellent passage safely completed.

The enormity of this world voyage and the significance of the passage sunk in as we walked the docks and chatted with the other sailors. We rolled our dice with the rest of them in La Reunion and it was a good roll–Snake Eyes! The others were not so lucky. Sapphire left one week before us and came in after us, 16 days later with a shredded mainsail. Another boat neighbor in Reunion left 2 days before us and limped into port after encountering severe seas that left one crew with a broken arm and the dodger & frames stripped clean off the decks. Aliena was busy taking down here spare main, after the original one disintegrated and the spare delaminated. Looking around the harbor there were many more blown-out jibs and tales of 55-knot winds and being hove-to for four days, etc etc. Our tiller pilot failure was the least interesting story on the dock and our passage the quickest. Despite our relief and exhilaration, we kept our cards close to our chest and our poker faces on.

Finally, I would like to thank Mark on base command S/V “Tuuletar”, who provided us with detailed weather analysis several times each day while en route. His caliber of forecasting kept us in favorable currents and routed us well away from the bad weather, with safe and comfortable route alternatives in order to avoid any storms, should they come our way. Thank you a million times over, Mark! Receiving your texts and mulling over the options with you was a highlight of this passage.

Overall, we had an safe and thrilling passage. We really did have a bit of everything. We sailed every angle from wing & wing to close-hauled and everything in between. We had winds from 10-45 knots, and winds from every direction N, E, S & W. We had 4 gentle downwind days, a 186 NM distance-shattering day, a few days hard on the wind heeled over, and a big lightning storm to spice things up. We flew our storm trysail and storm jib which saved wear and tear on our working sails and kept us comfortable in the blow. We lucked out on the timing of the fronts and didn’t have to heave-to or wait for better weather. We achieved the best possible outcome after just 10 days at sea–a fast passage.

A new continent to explore now, Africa awaits…

After the storm front passed yesterday we sailed along nicely until daybreak, but then a stiff 22-knot Westerly wind kicked in, right on the nose. This, compounded by the urge to make port before the next major storm in a few days, was a very frustrating experience. We had to crack way off to the NW, almost at a right angle to our destination.

Finally, yesterday afternoon the winds went more WSW and lightened up and we fired up the engine to improve our angle of attack toward destination. We still angled off to the NW more than I liked, but were once again making miles and still able to use the wind vane for our autopilot. I slept the rest of the day to recharge after the adrenaline and elation of the storm wore off and exhaustion kicked in.

We had to work very hard and get very wet to make our miles today, again. It was sort of a miniature repeat of yesterday, minus the front. The winds came more “annoying Westerly” again and we were forced once more to fire up the engine to keep our speed up. No lingering around here! Hammer down and get to port ASAP, by any means. We have the Agulhas current to cross and another bigger storm to beat.

In the afternoon the swells built to 5 meters, big giants coming up from the Southern Ocean. They were spaced nicely apart, however, so didn’t pose any threat. The winds filled in from the South at about 22-25 knots and we took off on a beam reach in very lively conditions. It felt more like we were going through the waves–the decks continually awash. I forgot to turn a cowl vent around–big mistake. I was here at the nav station on my computer and Kelsey was playing with Taz in the bunk. When Kelsey saw the portlights (windows) fill with green water, she knew it was going to be interesting. We took a wave wrong and the crest smacked the side of the boat hard and water shot down into the boat through the cowl vent pipe like a large-diameter fire hose. Fortunately the boat was heeled over enough that the main stream landed on the floor, but seawater still sprayed all over the bunks and into the galley.

Finally in the evening the winds shifted more to the south and we eased off onto a fantastic beam reach for about 100 NM. We are now on our final approach to Richard’s Bay. So close!

We saw the wall of lightning about an hour before the front hit us. Big bolts and zaps hitting the ocean ahead. The winds were only around 15 knots and Privateer had slowed down to about 4.5 knots. It felt a bit silly to be sailing in 15 knots with storm sails. But I resisted the urge to pile on more canvas. With lightning on the horizon and Kelsey & Taz sleeping below, this was time to batten down: the calm before the storm.

Slowly, we sailed into the wall of electricity. The misty air smelled like burnt-out batteries, and my thoughts turned naturally toward what would happen if we experience total instrument failure. One GPS is always stored in a metal box, to protect against lightning strike. I’ve heard of other sailors putting their electronics in the galley oven, too. Just don’t forget to take them out before you pre-heat! I woke Kelsey up and had her wrap Taz up in the foam yoga mat, to create a total insulative barrier.

It wasn’t your average thunderstorm. Blue and purple flashes burst continually from the sky, in constant succession, the colors like the weird blue light inside a tanning booth. The ocean was a metallic purple under those strange lights, with pink white-caps…”Pink-caps!” When an extra-intense bolt would land near the boat, a perfect negative-image of Privateer was burned momentarily into my eyes. If I blinked, I could see a black image of Privateer against a white background, down to every minute detail including the wire rigging and ropes.

Thunder on the ocean is a sound to behold. There’s nothing to echo off of out here, and the thunder rushed out across the expanse of ocean like the noise of a jet engine. I can only describe it as a “circular” noise. From all directions the thunder rushed outward. Some of the lightning bolts directly overhead produced a stacatto thunderclap, but being in the epicenter with no echo to hear, that was all we heard. Once in Alaska I saw a house-sized boulder fly off a mountainside and into the ocean from thousands of feet above. The sound that rock made when it hit the water was like tonight’s overhead thunder: kind of a hollow sucking noise.

When the SW winds came, I thanked god that we had our storm trysail up and not a reefed main. I just had time to watch the wind speed instrument go from 8 knots to 35 in one second, and then I was too busy to watch it top out. The storm sails snapped-to like a rubber band (they are built to stretch) and Privateer took off like a wild animal that had just been poked in the rear. The only problem was, we were on starboard tack in NW winds before the event, and now with the winds SW we were still on starboard tack but sailing back toward Reunion! We needed to tack ASAP.

I lit up the decks and prepped for action, running down the checklist in my head: Flip air vane paddle hard over for deep port tack, let fly lazy storm trysail sheet after sails pop, secure storm try, secure storm staysail sheet & let fly lazy sheet after she backs and hammers the boat over. Simple enough. Only problem was, the winds were so intense that no matter what I did with the air vane adjustment, Privateer just surged straight ahead, unable to come to windward for the tack. I tried falling off into a jibe, same thing. At that point Captain instinct kicked in and somehow I made it work, though I cannot tell you the sequence of events because I still can’t figure out how I did it. I started the engine but couldn’t hear it over the shriek of the wind–I didn’t even know it was on until I goosed the throttle and felt a faint vibration under my feet. I was completely disoriented by the lightning flashes and waves crashing over the decks. Again, I put the air vane where I knew it had to be in the end, punched the throttle full-out, and used all my body weight to force the tiller over. And somehow the boat swung around, not sure if jibed or tacked, and I got sheets made fast. It was like trying to drive a runaway car around a sharp bend on a mountain road while eating a sandwich and texting a friend and trying to figure out how the windshield wipers work. I was thrilled to see Privateer tracking straight on her new line now, surging through the storm like a Cadillac. I whooped and howled into the wind and lightning.

Meanwhile, Taz slept peacefully down below, oblivious to the lively conditions on deck, while his Dad sang to himself at the helm. “Does anyone know where the love of god goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours…”

We did it! Privateer shattered her all time distance record. We logged a whopping 186 NM day at sea. 1/2 of this distance was sailing to windward, and the other half wing-on-wing. We probably could’ve broken 200 NM if I’d set the pole out earlier. We spent a good part of the night deep reaching with the yankee blanketed by the mainsail. However, for safety I do not set the pole in the dark if I can avoid it. At first light we rigged the pole for wing & wing and the boat accelerated another 2 knots extra speed.

My muscles ache from all the sail changes and maneuvers these past few days! Constant reefing, un-reefing, dipping the pole from port to starboard, jibing, etc. We’re playing the winds and sailing as fast as we can to beat the SW buster on Wednesday.

With the 2nd front due to hit us at 0300 hours tonight, I slept throughout the afternoon as best I could. This next one should be a bit of a doozie. We’re supposed to get a 180 degree wind shift (not in our favor) so we are running as far off the the south in anticipation for a “bounce” to the north on our track line.

Today “Aliena” popped back onto our AIS and we passed again, remarkably, within sight of each other. Of all the ocean out here what are the chances… We noticed that they had come to a full stop, and I gave them a safety call on Ch. 16, with no response. I ran down the list of possibilities: either they had landed a huge fish, were raising or lowering their main, or someone/thing had fallen overboard. Later we received a call from the tired skipper: their mainsail had torn in half! Luckily they had a spare main on board. But it was in-mast roller furling and quite a feat to thread the huge sail into the slot while hoisting in a vigorous wind & sea. The skipper told me he’d lost a lot of skin, but he did it.

Around sunset the winds piped up fresh from the North at 25 knots, higher than forecast. I had a nagging feeling about the approaching front, and decided to play it safe and hoist the storm trysail and douse the mainsail. With the boom safely and securely lashed down and trysail sheeted to the strong point in the cockpit, I felt elated. We are now ready for anything. The boat immediately went from feeling a bit over-powered to under complete control. We still have the double-reef yankee flying, and can roll it up at the first hint of strong winds. Now that the storm trysail and storm staysail were set, I noticed we were still flying our French Tricolor flag. We lowered the flag and hoisted the flag of South Africa! Here we are, on our way to Africa, with a gale on the horizon and the mighty Agulhas current ahead of us. We’re as ready as we can be.

It was flat calm in the morning, motoring across very long-period swell coming up from the SW. It was also a “Red Sun in morning, sailor’s take warning” dawn. I took advantage of the quiet conditions and topped off our fuel tank (pouring jerry cans into deck fill) and put a smart double-reef in the mainsail.

The engine stayed on until noon, when the first front arrived. Our clear skies became misty with cloud scuttle, and a fresh wind popped up instantly from the south. We sheeted the yankee and staysail and took off on Privateer’s fastest tack ever! From 12 noon to midnight tonight we sailed well over 100 NM! As winds built to 20-24 knots forward of the beam, Privateer powered into the waves making solid 9-10 knots SOG. Our highest of the day was 15.4 knots! I’m still not quite sure how we did it, but the miles in our wake tell the tale. It’s the fastest I’ve ever sailed on any 36′ boat.

Making those miles is money in the bank for us. We must reach Richards Bay by Wednesday, or face the prospect of 3 extra days at sea, hove-to in potentially very nasty conditions. Each hour we sail at those speeds is one hour less on our ETA.

We’re pressing down south of the rhumb line now, to prepare for a more vigorous front on Sunday, which should bring more S-SW winds, rain, and possibly lightning. It was a wet enough ride today, heeled into the waves, and we want to be able to crack off a bit in this next frontal system. It’s a bit of a zig-zag path toward Richard’s Bay, but it only adds a few hours and greatly increases [relative] comfort on board. It was a deck-sweeper of a day today, waves continually booming down on deck & walls of spray as Privateer disintegrated the waves in front of her.

Taz was a good boy today & held on tight to his animals–the trio of Kitty, Kanga, and Kiwi, with the newest addition of his Mauritian “toilet kitty” which has already been chucked into the sea, into the toilet, and run over by a car & lost an eye.

The good currents and light winds carried us all the way past our southern waypoint, 75 NM south of Cape St. Marie, Madagascar. With sails barely filled, we glided along at 6.5 knots. All good things must come to an end, however. The wind dropped before shifting to the south. We motor-sailed for an hour or two, and then had enough wind to beam reach on a good sail for another few hours, but finally the winds went too light again and we’ve been motoring through the night.

We are putting on a full head of steam now to try and maintain a 5.5 knot average, giving us an ETA at Richards Bay on Tuesday night. An intense low is forecast to form over Durban next Wednesday-Thursday, and we don’t want to be anywhere near that! If we slow down, or the low comes earlier, we will be forced to divert north to Maputo, Mozambique. The alternative is to ride out the storm hove-to. It’s supposed to pass through quickly, but looks like a doozie with 45-knot winds. We’ll do everything we can to avoid it. I spent a few hours emailing back and forth with Mark on Tuuletar and Sam in South Africa. Eventually they both came to the same conclusion on a route, which is a direct rhumb-line course to Richards Bay.

I’ve never seen so many freighters at sea–at all times today we had anywhere between 5-8 of them on our AIS. Any time one was on a trajectory to within 1 mile of our track, we called and requested diversion. They have all been very generous in giving us a wide berth. Kelsey called one captain who freaked out because he thought we were a US warship!

We squared away the boat today in preparation for the swells & winds ahead. We’re eking out all the speed we can get, sailing and motor sailing if our speeds drop below 5.5 knots. I think I’ve reefed and un-reefed the main 5 times in the last two days! There always seems to be a patch of 25-knot winds right at sunset, and again at sunrise.