Pacific NW

Expeditions

Winds and seas have calmed a bit since the gales of the past few days, but we are still riding 20-25 knots of E-SE breezes and occasional squalls that are lingering with the passage of the cold front. It’s a good wind, and just the one we need to get us there! We’ve reduced the poled-out Yankee to a small scrap of sail, and are riding comfortably with #2 reef main sheeted all the way out, storm Staysail sheeted flat for our “shark fin” stabilizing sail, and the Yankee scrap. Wind angle is 150 on port tack and boat speeds hovering around 6.5-7 kts. The motion below is tolerable, with occasional lurching when we get punched by a wave crest.

We swapped out one of the blocks on our steering control line and rigged a fresh new line, as the existing one was frayed, because the block was chewing it up. Kelsey and I managed to do it all while the boat was under way! The task was small fry compared to yesterday’s adventures

Taz picked up the phrase “cool, dude” today and for some reason it really cracks him up! He laughs hysterically as he repeats it over and over again. He even woke up at 1 AM last night and started saying it as he chuckled to himself.

We made 135 miles noon-to-noon because of our time spent on the repair yesterday. GRIB reports look good and we should have great tail winds for a few more days, with the last two days being light winds and possibly motor-sailing for the final 48 hours of the passage. It’s all a few days out yet, so we’ll see what happens. Our current ETA for Rodrigues is Sep. 13 by nightfall.

Privateer shattered her all-time noon-to-noon record today, flying over 173 miles (as the crow flies). Adding for tack angles and wind shifts, we covered well over 180 NM over ground. So the new record stands, at 173!

The seas continued building throughout the night last night, and in the morning it was heaping seas in a smother of foam. The troughs were like a watery amphitheater, walls of water looming all around. Rising up on the crests, our view was similar to looking out an airplane window at an endless chain of snowy peaks as far as the eye can see.

A radio call with S/V “Sapphire” 500 NM ahead of us now revealed he (John) had had a rough night as well. His Monitor rudder sheared off at the top weld and he is sailing under heavily-reefed sails and using rope to lash the tiller. It’s too rough for his electric autopilot, and we are all hoping seas will calm for him soon so he can get some sleep.

The apparent chaos of the waves juxtaposed with our *relative* comfort below is testament to the superior sea-keeping abilities of the Cape George 36. As waves punched and battered the cockpit, her small foot-well and broad bridge-deck allowed her to drain fast after she filled up and keep on sailing. Other “cheese and cracker boats” as our NZ friends call them, have large cockpits for entertaining, but cause the boat to wallow when a heavy sea breaks over the deck (imagine the immense and sudden weight of a full-size hot tub added to the back of your boat). Two waves in a row could easily poop a vessel. We’re always jealous of the cheese and cracker boats in the anchorage, with all their comfortable seats and tables etc. But we’ll take our cramped and seaworthy cockpit over any other on a day like today, we wouldn’t trade it for 1,000 cocktail hours on a cheese and cracker boat. Ironically, cheese and crackers are about the only thing on the menu when the going gets rough…so I guess you could call this a cheese and cracker day–on a kick-ass traditional and time-tested design of a proper boat. 3 cheers for Privateer!

The event happened at 1230 hrs just after noon. Booming along in 30 knots when suddenly the boat spun around and jibed the Mainsail. Thanks to our multiple preventer system, it was a gentle jibe. Curious: the Monitor control lines were still intact. Usually, the boat will only jibe if one of these has broken. I steered us out of the jibe but my heart sank when I looked back to find that the Monitor rudder post had sheared off. Fortunately, the rudder was still trailing behind the boat like a Dorado on the line, attached to it’s safety tie line.

The facts: we were 880 miles from Rodrigues, suddenly with no autopilot, in a gale. It was way too rough to even think about destroying our electric tiller-pilot. I am basically single-handing the boat when Kelsey needs to take care of Taz (who is getting his molars now.) We absolutely had to fix the Monitor, now.

In moments like this, I go into a sort of “soldier mode” and instantly enter into an optimistic and focused state. Two things immediately going for us was the fact that the breakage happened during the middle of the daylight hours, and Taz was sleeping soundly in his berth. First assessment revealed a simple shear-tube break, of which we had not one but two spares! “Kelsey, you’re on the helm, steer wind angle 1-5-0.” I rummaged through the spare bin and proudly held out the two spares. Perfect! Execute 2nd maneuver: heave-to and stop the boat, in order to stabilize the platform for repair. As we jibed and locked sails in a perfect heave, we heard a metallic clatter. 3rd maneuver: replace the broken tube. “Kelsey, please hand me the new tube.”

After a few minutes of looking for the two tubes that I had in my hand before the heave-to, I asked again. “Where the F— are the f——g piece of s— tubes??” After 15 more minutes of frantic searching, we began to realize that in my haste to procure the spares and heave-to, the tubes had skittered right off the deck and down into 15,000 feet of seawater when the boat jibed around into the heave. And that my dumb-ass had for some reason brought both spares out into the vulnerable cockpit. “This is just the sort of thing that can happen at sea” I chided myself. “Two spares sitting in there all this time, right up to the second we need them, then gone, because of my stupidity.” The situation went from very controlled and positive to a very personal low point. Forget about the tubes. Move on. Think. I measured the SS tubing on the dodger frame–diameter too small. Measured the tubing on the arch: just right. I cringed at the thought of cutting a section of tubing out of the arch, not only for the sacrilege of it, but for how long and difficult that would be to do with a hacksaw, in heaping seas. My spare tubes were probably still falling through the water down to the ocean floor…

Suddenly, Kelsey emerged from below and shouted “PETE!” She proudly held one of the tubes aloft! We both swore that we remembered me bringing both tubes into the cockpit and setting them up on the bench of the arch, and that we’d heard them go overboard. But in my initial excitement of finding the spares, I had for some unknown reason put them right back into their locker, sealed the hatch, and replaced the cushion over it. Whatever. I have never looked so lovingly on a 2″ O.D. x 24″ SS tube, with a perfect set of holes precisely drilled into either end to accept the locking bolts. The situation ramped back into an extreme high. Next came the wet part.

Kelsey tethered me up and I climbed out over the stern pulpit, and lowered myself down onto the Monitor frame. I must re-emphasize that we were in 30 knot winds with explosive seas breaking all around. We were hove-to which created the calm slick, but it was still quite a ride. With one arm locked solid around the Monitor frame, various tools in the other hand, legs falling asleep as my feet tried to find grip on the slippery salt-encrusted tubing, and with various greasy bolts and cotter pins in my mouth, I tried to remove the broken tube section and detach the bracket that holds it. My biggest fear was slipping and cracking a rib on the sharp metal extrusions on the frame. Riding this bucking bronco, both I and my “work station” were submerged by each passing wave. We call this a “circumnavigation experience”. I felt like shark bait and constantly scanned under the boat for movement. It is an unnatural instinct to climb outside of the safety of the boat at sea, and into the electric-blue deep waters. I tried channeling the astronauts who must work on broken solar panels etc in space, tethered by a thin strand to their life force, surrounded by a vast emptiness of death and incredible beauty.

Once back to the safety of the cockpit with the bracket, we had a bit of a head-scratch on how to remove the broken tubing, which required a bit of Pine Island ingenuity. We were able to pull the broken piece out of the shaft by bending one of our kitchen knives into a hook tool, drilling a few small holes into the side of the tubing, and pulling it out with SS seizing wire and a rubber mallet.

Finally, we assembled the new parts, repeated a second “astronaut walk”, and put everything back together. We jibed out of the heave-to and were on our way again, in less than two hours after the breakage! All squared away and back on the road again.

The Indian Ocean is showing its not-so-pretty face tonight. Several hours before sunset a stiff S-SE wind found us, bringing gusts of 30+ knots in the squalls. The seas are heaping, and at times the deck looks more submarine than sailboat. It’s a good thing we stowed everything away yesterday–the few items we forgot about became instantly known when they projectile-missiled themselves across the cabin. We clocked out a whopping 169 miles noon-to-noon.

At times like this I wish I could be as carefree as Taz. He’s completely oblivious to the gale, and even seems to perk up at times like these. There’s really not much to do except hold on, and remain at instant readiness in case something needs quick attention. “Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours” Gordon Lightfoot wrote. These words are so true. The worry is worse than the actual gale.

Privateer is of course handling the seas like a champ, blasting a path through the ugly cross-swells. At times like these I’d rather be on no other boat–her true form shines in moments like these. It looks like tonight will be the brunt of the heavier winds and seas, and then it should slowly taper off over the next several days.

We crossed the halfway-passage mile today! We’ve sailed 1,000 miles in 6.3 days (FAST!) since leaving Cocos Keeling, with another 1,000 miles to go now to Rodrigues. I had dreams of making a “halfway alfredo” for dinner as some friends on another boat do, but it’s too rough to cook tonight. Maybe I’ll try my luck at a 2/3 or 3/4 alfredo if conditions allow–something to look forward to anyway, as I gnaw on a granola bar for dinner…

We’re getting down near 20 degrees South now, and the nights are much cooler. The seawater is cooler as well. Best of all, the solar panels are more efficient in these “colder” temps and the fridge also doesn’t have to work as hard. And with the gale turning the wind generator, we’re quickly topping up our battery bank and able to use electricity without thinking about consumption. We hardly ever run our engine to charge batteries. We usually just fire it up to motor into an anchorage, and turn it off again after we put the sails up on our way out to sea again. It’s a great way to keep the engine room real tidy, too. We’ve burned only 4-5 gallons in the past 5,000 miles. So we get about 1,000 nautical miles per gallon–very fuel efficient!

The new high pressure system is filling in now and we are screaming along on our beam reach, with 20 knot winds just aft of the beam. Our current speeds are between 7-8 knots. The winds are more out of the south now, and we have adjusted our course to ride comfortably down the rhumb line. All of our southing in lighter winds is paying off now, with our improved angle to destination now.

This morning and afternoon we squared away “Privateer” and gave everything a good sweep and polish. The less we need to do in the heavier seas to come, the better. Everything is ship-shape and in top form. In the evening we double-reefed the Yankee and snugged up the cringles in the the #2 reefed Main. The winds piped up right on cue at sunset and we are riding comfortably.

Last night I had an epiphany about a Taz-proofing problem. We’ve needed some sort of baby gate to keep him from wandering into the galley (especially near the gimballed stove) and into the forward head. Basically, we needed some sort of way to contain him in the main saloon. I kept on telling myself I’d find some plywood in port to make one, but suddenly realized we already had the perfect pieces on board! The dinghy floorboards are the perfect height and fit. A few grip clamps and voila–Taz now has a safe zone on the saloon floor. With his toys, potty, and high chair on hand, he’s pretty stoked. He’s been running around in circles chanting “wild rumpus, wild rumpus, wild rumpus!” He can watch Mom in in the galley and still see the “big boy potty” in the head, and we can easily step over it. I wish we’d thought of this sooner! The best solutions on board always use something you’d have to stow anyway, and putting it to good use instead. Dinghy floorboard/baby gate…who’d have thought? We’re about 8,000 miles from the nearest Babies-R-Us (thank god) so necessity is the mother if invention.

Like cowboys riding for days across the open plain, we sail onward over the endless azure seas. Miles and miles and miles of Indian Ocean. Sunset, sunrise, sunset, sunrise, the days fly past in quick succession. Our closest known human companion is our friend John on S/V “Sapphire”, about 700 miles distant. Otherwise, we are quite alone out here! It’d be like being the only person in Minneapolis, Minnesota and having just one other “neighbor” in Dallas, Texas. “Privateer” has sailed us to the far corners of the planet.

We logged a solid 164 NM day, chugging along on our beam reach with a few hours of wing-on-wing in the afternoon. Except for moving the little piece of string that sets the course for the Monitor, and poling out the Yankee once, very little needed to be done sailing-wise. We played with Taz, napped, and even watched a movie. These are “easy miles” at sea.

This next week the winds and seas are forecast to freshen up to 25 knots with 4-meter seas for a few days before dying down again. If the GRIBS hold true we should have a pretty great sail. Now that we’re south of the rhumb line, we’ll have a good angle of attack for the new winds to come.

Our SSB propagation is starting to fade away and this may be the last post for a week or more, until I can load journals from the internet on shore. We use radio relay stations in Brunei and South Africa, but we seem to be entering into a no-man’s land between the two. All is well on board “Privateer” and we are enjoying the solitude and the wide-open seas!

We ended up getting a few light squalls on Kelsey’s watch last night, which cleared most of the salt crystals off the decks. Other than a few slimy flying fish in the scuppers, the decks are clean. The winds backed more easterly, and I rigged the downwind pole at sunrise. We spent the morning and afternoon flying wing-on-wing on a beautiful downwind run under sunny skies in 16-20 knots of good wind.

We’re sailing down south of the rhumb line in order to line up an easterly approach to Rodrigues. This will give us more flexibility in our sailing angle on the 2nd half of the passage, and give us a better chance of wind aft of the beam the whole way. It’s sort of like the larger version of the route we sailed from Christmas Island to Cocos Keeling. When the highs push through they throw up a wall of stronger S-SE winds for a few days before the isobars level off in an E-W line. Better to be sailing a course of 270 True through these winds. The passage distance is so great that we’ll be sailing through at least two of these “walls”. We left Cocos right after the first one leveled off. I’m sure to be boring people with weather-geek talk…but sailing has by necessity turned us into amateur meteorologists. It’s all-important to understand exactly what is going on in order to make the best (safest) choices at sea.

We’re really moving along at a steady clip–three 154 mile days in a row now. We’re back to a broad reach now, sliding down the waves at 7.5 knots. Taz was a bundle of energy today. We had some good fun kicking his bouncy ball around the cabin, assisted by the motion of the boat. He’s perfected his aim into his miniature potty, and he’s also interested in sitting on the real head now too. He gets upset when we diaper him up, so we’ve let him go naked. No pee on the floor today! He’s very proud of himself and clucks his tongue in satisfaction.

1/4 of the passage passed behind us today when the GPS mileage-to-go rolled back to 1500. We also crossed the 90E longitude, putting us a full 1/4 of the way around the world just from Fiji. It also means that Taz has sailed well over 1/4 of the distance around on board Privateer, not including his Pacific Ocean crossing inside the womb.

Tonight we are sailing over the “90E ridge”, a wall of massive underwater mountains that stretch for thousands of miles from Thailand to Antarctica. The summits rise to within 5,000 feet below us. The swells seemed a bit stacked up on the windward side of the ridge, no doubt due to the effects of the ocean currents flowing over the chain of summits.

Around 2am last night (“Ghost of Murphy” time) one of our Monitor control lines chafed through and snapped, causing the boat to sail to windward. The conditions were so gentle that we didn’t even notice until we’d sailed one mile after the break. Luckily Taz was asleep, and Kelsey helmed the boat while I monkeyed around at the transom, rigging a new dyneema line. We were soon on course again.

We had an ideal day of sailing in low seas and 16 knot breezes, hauling in another 154 NM in the last 24 hours. Easy miles! The boat is gliding along as if she’s on a string. During a few stretches of the day, we made 7.5 knots and it barely felt like we were even moving. We’ve been talking on the SSB to a few sailboats about a thousand miles ahead of us. One of them is experiencing 50-knot winds and 7 meter seas right now… it’s all about being in the right place at the right time!

In the late afternoon one dark squall came up on us from the south. I was hoping it’d nail us so we could rinse the salt off the boat, but it passed just ahead of Privateer and off over the horizon, and left us under sunny skies again. The Indian Ocean is the saltiest of the three great Oceans, and salt crystals are growing all over the boat. They look like little square snowflakes, sticking to all our stainless steel and covering the solar panels.

For the past few days the Monitor has been making a troubling creaking noise, which I finally identified today. One of the pendulum shaft bushings (plastic) was cracked and had almost slipped out of the tube. Luckily, I was able to push it back in, but there is still some metal-to-metal contact between the tube and the frame where the bushing collar is missing. We’ll have to sail the passage as-is, until we get to port and can remove the pendulum and replace the bushings with our spares. It’s not a critical repair and the Monitor should function just fine for the remainder of the passage. We’ll keep a close eye on it. I sprayed the hell out of all the moving parts on the Monitor with my trusty can of “Team McLube”. Plastic has no place on a boat in the tropics. It instantly turns brittle and cracks apart. All exposed plastic parts on an ocean-going boat should be considered as needing annual replacement. It goes without saying that the Monitor is the most important piece of gear on board, as it does the job of two permanent helmsmen. It gives us the gift of time–and sleep–and it allows us to do things other than steer the boat 24 hrs a day.

It’s funny the games you play in your head at sea on a long passage. The GPS started at around 2,000 miles and I’ve been watching the number decreasing, while imagining that our miles-to-destination number is the year, and thinking about what was happening in the world at that time. A few nights ago we were in WW2 (1943) and then soon the 1929 Great Depression. The 1800s were really great, and today we passed 1776, American Independence, and as I write this the year is 1626, but my mind draws a blank on that one. Counting down to the birth of Christ…

Time and days and nights begin to meld together on passage and we settle into our own little world out here. Passage time. Magic time.

Another day on the great blue railroad…we reeled in 150 miles on our beam reach in 22 hours. The day was hot, but we had to keep the cabin completely buttoned up to prevent spray from entering through the hatches. I tried to crack the butterfly hatch during the heat of the day, but ten minutes later several cups of seawater splashed down on our bed. The cockpit is continually doused by every tenth wave or so, so it’s kind of like being stuck between a hot and a wet place. Our consolation is that every day on this passage, we will sail a bit farther south into cooler latitudes. The nighttime temperature is perfect though, and I much prefer the starry night watch to the muggy days.

Taz is very proud of his new toilet skills, and he saves his urine like a dog marking many territories so that he can pee into his miniature potty as many times as possible. He prefers to pee standing up, and sort of clutches the wall as the cabin pitches back and forth in the waves. Now we can move on to #2 training!

It was a lazy day and I slept through most of it, peering out at the sparkling blue sea in between catnaps. We’ve got just enough wind to keep us moving along at high speed, where we can make 160 mile days with no drama. It’s perfect sailing except for the right-angle swells. I can tell Privateer is very pleased to be sailing the Indian Ocean–she’s made for exploring these exotic waters. Sails full and trimmed for beam reach. We continue on…

We are under sail! It feels good to be back out on passage again, after two relaxing weeks on Cocos Keeling. Last night I found a shackle pin on deck at the base of the mast–exactly the kind of thing you never want to see before going offshore. Where did it come from?? I finally found the culprit at the downwind pole hoist. It was an easy fix and I was able to lower the open shackle to the deck and re-connect it. It is a lesson that every shackle on board must be moused with SS seizing wire.

In the pre-dawn hours, Privateer was tugging on her anchor chain in good breezes, signaling she was ready to go. At daybreak I fashioned UHMW wedge supports for the Monitor wind vane brackets and hose clamped the entire assembly to the frame, effectively fusing all the parts together. I am pretty satisfied with the outcome, and I am knocking on wood that this holds for our Indian Ocean crossing. Next I dove over the side and scrubbed the whole bottom of the hull, back to bright blue bottom paint. The fish gathered under me to eat the barnacles as they sifted down through the clear waters. With some sadness, we leave this coral atoll with it’s white powdery sand bottom behind. It’s amazing to be anchored in this turquoise aquarium.

We made one last trip to shore to clip our nails, as it is bad luck to do at sea and forbidden on board. It’ll be at least two more weeks until we can clip them again, so better to start the voyage well-trimmed. Taz ran along the beach and into the surf, and swung in a hammock under the coconut trees. After returning to the boat we ran down the list of all that needs to be done to prepare the boat for the open sea. We’re getting pretty good at it now. Here at Cocos, the transition from enjoying the placid anchorage to heaving through the swells under full sail only takes about ten minutes, so you’d better be prepared. The most amazing thing was that Taz went down for his afternoon nap just before we weighed anchor, and remained sound asleep all the way until we were clear of the atoll, flying along under Monitor vane and out to sea. It was the perfect scenario! It allowed Mom and Dad to give full attention to navigating out the lagoon, hoisting the sails, and setting our course.

Privateer is rolling along at 8 knots on a beam reach, in 18 knots of wind with #2 reef Main, Storm Staysail, and #2 reef Yankee. We leave the Main sheeted loose on a beam reach, almost luffing, and the helm balances out nicely. The Monitor then just acts to keep the boat on course. We’re steering a bit south of the rhumb line to set ourselves up for an Easterly approach to Rodrigues, 2,000 miles distant. The GRIB reports look great, but we’ll see how much they can change.

We’re starting the anticipated 2-week passage on the new moon, so we should enjoy a full moon approach to the Mascarene archipelago. It’ll be a dark first few nights this week. Privateer is looking good, all squared away and ready for sea work. The wind generator is putting out good amperage on the beam reach, charging up our battery bank and keeping us going day and night. The motion is slightly uncomfortable as the swells from the great Southern Ocean roll up from the S, broadside to Privateer on this passage. But we are making great speed and can’t complain for now. Just settling back into the sea routine.

P.S. Just a quick note regarding e-mails: If you are receiving this log to your e-mail inbox, hitting “reply” to the admin@svlogbook address sends your message to the website administrator (our friend Mark on s/v “Tuuletar”) and not to us. You can log onto the website www.svlogbook.com/Privateer/ and leave a comment on a log post if you like (visible to all). Otherwise, just send e-mails to our regular Gmail inboxes: 13.frost@gmail.com and/or kelseyboesch@gmail.com. We are able to check our emails pretty regularly when we are on shore in this age of iPhones and SIM cards. Mark has forwarded the lost batch of e-mails to us which we have just read. To Bruce & Deb and everyone else that has sent us emails to the admin@svlogbook address, we love to hear from you and will answer you soon! Please keep your comments/e-mails coming.

Our good winds continued, and with it our speed, and we knocked out 165 miles in 24 hours on a 20-knot beam reach, reefed sails. In the early afternoon she got pretty boisterous, with a swell filling in from the South and wind waves building a foamy sea. Privateer rocketed through the swells. In the late morning, the white superstructure of a freighter loomed up from behind the swell, ironically approaching on a dead collision course. We radioed the freighter and they altered course 10 degrees to pass astern of us. It’s quite striking to go days without seeing anything, and suddenly there’s this huge ship right next to you! We were sailing along on our beam reach, keeping right on our rhumb line, to insure we didn’t get blown north of Cocos Keeling, fast approaching.

Our approach to Cocos Keeling atoll was a rough and windy one–the seas were dancing as the palm trees popped up on the horizon. It was all a bit surreal. I am extremely thankful for the daylight entrance. We got there at 1430 hrs! Plenty of daylight to see the many, many hazards. We were throttled by the wind as we dropped our sails and motored straight into the the entrance. Kelsey wrestled the staysail down on the foredeck, and got a complete and thorough soaking. Taz wailed from his perch below, while I was at the helm shouting commands above the winds. Our little hand-held radios we normally use to communicate from bow to helm weren’t sufficient against the shriek of the wind. Every landfall is a bit different, but each one always requires quite a bit of work to go from open-ocean sailing one mile, to motoring into the anchorage the next mile. It’s a quick change of scene.

The water here is clear as crystal, and when the boat passes over a coral patch, it looks like you’re sailing over the rocks–very unnerving. It was all very short-lived, however, and we are now anchored safely in 13 feet of water in the inner lagoon at Direction Island, white sand bottom. I dove down to the bottom and kissed the anchor, buried in the sand. The anchor was holding fast–how cool is that to be able to dive down and touch the anchor? A visual check like that ensures a very good sleep. I also dove down and stood on the snow-white lagoon bottom with my hands pushing up on the bottom of the keel. It’s like swimming around in a giant aquarium!

We have the whole anchorage to ourselves, except for one other single-hander from Canada on a Westsail 32. This place is what we call the “Screen-saver” anchorage–glowing turquiose waters, thick strings of coconut palms growing along the perfect sandy beach. We are very grateful to be safe in harbor, making it in just before things got wild on the ocean! I enjoyed watching the swells smash up and vaporize into the air from the protection behind the reef, snug in the inner lagoon. It was a really great 3.5 day sail from Christmas Island. Solid beam reaches, and our southern dogleg strategy worked out perfectly for the wind shift we experienced on the final 24 hours of the passage.

And now–time to rest and pause, think about how far we’ve come, and to put our minds to readying the boat for the next major leg of the voyage across the Indian Ocean. (And snorkel and swim and drink coconuts!)