Our Xmas present to each other this year is our landfall. That's plenty. Nothing else wanted.
Thanks again for all the love and support!!
Merry Xmas to you all from the Caribbean.
i changed my t-shirt the other day. yeah, i know, my last one was pretty stinky, it was definitely time for a change.
i have now been wearing my favorite Thailand cliche' t-shirt with the saying on the front, "same same", and on the back, "but different"...all of you globetrotters who have been to Thailand know it well.
but i like it, with it's message meaning everything and nothing at the same time. it's pretty much fitting for our last few days on this boat.
so, in the theme of the t-shirt, some thoughts:
SAME SAME: dark gray skies have once again decided to descend upon our world. squalls blow through from time to time bringing buckets of rain and erratic wind. when the squalls leave, so does the wind. we continue to roll back and forth with the seas and our faithful diesel propels us westward. our sail continues to slam from side to side...bam...bam...bam...
SAME SAME: we still have a current against us. not nice. the ocean currents this season don't seem to be doing what they're supposed to, at least not for us anyways. global warming? la nina? not sure...
SAME SAME: how do we continue to spend our time, you may ask? same same...staring at the mighty sea for hours on end. attempting to find comfort in the rolling boat wedging 3 or 4 small cockpit pillows into the cockpit corner for a semi-ergonomic position. read read read (i think nic and i have both finished about 12 books now). turn on the ipod and escape to some music or more podcast stories about life outside of our floating bubble. sleep. eat. sleep some more. eat some more. and, once in a while, we escape into the laptop, nestled in the seabirth while we sweat and enjoy a dvd movie.
SAME SAME: another pod of dolphins just came to visit. always a good thing...Nic usually has a perma-grin for at least an hour after she sees them. these ones were dark gray and big, possibly "rough-tooth" or maybe "common Atlantic". they swam with DK for 1/2 hour or so and were clicking away to each other the whole time. one of them, the Alpha we presume, was huge, maybe 8-10 feet long, and dominated the best position to ride our bow-wave almost the whole time. they would roll on their side and look up at us.
SAME SAME: we still have some carrots, but they're growing hair.
SAME SAME: we have a few apples, but they're mealy and will be saved for a cobbler.
SAME SAME: we are still in the fresh air, but all we can smell is diesel exhaust.
********
BUT DIFFERENT: Land Ho! yes, we are currently sailing 5 miles past the northern tip of Barbados. the low-lying island is completely covered in gray clouds as the rain and tropical squalls are omnipresent lately. regardless, it's great to get a glimpse of an island and our first of the Caribbean. we wish we had time to stop everywhere, Barbados is supposedly pretty cool, but, alas, we have a deadline to meet family in Bonaire on January 8th...so only 9 days or so in the Caribbean before another 350 mile passage west. the Caribbean adventures will be short, but hopefully sweet.
BUT DIFFERENT: i took my head wound steri-strips off today. healing. yeah, i know, us Taurus bulls never learn. at least no stitches this time.
BUT DIFFERENT: ok, i need to clarify nic's update the other day. when she said it was 85 degrees and hot, she meant to add it was this hot "in our cabin". sure we have these tiny little DC fans that help...but let's just say it's easy to lose some pounds of sweat inside on those days. outside it was probably 95 degrees F. in the sun. today, cloudy and cooler. respite.
BUT DIFFERENT: with all this motoring, we have had plenty of energy to run our watermaker. which means, plenty of water and plenty of showers. in the last few days we have been showering off on deck 3-4 times in the day. of course, once you shower off you immediately start sweating again. we are definitely back in the tropics!
BUT DIFFERENT: a bobbing coconut just floated past
BUT DIFFERENT: our cruising friends on the boat, Magnum, dropped their hook on the island of St.Lucia last night. they sounded elated on the radio last evening as they have had some boat issues, including the latest a few days back when their watermaker quit working. their fix-it list is long, but they are finally across the pond and can have a merry xmas and forget about all the boat stuff for a while. Kara is thrilled to be there so Santa can find her for Xmas morning.
Congratulations Anne, Uwe, and Kara!
And there you have it, me hearties, 92 miles to go for DK and her salty crew.
We will definitely be celebrating Xmas 2010 with the closure of this long sailing passage and tonight we will keep a good lookout for Santa and his reindeer as he does the present delivery to all the kiddos in the Caribbean.
Thanks to everyone who has been writing for your thoughtful and caring emails.
Merry Xmas Eve and much love to you all!!
By this morning there was only a swipe of clouds in the east, a mere reminder of what yesterday had been. The wind has deserted us and by mid morning the sky is a brilliant cornflower blue with a hint of periwinkle. We are motoring and the seas are quiet.
It is hot today, 85 degrees fahrenheit in the cabin and the humidity clings to us. We've already rinsed three times. The cold water against our skin brings relief until we are almost dry. And then we stay that way, almost dry.
We had a little drama with Gar's head today. It isn't the first time he's split it open. Always a Taurus, as a bull he often leads with his head. Sometimes I wish he had horns to cushion the blow. He hit the galley cabinet hard coming out of the freezer with roasted chicken and sausages. He's got a good gash and a robin's egg sized bump on this forehead. Thankfully we still have steri-strips and tincture of benzoine. With a constant slick of sweat on our bodies it is a bit challenging to coax the steri-strips to stick. Tincture of benzoine is the trick, the perfect medical glue.
By mid afternoon it is so hot we do not want to leave a toe or finger lingering in the sun, it is that fierce. Within minutes, I am on fire. Cumulus clouds have gathered again, stretching along the horizon. Watching rain fall in squalls around us again, I almost beg for a visit or steer towards them with the hope of some relief from the searing heat.
It is now evening and the sun has all but left us, taking the suffocating heat with it. Cumulus clouds climb higher still and to the south it is raining a rainbow.
We have 341 miles to go.
-let's see...now that the sun is up, maybe the massive dark gray rain squalls that hammered us all night long will finally dissipate. (A quick glance on the horizon and the radar)...huh, looks like the answer this morning in a definite, NO.
-If a rain squall is about 5 miles away and traveling towards us at 1 mile or so every 5 minutes, that would give me plenty of time to go make some oatmeal, right? Of course, boiling water on the stove in the disgustingly hot humid cabin will be a bit of sweaty work, and having to hold the pot of water the whole time so that DK's incessant rolling doesn't throw it off the stove. Hmmm...10-15 minutes down below...worth it? ok, what else can i have for breakfast?
-nic hasn't moved a muscle since she bedded down an hour ago. she is by far the lightest sleeper i know...must be really really tired today.
-what's that smell? more flying fish casualties on deck? no, just my shirt. when was the last time i changed it? hmmm...must be 5 days now. wonder if it will make it until xmas? :)
-and why does my head itch so much? well, let's see, when was the last time i took a proper shower and scrubbed my head? Cape Verdes, 11 days ago i think. last time showering on deck and scrubbing my head using the cockpit hose?? hmmm...must be 4 days now....ahh, so that's why my head itches. i'll make a note of it.
-i'm enjoying my cup of black tea (with 2 bags in, of course) this morning while watching the rain squalls build and the sun's "God's rays" filter down behind. sure is beautiful, but, man, i sure am missing a cup of coffee. wonder when i had a cup of good coffee last? oh yeah, the Cape Verdes, 11 days ago, and the only one i've had since we left the Canary Islands 21 days ago. sure wish i didn't feel seasick if i drank coffee on passage. wonder if they have eggnog in the Caribbean? oh yes, i do love some good 'nog'. what a Xmas present that would be...a cup of dark roast with some eggnog in it. i'll let ya know...
-these booby birds sure are fun to watch hunt for flying fish. but, boy are they stupid birds. they are still the only seabirds who have circled and dove on our fishing lures in the past 4 years of sailing. plus, it was a booby who actually did decide to circle, contemplate, then, yes, land on our spinning wind generator in the Pacific Ocean. expecting a blood bath of booby parts, we were elated to see that the wind generator wasn't spinning fast enough and instead only threw the booby into our mainsail where it lay for an hour, stunned, unscathed, and just stared at us with this perplexed look saying, "wow. that wasn't what i expected. where am i again?" An hour later it flew away, thankfully, with no blood residue left behind all over our boat and sail.
-here comes the wind again. (watching my instruments while i write this i see the wind jump from 15 to 25 knots). the boat heels over. outside it is black again. rain squall coming. better head out to the cockpit, trim the jib, put on my raincoat, remove all books and pillows from the cockpit, put companionway boards in to protect the cabin from getting wet, and go deal again. let's see, how long has it been since i just did this....30 minutes...not bad, not bad.
-nic said she might have seen a glimpse of the full moon eclipse last night. very red, just a slice of moon peeking out from the layers of clouds above. bummer it wasn't a clear night, last night was our cloudiest in 21 days. guess we are picking up the rain vibe from the western US, as it sounds like everyone is getting wet this Xmas.
-the dolphins sure were cool 2 nights ago. after not seeing a pod in almost 2 weeks, we had visits from 2 different pods in an hour. the first was a smaller group of very large (7-8') "roughtooth dolphins". big, mellow, dark mottled-grey with lots of scratches...they came and hung with us for an hour surfing our bow-wave and just saying hello.
then, the spinner dolphin pod came at sunset. i could see them coming from all directions at one, springing 10 feet out of the big rolling 10-15 foot waves, and racing to our boat. they reminded me of a big pack of ecstatic tail-wagging golden retrievers, so excited to come play and visit. and play they did. there must have been hundreds of them, all around our boat. 20 of them often vying for position at the bow-wave at front and the rest launching out of the waves sometimes 10-15 feet in the air in two's and three's and four's. so fun. you couldn't help but have a perma-grin just watching them through the last minutes of twilight.
-should i even say this. ok, knock on wood, the captain is super pleased...DK is holding up really well on this passage. yes, we have had some issues with reef lines chafing through, our Monitor wind vane temporarily not working, needing to re-set and program our Balmar charging regulator to work properly, and, of course, some small glitches with our Raymarine instruments (imagine that)...but, we are so thankful that is it. DK is holding up amazingly well considering the miles we are putting under her keel and the constant wear and tear of the ocean.
-unfortunately, our friends on the boat, Magnum, who are only 100 miles in front of us and whom we speak to on the HF radio every evening, aren't doing as well. Anne is battling with seasickness still....this is the rolliest she has ever been on the boat before, she says. also, their steering cable has now broken twice. Uwe has it held together with clamps and it seems to be working right now. their whisker pole to mast attachment broke yesterday, so no 'poling out the jib' for them anymore. and, they drained there first fuel tank and plugged up the fuel filter with algae. not a good sign, means that at least that particular tank has a thick covering of algae in it. a big job for later. bummer.
but they are hanging in there and thrilled that they are on the 3 day count down. they should drop the hook in St.Lucia on Xmas eve day.
-only 500 miles to go until landfall in Bequia, in the Grenadines of the Caribe. Looks like landfall on Xmas morning if all goes well....only 3 more full days after today.
So, Happy Solstice everyone! On the shortest day of the year, Nicole and I wish you all more light to bring good health and good energy for the new year!
Thanks for all of you who have been reading our words, writing us emails on passage, and/or for just sending us positive vibes for a crossing! We feel it.
out
el capitan
What a contrast from last night. A big moon crossed the sky transforming the sea into liquid silver. It was so bright, I could almost read by moonlight. The horizon was clear with a slow rolling swell and the thin puffy cumulus clouds glowed throughout the night. The sails were set with a light 8-9 knots in them and small seas so all was quiet below. Then at 0200 the vhf crackled to life. "DreamKeeper, Dreamkeeper this is yacht 66," a British voice hailed on channel 16. I had been watching a bright steaming light approaching for the last couple of hours and was wondering how close they would come. The voice on the end of the radio informed me their CPA (basically interception) was quite close but they were keeping a sharp watch and monitoring me closely. I was grateful for their call, an hour later they ghosted past, within 500 feet of us, quite close for a huge ocean. It appeared they were a huge luxury sailboat, without sails (they're too big to slam back and forth in the se seas). Time is different out here, for the next 40 minutes I watched stern light slowly disappear over the horizon.
By 1200 today the winds kicked up a decent wind chop of 4-6 feet from the east and the ocean swell is coming out of the northwest at a lazy 10-13 feet. We are slamming around a bit as we skate down the face of the wind swell and get tossed about by the sea swell, still banging every now and then but nowhere near what it was just a day ago. Now the boat creaks and groans once in a while as she sways back and forth in an awkward slow dance with the gusting wind and building seas. No fishing today but we did get lucky yesterday.
The hand-line, looked strange, taught against the bungee but almost imperceptibly so. "Gar, did you put these lines way out there," I asked, my head poking down the companionway hatch. "No, why?" he asked, lifting his head from the pillow he just lowered it onto. "Feels funny, maybe we've got a fish on," I replied as I began taking the line in hand over hand to check. "Fish!" I yelled. Usually we need two of us, one to pull in the line the other to gaff it. Flashing brilliant peacock blue, emerald green, lemon yellow and lime green turquoise and midnight blue again and again our prize mahi for the day came to the surface in all of her beautiful glory. It is so hard to kill these fish both for their beauty and their symbolism. Their colors flash to me in that moment as a final death flag, fighting, releasing everything they've got in the stress of the moment, which we aimed to end swiftly. Mahi Mahi supposedly mate for life. As Gar finished pulling in the fish, he checked the water for a mate and found none. Dinner for sure. Gaffed and on deck, she flashed for a final time and we gave thanks as we watched her brilliant colors quickly turn gray and muted within moments of her death, even the turquoise spots splashed along her flank lost their luster.
It is with the mahi that we are even more aware of the choice we are making in choosing to eat meat. There is no way around seeing something so graceful and stunning and watching it change so quickly to the color of death. And yet it is a choice, eating meat and we have chosen it for now in our lives. There is no fresher or purer form, than fresh live wild food. We are meat fisherpeople and take only what we will eat. Always respectful and reverent but this time this fish was even more of a gift. Gar just finished reading 'Four Fish', by Paul Greenberg, where, among many things, he learned mahi mahi are so wild they cannot be bred for aquaculture and will ram themselves to death before adapting to life inside of nets or cages. So we are lucky enough to once again be eating some of the ocean's wild food. She was lovely and we harvested 12 great fillets from her flanks. Our bellies are full and the freezer is holding what we could not consume last night or today.
The forecast is calling for more wind tomorrow, 15-20 which likely means 25. And wind for at least another half day after that. So if all goes well we should put some good miles under our keel in the next couple of days. As of 16:45 today we have seven hundred and forty four miles to go.
Sailing can be a very peaceful way of travel, but let me tell you, when you are out on blue-water passages on the mighty oceans, there are rarely days with small seas and light winds where you sail along peacefully. The Hollywood romantic vision is that when the wind dies you put up your sheets and slip through the ocean, with barely a whisper drinking some refreshing rum punch. Ha Ha! The reality is most often in light winds the seas roll you from side to side and all that canvas you have up slams back and forth...back and forth...violent, chaotic, and oh so not peaceful. Motor-sailing sometimes helps a bit keeping the forward momentum going and counteracting some of the rolling. But not always and not for us right now.
And so welcome to our peaceful sailing world for the last 15 hours or so. Bam...Bam...Bam...feels like the rig will come crashing down at any minute.
"So why don't you take your mainsail down", you may be asking, thinking we are just crazy whacked out salty dawgs and didn't even think about just dropping our sail. Well, let me tell you about taking your sail down....
With your sail down in 8-15 foot seas rolling underneath you and nothing above to counteract the rolls, your boat will soon be going from toerail to toerail back and forth...back and forth...and throwing everything in your boat off the shelves and onto the floor, including yourselves. To put it simply, it just makes the rolls exponentially worse. There really is no "fix it" solution except to be patient, put some earplugs in, and wait for the wind to arrive again.
But, overall, even with the slamming of our sails and rolling of DK, we are good. Like I said, we are now on the countdown and looking at possibly a landfall on Xmas Eve Day or Xmas Day...which would be pretty sweet for our last year of this journey.
The fishing lines are out again, but no luck lately. I've seen only 1 pod of dolphins, and those were at night, and no whales since leaving the Cape Verdes. We see other sailboats from time to time, but none closer then a few miles. Basically, we are pretty much alone out here...just us and the hundreds of flying fish we see skimming the ocean's surface when big scary DK comes too close.
Nic and I are still reading voraciously. We are each on our 8th or 9th book already. Nicole just finished the last "Twilight" book in the series. She's been saving it for this passage. It was worth it, she says. Good sappy chica reading...better her then me. She read it in a day.
One thing we are appreciating is the moon getting bigger and brighter. It is getting closer to full and definitely nice to light up our world at night. It changes everything. We both love the new moon times too when the stars pop and take over our beings, but the big bright moon at night allows you to really see the world and capture the essence of all the waves and movement around you.
It's still a mystery to us whey we have seen so many shooting stars in the last week. Meteor shower??? Amazing. Sometimes they really explode and light up the whole sky.
Please send your good vibes to the ocean mamma to bring us more wind. Bam...Bam...Bam....
We've got our sails pulled out on both sides with a maze of lines everywhere still. That's the great thing about being in the trade winds, even if they are light. We don't have to do much sail trim, just reef the gib in and out and sometimes switch sides. The main has been solid with a reef tucked in since we left the Cape Verdes. I suppose if we did a bit more sail trim we might squeeze a little more speed and grace out of our faithful DreamKeeper.
The seas have been building again slowly out of the north about 6 feet now and still coming on our beam. That means, with these lightish winds we bang, rolling sometimes violently from side to side. When we've got 14 knots we're sailing well but any lighter and it sounds like shots going off in the cabin. The boom cracks, the sails, slap, pop, and bang and it all funnels down through the mast. We could change our course a bit too but then that would add more miles on . We'll take it while we can and as long as we feel Dk is holding up well.
The clouds have come back today. Cirrus sit like a net over the sky, blocking out almost any hint of blue. In some ways this is good as it cools us down. It's definitely getting warmer. We trolled hand lines again today but no luck with the fish. Ate the last of our mahi in fish tacos for lunch. Maybe better luck tomorrow.
We've definitely been on DK a while as we both greeted the morning with kinks and aches in our necks and backs. DK rebelled yesterday needing a little attention to chafe on the lines and such. She's doing great now. I am rambling today. It's the kind of day it is lazy, nondescript, and dreamy in it's own sort of a way.
We passed two sailboats last night. And for the last couple of nights we've had a wierd occurrence, maybe someone knows what it is... We have seen a bright flash, just once, so bright it lights up the sky and then we see something streaking across the sky almost like a comet or a rocket or something. Anyone know what we're seeing? We heard there is an eclipse in the US on the 20th of December. Hope it will be clear for those of you who may be able to see it. We'll be staring at our sky to see if we can see it here.
Until tomorrow.
And not only have we had a relaxing enjoyable non-rolly day today, but we have succeeded in topping up the batteries, filling our water tank, and, guess what, yes, after only 4 hours total in the water in the last 5 days, we caught a fish! Nice! The small black and purple jet-head lure was the winner.
"Fish on", I yelled to Nic as she was napping in the sea-berth. I turned the Yanmar off and started pulling in the 200 lb.test hand-line. It was a smaller Mahi Mahi for us, only about a 2-footer, but definitely not a baby and a perfect size for a couple meals for us on passage. No need for the gaff, I pulled it on board with my hands and said my blessings to the fish and the fish gods. Nicole never stirred.
I was just getting ready to fillet the fish when I noticed Nic's eyes open..."hey, we just caught a mahi". "No way", she said, and woke with a smile and a start. A happy start. She had her earplugs in.
Tonight, fresh Mahi Mahi marinated in a Jamaican Rum sauce with an Asian cabbage and carrot coleslaw with rice. Tasty.
The lines are back out for a couple more hours of daylight, so who knows, maybe another fish will hit before sunset.
In the meantime, we are continuing to enjoy our non-rolly rest day as the trade winds and seas are supposedly coming back around this evening and should last for at least the next 6-7 days. We're not complaining, so far our passage has been pretty smooth sailing and hopefully the next 1400 miles will be the same.
Fluffy cumulus clouds crossed the sky throughout the night. When the moon was up they loomed above us on our port side like eerie oversized fake clouds on a movie set. They are still with us today and have gathered their ranks and started kicking up some squalls. Not too long ago we had one on each side of us and one in front. The wind puffed and and pulled us along for awhile, now we're left with just a bit of it.
It's amazing how many colors of blue and gray there are in our world, even white. We had 2 more flying fish casualties on deck this morning and Gar gallantly saved a huge stinky one that flopped onto the stern in the wee hours. One of the interesting things about these fish is that we can usually smell them before we can see them or hear them flapping desperately to get back into the sea.
It's still too rolly for us to muster the desire to fish and actually prep and clean it if we catch anything so we're having tofu stirfry tonight. Surprisingly, our green beans have lasted 14 days in the fridge along with the red peppers. Green scallions keep growing themselves on the counter if they still have roots and carrots should last in the fridge for a month or so. The stove is gimbaling away with a pot of brown rice.
The squalls have passed and searing lines of white sunshine slice the horizon line. A sail boat is slowly passing us 6 miles to starboard. One thousand, five hundred, twenty seven or so miles to go.
We've definitely found the trades and it looks like they'll be sticking around. Winds today were 15-25 and big seas continue to roll under our keel, sometimes sending us banging from side to side. I am wedged into the navigation seat, with my right foot firmly pressed against the wall as my body sways back and forth trying to match DK's jerky rhythm.
Many of you wonder if we get bored out here and what we do all day. Today was project day. This afternoon the seas simmered down to 8-10 feet, just mellow enough for Gar to hang off the stern and fix our Monitor Windvane. He climbed over the edge and and wrapped his legs around the windvane mounted on the stern. His feet and legs dragged in the water and I kept a look out for any ferociously big waves that might threaten to throw him from his perch, all the while willing him to stay firmly attached to our moving home. After removing the pin and paddle, it was a relatively quick repair of replacing a snapped bolt and realigning a spring into it. Then it was back to the sea again to reinstall the paddle and get a lower body bath from the Atlantic. "Warm water," he said with a smile once safely back on board. Gar fixed the solar panel which wasn't changing properly and is still working on making our regulator perform as it should.
It's 19:00 and it's black out with a cheshire moon. We're sailing wing on wing now, resembling our own interpretation of a webbed butterfly. Fresh pineapple, green pepper, and chorizo pizza for dinner. I'm ready to tuck in for the night and hope for an uneventful day tomorrow. We've decided if we're ever bored on passage it's a good thing.
It's the morning of Day 11 for us since leaving the Canary Islands. We are indeed back in the tropics. Clothing is minimal, sunblock liberally applied, and a cold drink always appreciated. Dead flying fish lie as casualties on our deck from last night's starry ride, a thick layer of salt covers our dodger, and lines seem to web through our boat in every direction connecting sails, blocks, and our telescoped whisker pole standing ready for action off our starboard side. The main is reefed, the staysail taught, and our genoa partially furled up, all in sync to find the perfect balance of comfort and speed.
We did manage a quick stop-over at Mindelo harbor, in the dramatically beautiful Cape Verde Islands. We sailed in the morning of Day 8 and after circling the fuel dock for 4 hours waiting in line for diesel, we finally squeezed in between 2 100'+ mega-yachts to top up our tanks. The luxury mega-sailing yacht in front of us put in over 6000 liters (1500 gallons), which took over 3 hours to fill and almost caused a riot with all the small boats like us trying to do a quick fill of 100-300 liters each so they could slip out and away quickly. No luck, and some boat captains were fuming. The whole ordeal was painful, but by the mid-afternoon we were successful, yet exhausted and sun-baked, and tied up safely to the marina dock for an early restful night's sleep.
The Cape Verdes...a French protectorate, but more of it's "own" country, similar to "Hawaii" in the U.S. The people are mixed African and speak a local creole language. The landscape is jagged and raw, volcanic in nature, with beautiful verdant hills and peaks rising up from the sea. Cinder cones dot the landscape and clouds hang motionless up in the heights with lingering rainbows and fog settling overnight in the valleys.
There is life here. The islands are sparsely populated and much subsistence living occurs. Even though pretty poor, the people seem friendly and in our quick, less then 24 hour stay, we felt very welcome. In the Sea, there are abundant fish and they still have sharks. Big sharks. Unfortunately, times are quickly changing, as we sailed away we saw two big Japanese long-lining fishing boats coming into the harbor...so the fish and sharks are probably on their way out.
From a water-man perspective the Cape Verdes are a gem. The islands are compared to Hawaii for it's legendary surf breaks, the kite surfing on some of the islands is supposedly world class, and underwater scuba diving you can see just about every big pelagic in the ocean.
It's a shame that we can't do these islands justice. It's the only place we have stopped for such a short time, but one of those special spots you are happy to have discovered. We'll keep it on the radar for another time and day.
We untied the dock lines in the early afternoon, along with our friends, Uwe, Anne, and their daughter, Kara, on the San Francisco-based sailboat, Magnum, who were tied up right next to us. We spent the morning with them perusing the local open air market filling up once again with some fresh green spinach, fragrant fresh cilantro and mint, carrots, a papaya, and more bananas. We enjoyed a tasty coffee (my first since the Canaries) and had a local lunch together of a Cape Verdean mix of spiced rice and chicken at a downtown cafe. Big early Xmas hugs all around, as we are heading to different islands in the Caribbean and most likely won't run into each other again until Panama, a couple of months down the road.
Nic and I have decided to make landfall at Bequia, in the Grenadine island chain of the southern Caribbean. As I write this, we have 1850 more miles to go and we have already travelled approximately 1200 since leaving the Canary Islands. If all goes well we should arrive on either December 23, 24, or on Xmas day. In the meantime, we'll keep spending our time watching the ocean, thumbing through another book, and eating and sleeping the hours away.
The ocean has changes colors again from a deep murky green to steel gray and at last to the color I love, that screams deep ocean. Deep sea blue that only shows itself when fathoms of water lie under our hull and the sun penetrates just right. It is the color of late twilight, just before darkness swallows the last tinges of blue from the sky.
Gar is tired today, yet unable to sleep. The sails banged throughout the night as DK rolled from side to side. At latitude twenty-three degrees it is hot. The cabin temperature is 80 degrees and we both have a thin layer of sweat permanently clinging to our skin. We are happy to be returning to the beloved tropics but it will take some adjusting to.
A mahi struck one of our new lures yesterday and sadly took it with him, flashing blue and yellow until he disappeared. While it rarely happens, it sickens me every time; hopefully he will be able to loose the hook.
Our mung bean sprouts our ready again, perfect for a lunch of hippy salad: quinoa tabouli with fresh mint and parsley, cucumber, and garbanzo beans with bean sprouts and feta and a slice of yummy german bread with creamy avocado on the side. We've eaten 20 mandarins and 10 apples. Our cilantro is gone and mint following close behind. We still have two avocados, green and red peppers, carrots, a few stalks of celery, and two heads of cabbage.
We've used about 40 gallons of diesel already and have decided after a bit of waffling that we will tuck into Mindelo, in the Cape Verde Islands to refuel, get some freshies, and see a bit of the place (depending on when we leave; the trades are supposed to kick in again in a few days). Our lives are dictated by weather and the functioning of the boat and her crew. While it is tempting to continue onward to the Caribbean without making landfall, it seems prudent to stop and top up our fuel supplies. This year is a strange year with weather patterns in the Atlantic and we aren't willing to bob around at sea for an extra week or two making two knots and hour if the wind deserts us for days. Some may say we're not pure sailors; it's the choice we make and we're ok with it.
So I'll be casting aside my romantic vision for a 25 day passage and replace it with a welcome night or three of uninterrupted sleep, full diesel tanks, an abundant fresh food again. Mindelo tomorrow morning if all goes as planned.
Exhaling with deep fffuffs, a light sea mist puffed from their breathing holes. We had front seats to our own private show. Fffuff, Fffuf, Fffuff, listening to their deep relaxed breathing was as incredible as seeing their smiling faces peek out when they broke the surface or their graceful fins arch by. Words don't describe the beauty or the feeling of gratitude and respect we feel.
Darkness came quickly and I was too wound up to sleep, lying in the sea berth at 19:30 I breathed deeply with my new found friends and somehow managed to sleep. Twenty two hundred hours came too quickly. The horizon line had vanished with a belt around the sea. It was so black it was impossibly to separate water from air. Warmer still, we no longer wear our foulies on watch and are still gratefully barefoot.
Dawn came slowly, a dull mauve sky stretched along a thin veil of cirrus clouds. Today has been a lazy day of sailing on the beam in light winds with some motor sailing. The seas have begun to build and roll lazily by. They're up to 8 feet now and expect to be 12-15 by midnight. No fish on the lines yet. Here's to hoping and being grateful for what we've got.
The wind decreased throughout the night and we found ourselves spellbound. Sailing slowly in light winds, silently slicing through the Atlantic with stars for company and dolphins returning to give me the pleasure of a double feature of dancing comets. It was so peaceful we were content to sail at 2-4 knots, soaking in the calm that settled around us. It went on all night. It was easy to succumb to the gentle roll of the boat and slap of the tiny swell. Both of us refused to break the spell.
Venus glimmering on the surface of the sea in the wee hours while the moon winked at me before setting. The sun rose leisurely, kissing the sky pink and orange, slowly turning the belly of gray clouds lemon yellow before rising in golden glory.
We are back in the living seas. Yesterday we saw three killer whales blow, yes, killer whales (Gar being a native Northwest kid with lots of killer whale sightings had no doubt as to their identity). I did, only because I could not believe the towering fins and misty blows I was seeing were killer whales, my first sighting ever, and in the Atlantic. Today we have been visited by three pods of dolphins; one over a hundred strong. Three different species of sea birds have been diving over the diminishing swell. And we just saw waving fins of something, a sunfish or a ray most likely.
It is in these moments I absolutely love this life. Our fishing lures are out and our shoes are off. We had a festive lunch of nachos and are hoping for mahi for dinner.
Of course, we had some drama leaving, it is a big passage after all and nothing seems to ever go smoothly when we leave the comforts of the barn. Thankfully all 3 issues were because of me and were fairly easily dealt with, but not without some stress and a couple more gray hairs before leaving.
After the usual getting the boat ready to go in the morning, we tried to slip away smoothly from the marina dock we were med-moored to. We've only done this a hundred times now, and usually it is pretty painless. Usually we have only 1 stern line on, DK liking to be nose-in to the dock for our privacy and so we can actually "get off" the boat when we want to. Well...here we had 2 stern lines tied up and I forgot all about one. Hello?!! We backed up out of the slip but I couldn't go any further as the line had tightened and then started to slingshot us back in directly towards our neighbors boat. Nic, thankfully, could fend us off enough and I could eventually slip off the line and let it sink before backing up again. We were pretty lucky we didn't get it caught in our prop or hit our neighbors home-built Dutch steel boat. Disaster averted and we motored out of the marina.
We raised the sail right outside the marina and turned towards the open Sea but then the engine overheating alarm started sounding. I did a quick frantic search of the engine, but couldn't see anything so we quickly dropped the sail and motored slowly to the adjoining anchorage next to the marina while we kept monitoring the engine room. Thankfully it wasn't nearly as packed anymore and we dropped our hook right on the periphery in 40 feet. I had just done a major service on the Yanmar, including flushing out the coolant, so figured maybe the thermostat was sticking. I popped it out and put a new one in. We turned her back on, but after a few minutes, no luck.
We have 3 ways to add coolant to our engine and additional heater that runs with coolant loops. I had already checked the heater box and it was full. Also, the clear reserve tank was full. So I assumed the main engine block was full too. Wrong. I opened it up and it was almost dry. For some reason the coolant from the reserve wasn't siphoning into it. I added a few liters of water and we were in business again.
Up went the anchor and we headed for the barn door again. But then I noticed part of our instruments weren't working. Nice. We turn around again and headed back to the exact spot and dropped the hook once more. Half hour later I figure out the issue, an issue I created when I was back there tinkering a couple of days prior with some NMEA wiring trying to link our instruments to our computer. Oops. So with that all settled, we crossed our fingers that we were finally free of the Gran Canaria gremlins and were allowed to leave. We were.
For the last 2 1/2 days it's been all about utilizing the wind to make as many miles south as possible. We have had some pretty consistent winds from the ENE and NE from between 15-30 knots and our broad reach has been pretty sweet sliding along at boat speeds from 6-9 knots even with some decent size seas plowing into our port beam and splashing the cockpit from time to time. The weather is still cold and gray and we are bundled up outside in our foulies and even socks and shoes/boots at night, but with no complaints as we are extremely happy we escaped the Canaries and the continuous assault of nasty low pressure systems that keep coming from the west, not a usual occurrence this time of year.
Nic and I are both just getting into passage mode and our 3 hour on/3 hour off all night watch schedule that takes some days to get used to. Plus, because we are sailing so fast our boat is definitely not a stable platform for doing much of anything right now except for laying in the sea birth or wedged into the cockpit with a hot cup of tea and book in hand. Book being optional depending on seasick potential. Strangely I've been doing ok but Nic is in the "I can't read or I'll puke stage right now", which means more time staring at the waves and sky or slipping some earphones on for a good podcast story.
We had a bit of magic last night. It's now a new moon and very dark outside in the wee hours, especially with the clouds. But what's so cool is that even though we haven't seen much of the stars, the milky way has been transformed in the Sea. For many hours we traveled through the solar system slicing DK's hull amidst flashing phosphoresence brilliant glowing massess, and incredible blasts of light. It was truly amazing and Nic swore that on her watch it was the most gorgeous night of phosphoresence she has EVER seen! I had an even better gift. The dolphins came and torpedoed right along with us. All you could see was a glowing comet slicing so fast through the water with little bright glowing explosions around it. Sometimes 3 or 4 of them would shoot by surfing the waves like liquid shooting stars. Another little gift from the sea.
So we continue south only 60 miles from the western African coast for another day and then our course will change and we'll start heading more SW towards the Cape Verde Islands as the big low-pressure storm systems passes north of us. We'll let ya know when the shoes come off and the mighty sun glows in the sky for us again.
