The Atlantic Crossing
As of friday 4.15 am local time (UTC) we're at: at 24 degrees 53 minutes north, 21 degrees 39minutes west. last night we turned away from our rhumb line course towards Antigua. We turned towards the South because of a forecast low and associated front towards the North West of us.
View from 147491632 km above 24°53'N 21°39'W
.... excuse the groupmail; typing onboard Haecceia as she rolls her way across the Atlantic Ocean is a new, still developing skill. everything moves: the keyboard, the bench on which I'm 'sitting', my body tensed with one leg out to each side. it's no longer clear what it is to be still: the stove is on gimbals, so that it rotates to compensate for the boat motion. that way the pots and pans,which have boiling contents only when one of us feels strong and foolhardy enough to do more cooking than making marmalade sandwiches, are supposed to stay level. but it's very hard not to intervene to prevent the stove from rocking because it 'looks' as if its about to tip everything over. looking around us, nothing is still: water everywhere of course, but all in flux, with wave trains coming from different directions, sometimes breaking on or under or behind the boat; the sails and mast and deck and everything in the lockers in the saloon or cabins always moving, banging, making themselves heard.
As I write its 17.50 hrs, UTC (GMT), and our position is: 23 dgrees, 47 minutes North, 22 degrees, 24 minutes West, heading on a bearing of around 230 degrees. We're more than 300 miles off the coast of Morocco, southwest of the Canary Islands, and north of the Cape Verde Archipelago. We were attempting a close to rhumbline course towards Antigua, but a forecast low to our northwest with a large trailing front to its south has caused us to change direction towards the South. we've already covered 500 nautical miles since leaving the Canaries on Tuesday morning.
We had delayed our departure from Puerto Santo Cruz for a few days to try to gain more favourable winds, left in sunshine with absurd quantities of supplies on board: from meals that we had precooked (lamb curry, lentil curry, veg stew ...) in the freezer, to bilges full of rice, potatoes, biscuits, dried fruits, cans of everything, water and diesel tanks full, propane bottles refilled, philosophy books, batteries chged, watermaker primed, broken sail attachment fixed. Within two hours we were in the midst of a thunder and lightning storm off Tenerife, with winds up to 45 knots, and occasional heavy rain, but the most extraordinarily bizarre and beautiful sky, somehow managing to contain every cloud type given names in those meteorological picture books of clouds, all backlit with setting sun and lightning. an exciting start and a long first night because I was unsure how well the autopilot would do in these conditions. got 12.8 knots surfing down a wave; a new record for Haecceia.
The second day had very disturbed seas because of all that wind, and so me John and Bill Childers sick, wildly sick, puking off the side of the boat sometimes two of us at the same time. the problem wasn't so much the sickness, but that none of us ate anything for 36 hours, after which one starts to feel a bit groggy. hard not to wonder what on earth we were doing.
but appetite slowly returns, and our strength. now we have the genoa poled out to one side, and the mainsail on the other. John is the master of spinnaker poles, and their associated uphauls, downhauls, backhauls, strung through blocks around the boat. making around 7 knots.
it turns out that the freezer doesn't like a heeling boat too much, so we have watched the freezer temperature gauge rise slowly from -12 to -6. a sudden sense of urgency about consuming its contents before everything defrosts. despite 6 large service batteries on the boat, a wind generator and solar panels, the charge on the batteries drops worryingly fast, and we have had to run the generator more often than we would like -- our diesel supply is very limited. looking for ways to conserve power, and I fear that the computer system will only be able to be used sporadically.
on watch on the first night I caught a glimmer of what might have been a masthead light off the starboard beam. Or was it a star? or a light somewhere off Tenerife? I took a look on the radar but could see nothing over a range of distances. out of mind. an hour or so later I caught a much clearer glimpse -- then disappearing in the trough of a wave -- and again, quite close now. So called the boat on the VHF radio. had a nice chat about where they - a catamaran - were going, and why we couldn't see each other on the radar, and so forth, until I suddenly realised that we were very close indeed, getting closer, somehow absurd in the midst of the vast emptiness of the ocean as we traded pleasantries. It would be safer if he would turn to port, but I can't break in on the simplex one-voice at a time radio, as he's talking about his route to Cape Verde. "Umm, we're really very close now ... suggest you turn to port, over" but he's still chatting away. so I have to turn on the engine, and rev to turbo revs to get past the surprisingly fast catamaran. our closest encounter so far. So unlike the freighters, who swear at you in Russian, but do at least alter direction ...
What's struck me as being so different about this trip from all the others since May is not only its much longer duration -- three weeks or so -- but a sense of enforced commitment. v hard to change your mind when there's no land in hundreds of miles. We have to keep going. can't decide to pop into a port for a night for a decent shower and a good meal at a restaurant. this is a project that has to be seen through. if you haven't seen them, check out the pictures of Haecceia at www.haecceia.com
Adrian
PS from Bill: I have willingly joined this ship so no one can say that I was shanghaied aboard a British sailing vessel against my wishes. Actually, I think the Brits recognise an american passport now. As noted above, the first two days were nauseating, no food. little water could be kept down, only the strong taste of bile in the mouth. And me, get this, somewhat assigned as ship's chef. Hah! Well the tummy's fine now. Ah, the weather, Adrian has filled you in on this also. Just let me add that the night sky in the middle of the ocean is something you can reach out and touch. If stars are the source of dreams, then grabbing one seems much easier out here. Clouds come in all shapes, sizes and colours. They chase you, they threaten you. They even seen to keep you warm. The moon, waxing over a choppy, silvery, bouncy seascape becomes a pink lantern if you've been staring at a greenly lit radarscope too long. An optical phenomenon to be sure, but no less lovely in the perception of it. To sleep, to dream, ah, there's the rub and the rock, as in rock abye baby, not rock n' roll. Tucked in, or shall I say stuffed in between pillows and quilts is quaint for a night or two, but compares palely to the softness of my own true love's bed. Company among strangers: the short time that I am in Adrian and John's presence has been truly inspiring and enjoyable. I just hope it last another twenty days! I do miss my girls, their voices, their laughter, their fragrances, their everything. But, this is what adventure is all about, boys and girls. Something one does for oneself. Try it. It can be a revelation. Tally-ho for now. Saludos from Wild Bill.
18.00 UTC: 20 degrees, 20 minutes North [20/20], 29 degrees, 36 minutes West No boats seen in 5 days tree sightings: 0 We are sailing with around 25 knots of wind, now in the trade wind belt, with seas of 3 metre swell, at around 7 knots, sometimes 'surfing' at 10 or 11 knots. We've travelled about 960 nautical miles from Tenerife, will tomorrow morning have been at sea for a week, and still have close to 2000 miles to go ...
View from 147491632 km above 20°20'N 29°36'W
19.30 UTC: 19 degrees, 27 minutes North, 35 degrees, 47 minutes West Sighting and VHF conversation with 90 foot ketch "Shere Khan" headed towards St. Martin Mermaid sightings: None, but Shere Khan claimed to have two on board Flying Fish landed on Deck or on Bill's lap: 12
View from 147491632 km above 19°27'N 35°47'W
Hurricane Olga: currently stationary, at 32.6 ' North, 55.8' West. ....
View from 147491632 km above 32°6'N 55°8'W
I was awoken at 3am this morning by ocean water pouring through the hatch of the aft cabin on to my sleeping body. seriously upset 'kipper, and very wet bed. Insufficient sympathy from my crew who would only comment that a flying fish might have landed on my face at the same time. Boundaries. looking all around and seeing water, only water, and cherishing this little space which is, normally, dry. Not stable, but solid. And DRY. And that Haecceia's function is to maintain this boundary between ocean and solid dry, and keep it moving towards the Caribbean. The sanctity of the boundary brought home by occasional incursions. On Saturday a more serious rupture in our boundary: the water in the bilge alarm sounded. After fire on board, water pouring into the bilges is one of the most alarming boat events. I pulled up cabin sole boards to find a lot of water sloshing around and the level apparently increasing. We have a long tube coiled up in one of the bilge compartments which can be connected to a shower pump to pump out bilge water. nifty device, when it works. On this occasion it didn't, due to a blockage in the pipe that we found later. John investigating non-functioning of automatic bilge pump, Bill holding manual pump and bucket in place, Adrian pumping. Meanwhile the generator has failed in its task of charging the batteries ... A few moments of anxiety here, and wondering how long it would take us to make it to the Cape Verde Islands. But the water level starts going down, and we identify the culprit as the inlet on the washing machine. washing the inside of the boat is not supposed to be one of its functions. Serves me right for having a washing machine on board.
Otherwise making good progress. winds 20 -25 knots, with occasional squalls and rain, magic moments of surfing down waves at 12 knots, the constant rolling becoming trying on occasion, the awesome absurdity of reading Shapin on the scientific revolution ("the scientific revolution doesn't exist and this is a book about it") in the midst of this wet wilderness. We left a day later than most of the other rally boats, and have now caught up and passed three of them. some others have disappeared into the distance, out of audible SSB range -- especially a Swan 60 which has vastly outperformed an Oyster 70 with professional crew (just what you'd expect, eh, Gary?!)
our boom vang fell apart this morning; but repaired now. failed to trade John for one of the mermaids on Shere Khan.
Bill preparing the most extraordinary delicious meals. with the galley rolling madly around, and the obvious dangers of flying pots, pans and their contents, making anything at all is an extraordinary achievement. reports of whales, and a number of rowing boats! they expect to get in in about 6 weeks; 9 days on a sailing boat in the Atlantic makes months in a rowboat beyond imagination ... Haecceia standing by ...
Friday
November 30, 2001
19 degrees, 9 minutes North, 41 degrees, 5 minutes West
Hurricane Olga downgraded to Tropical Storm Olga
serious rolling, pitching and yawing, but all well on board ....
View from 147491632 km above 19°9'N 41°5'W
SUNDAY,
December 2, 2001
18 degrees, 20 minutes North; 46 degrees, 38 minutes West
2000 miles (almost) from the Canary Islands; 800 and some to go.
ETA Antigua: if strong winds persist we might make it in during the
afternoon of the 7th, but -- given reports of light winds further west, we
expect to arrive the morning of the 8th.
View from 147491632 km above 18°20'N 46°38'W
.... there is something relentless about this. A night of stronger than
usual winds, lots of squall activity with gusts up to 35 knots and
occasional torrential downpours. 'sitting' in the cockpit watching wave
after wave build up and approach the stern, which corkscrews its way
between wave trains, frequently taking lots of green water on board. Or
watching the ominous squall clouds building to the East and coming our way
faster than we can go West ... Hard not to use traditional images of
natural necessity. No subjectivity here that might respond to a plea; "ok
guys, we'll knock off for a few hours to give you a rest ...". When
we're on top of things, the hatches and companionboards are closed, sail
taken in, and wet weather gear donned before the squall arrives. We're not
always on top of things.
WEATHER 12/2/01:
the squalls produce variable wind directions, which makes more difficult
any decisions about our sail plan. Yesterday evening the wind veered
towards the South which meant that our course shifted towards the North. A
temporary or persisting shift? Antigua is still to the South, so better
not to have any northerly component in our direction. But to sail more
towards the South, we must take in the genoa sail, gybe the main,
disconnect the spinnaker pole, re-rig the pole lines on the opposite side
of the boat, re-set the genoa. Which involves going up to the bow, and -
in this case - Bill hanging onto the end of the spinnaker pole with one
arm, the other arm around the forestay to support himself as the bow
plunges up and down 4 -5 m waves, with some other limb required to
disconnect and reconnect the lines... There's some disincentive to do all
that, and, after all, the wind might shift back again in a while. But
there's another squall on its way, and it will be dark in 40 minutes
... So we go ahead. One of our electric winches refuses to cooperate,
with the white plastic button suddenly becoming just a bit of plastic,
mocking the absurdity of the helmsman's repeatedly pushing it while
entertaining images of sail furling. okay, we still have manual winch
handles on board ... Then all the winches are in use when we need to
tighten the pole's backhaul and downhaul. (Why didn't I order tertiary
winches?) The anti-chafe leather has jumped out of its position in the
jaws of the spinnaker pole, slowly making its way down the genoa sheet to
the cockpit. Meanwhile it's almost dark, and the squall is upon us. We
might, I think, have felt reasonably proud of getting all this done in 40
minutes, were it not for the fact that an hour later the wind shifted back
towards the North ...
(Tho this morning I discovered a small hole in the mainsail which we have
at least 'rested' by our rig change).
Relentless.
at last, all becomes clear. At around midnight last night. We have been
sailing for two weeks and yet we do not move at all! Whatever we do, for
however long we sail, we are at the centre of a disc with the horizon
equidistant from us in all directions. I look out, and see lots of water
and sky and the horizon. It is always so, with the horizon never any
closer. There are lots of sensations of movement but they are illusory, or
else like mirages, misleading reflections of the movement of the waves and
weather and sky.
If we could have just one tree; one fixed point with respect to which we
could regain some confidence in our movement. I was wrong earlier about no
subjectivity. My pleas are mocked, so they are heard. "you want a
tree?! Here, have some waves, and clouds and rain ..."
17 degrees, 43 minutes North, 49 degrees, 29 minutes West (at 16.00 UTC)
2130 nm out from Tenerife, sailing at around 6 knots with 15 knots of wind
from the East
View from 1000000 km above 17°43'N 49°29'W
New Haecceia record (Sunday): 14 knots down a wave
Karl Gajdusek has very kindly put up a 'position' page on www.haecceia.com
with Haecceia's position at each email report marked on a chart.
Family of ocean dolphins played around the boat last night.
This morning a whale has been swimming alongside the boat; mostly submerged
but appears above the waves occasionally to 'blow'. (the ocean's answer to
my jibes about subjectivity?)
Decided this morning to try to repair the hole in the mainsail which looked
as if it was starting to get bigger. We have a mainsail tape repair kit on
board; the trick is getting the tape onto the sail, while the sail is up
the mast and the boat is sailing... Adrian in bosun's chair winched up the
mast; mast heeling side to side, sail flapping, A. swinging on halyard,
sail tape in A's hand moving in one trajectory, sail moving in
another... John has some digital stills of the event; Bill taped his
digital video camera to the stern mast to automatically record what it
could, while John was at the helm, and Bill winching Adrian up the
mast. The result is not pretty but should keep the sail together until we
arrive in Antigua and can take it to a professional sail loft.
Wish Wayne and Joe were here so we could read Plato together not only in a
cave high in the Sierra Nevada, but also in this Atlantic wonderland of
ceaseless motion ....
Adrian
PS from Childers: Yes, we've had an adventurous day, fortunately one that
we can share with friends and family thanks to mod tech. The dolphins and
the whale have been welcome visitors, but my personal highlight came
yesterday morning when on temporary watch. A small, isolated squall was
passing by on the starboard side. The morning sun was rising from the port.
A downpour appeared as a column of water, its cascade curving sensually
downward like a billowing genoa sail as it splashed into a frothy, foamy
sea. The entire luminous effect was front lit by a cool, white morning
sunlight. Suddenly, ahead of the rain, formed a band of colours. Just as
quickly, another, brighter rose from the sea from behind the cascading
column. Fading, like an iris shuttering down, the forward arc disappeared.
However, the rear one elongated just as gently. It was then I realised that
I was witnessing the creation of the one of those natural miracles. The
waterfall of the squall, swathing determinedly forward of our position,
marrying the waters of the sky with those of the sea, filtered the air with
droplets drenched with sunlight. Slowly, certainly, forward glided the rain
cloud, its arc ascending and descending to completion, bearing to full
splendor the wonder of a glorious act of the universal. Eh voila! Rainbow!
The powerful hand of nature's turbulence was painting the heaven's grey
backdrop with the pallet of the ancient, promising gift of peace. The good
fortune was mine to witness it. The bad news was that the camera was well
out of reach, given over to my choice to maintain vigil versus searching
below for the beast. Oh well, perhaps a few hours with some animation
program. Bueno, as they say, never a dull moment. Better yet, never speak
it, for the gods are vain and vengeful, and oh yes, sometimes generous.
Until later, Bill.
TUESDAY
DECEMBER 4
17 degrees, 37 minutes North, 51 degrees 47 minutes West
more mainsail problems: shook out two reefs in the mainsail in the morning;
later with squall approaching reefed the main again, but one of the
Frederiksen cars that hold the mainsail to the mast broke; its metal spine
that runs in the mast track snapped.
WEDNESDAY
DECEMBER 5
17 degrees, 31 minutes North; 54 degrees, 6 minutes West
Decided to overcome sail problems by putting up our Spinnaker. For those
of you who haven't seen the pictures, this sail was inspired by "Priscilla,
Queen of the Desert", and is enormous and immodest in pinks and
purples. only the birds and flying fish to appreciate it.
THURSDAY
DECEMBER 6
17 degrees, 16 minutes North; 57 degrees, 35 minutes West
REMNANT OF OLGA: 23 North, 75 West
must be getting close to the Caribbean; saw our first aeroplane in two weeks.
Our position
as relayed this morning (December 7) at 12.00 UTC: 17
degrees, 0 minutes North; 60 degrees, 0 minutes West (this one took some
work!) all being well we should arrive at Jolly Harbour, Antigua early Saturday
morning.
View from 1000000 km above 17°N 60°W
EARLY
MORNING REPORT
It's 03.00 am (UTC) and we've all been up on deck for the last couple of
hours. Holes in the mainsail, and a broken Frederiksen car were not the
end of our sail problems: at midnight with some approaching line squalls I
started to winch in the genoa furling line to put away some of the genoa
sail. The line winched in but the sail wasn't furling. Torchlight
investigation at the bow showed that the Reckman furling drum was no longer
properly connected to the genoa stay, and small ballbearings were jumping
out of the mechanism and rolling everywhere on deck. Attempts to repair
this were fruitless and the wind was picking up, so we had to get the genoa
down quickly by releasing its halyard, and freeing it from the spinnaker
pole. John emerged on deck with alarge number of loops of string around
his neck, each with a tiny Boland knot tied at the end -- instant sail
ties! Bill was perched magnificently athwart the bow, pulling down the
sail and occasionally getting thwacked by the genoa sheet.
I suppose it must have been because we had been talking as if we were
already arrived in Antigua. ... with only a double-reefed mainsail up we
are doing 8 - 10 knots. must be the 30 knot winds.
-------------
Two of our correspondents -- David and Eileen -- have been reading between
the lines, and responded with a poem:
Behind it all we can sense the quiet of those nothing days:
The sun came up upon the left.
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.
As the sundial has it:
Horas non numero nisi serenas!