Day 25 - Back In The Southern Hemisphere

I crossed the equator at lon. 120W on 20 November at 1316.11 UTC (7.16.11 AM local time). La Paz was 1500 miles to the NW, the Galapagos were 1750 miles to the east, Hawaii was 2300 miles to the NW, the Marquises were 1200 miles to the SW, and Easter Island was 1750 miles ahead to the SSE. This crossing had been much more difficult that the one that Arnold and I made in late 2008 when we made the 2300 mile crossing from Papeete, Tahiti to Hilo, Hawaii in 18 days, averaging 130 miles per day under clear skies and consistent winds.

The wind had moderated during the night (forcing me to take the wheel for a brief time) but made up for its moderation and reduced boat speed (3-3.5 kt) by backing (ie counterclockwise) and taking us on a COG slightly south of SW. The wind backed more at at 9 AM I enjoyed my coffee and toast watching with great pleasure the boat on a COG of 200T, not far off direct south. The reduced boat speed (3.6 kt against and 11 kt wind) led me to estimate the speed of the southern equatorial current at about 2 knots. This is more than I would have expected but quite plausible.

The toast was thanks to the first loaf of bread that I had baked the evening before. It was not the prettiest loaf in the world, but it had risen well and tasted fine. It seemed to go much better with honey than the store-bought bread. Just as well that I have 6 kg of honey on board. From now on I'll have bread for breakfast only. I had plenty of flour and yeast, but baking consumes a lot of LPG gas.

In the late morning I raised the full mainsail then removed the sail cover and lazy jacks from the rig. The task required mainly patience. The rest was a straightforward series of small steps. I thought that I would have trouble storing it all, given the two tubes of PVC running the length of the cover, but this was resolved when I slid out the tubes then cut them in half. PVC is cheap to replace and the pieces that I had were bent from their years of work. In truth, it was unlikely that I would ever use this unit again. It represented one of the worst pieces of work ever done on this boat. The sail cover was much too tight even though the company twice added more material at the mast end of the sail cover then came back again and added 2 inches to each size of the zipper. My vision of a stack pack had been to be able to drop the mainsail then quickly and easily zip up the cover. For three years zipping up the cover has been a 20 minute ordeal of slowly moving the zipper in increments with one hand while cramming down the sail with the other. And now the boom area seemed so clean without the cover! No longer did I have a mess of fabric and cord hanging from the boom while under sail. I could once again see the full foot of the sail, I could see the entire path of the reefing lines, I could see the boom vang clearly. I could see all of the boom cleats. Even climbing the mast was easier, as I found out when I had to go up a few feet to retrieve a line. This reminded me of the simpler sailing days on my 27 ft sloop Angie. Back at Fremantle if I can't be convinced there is a better design available for a stack pack I will consider going back to an ordinary sail cover with no lazy jacks.

At noon our position was 00S15, 121W07, giving us a n-n distance of 100 miles in the direction 146T. We had made 69 minutes to the south. The wind was relatively weak at 9 kt but the grib file and weather faxes indicated stronger winds ahead. The sky had cleared yet once again and for the first time in days I wore sun glasses on deck.

We could use the sun. Without assistance from either the solar panels or the wind charger I am having to run the engine for one hour every day (127.5 hrs). I think that I've resolved the worry about forgetting to open the exhaust valve before starting the engine. I now Always shut the valve after I shut the engine no matter how calm the sea may be, and I therefore always open the valve before starting the engine. It's become second nature to me, but I still tie a cord between the engine control lever and the cover to the instrument panel to remind me that I do not untie that cord until the valve is open.

The Forecastle was till totally plugged up by the damaged headsail and for several days the cabin had been cluttered with items that I had moved to make room for the headsail. Now with the sail cover to add to the clutter I faced the task of bringing as much order as possible to the cabin. I dragged the headsail into the cabin and started to straighten out the sail starting at the peak. As I worked my way down to the foot I remember thinking that the sail appeared to be in great shape. The leather reinforcement that Hosse's team had sewn at the peak was as new, the telltales were all intact, the material looked good, and so did the stitching. Then I got to the area of the tears and what I saw took me by surprise. The fabric had not torn, it was the stitching that had failed. Then I remembered that Doug had told me recently that stitching is the Achilles heel of sails because it is susceptible to UV degradation. He told me that UV resistant thread is available but is prohibitively expensive. I then remembered Dieter, whose entire clew had been ripped away from his mainsail because of UV damaged thread. Perhaps I had been too hard on myself about how I had treated the sail.

So it looks like the sail will live to fight another day. I'll need to consult with the sailmaker, but at this point I would be inclined to have the entire sail re stitched and much of the UV tape along the foot and leech replaced. I noticed, by the way, that the area that failed was single stitched in a zig zag pattern. (Hmm. I wonder why it wasn't double or even triple stitched.) Also, if I really really get into a bind I've got the option of having a go at re stitching the sail myself.

There was no hope of properly flaking the sail in the cabin. The best I could do would be to make an orderly bundle as best as I could, then bind it all up with good rope. Doing this took close to an hour of sweaty work. Then I cleared enough of the forecastle to open up the port sail locker and in there I stowed the asymmetric spinnaker with its sheets, the sail cover with its PVC rods, and the large blue bag that once housed the water maker. The last hurdle was to somehow get the thick and heavy bundle of sail through the two doorways into the forecastle. After a protracted effort worthy of a Sumo wrestler I managed to pull the sail on top of the V berths then push it as far forward as possible. After another 20 minutes of packing the other items the cabin was once again clear and plenty spacious for one person.

I emerged from the hot and sweaty confines of the cabin into the cockpit and was welcomed by a beautiful day for sailing. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the sea was blue and calm with the occasional white cap here and there, and Jeff, the indispensable second member of the crew, was steering the boat to the south against a moderate 13 kt breeze. The air felt cooler and dryer and crisper. (Cooler? Hmm. I wonder if I'm not already in the SE trade winds.) I treated myself to a cup of tea and a handful of almonds at the steering station enjoying the sailing and thinking that things were looking alright.

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