I woke up at 6 AM, saw that the boat was on the same course and went back to bed.
At 9 AM I was up to find the boat heading east again. I examined the grib file and faced the fact that putting up the mainsail was warranted. Only with it up could I point close enough to the wind to deal with what would likely be an entire day of SSE wind.
Putting up the mainsail may no longer be a drama, but it is still hard work. Anyone not interested in reefing should skip this paragraph. After breakfast I suited up and began the festivities by visiting the mid deck to remove the mainsail's halyard tie-down and two of the three ropes tying the sail to the boom. I also loosened the vang haul (which holds the boom down at its mid point). Then it was back to the cockpit to loosen the 3rd line around the sail at the rear of the boom as well as the secondary reefing line that is still at the second reefing point from before. Only when the boom work is finished do I remove the line tied to the frame that works with the mainsheet to prevent the boom from swinging. I then loosen the reefing and mainsail tack downhaul lines that pass through the starboard rope clutches. Then I begin cranking up the halyard using the port cabin winch. The halyard gives too much resistance too soon and I think I know what the problem is. I ease the halyard by a foot and go to the mast to find that the luff (front edge) of the sail has wrapped around a mast step. I free that and resume cranking. Then I look up and see that the lazy running backstay is threatening to bind up the end of the second sail baton, so I ease it by about 3 feet. I resume cranking and then the wind on the sail has become a problem, even though I have eased the mainsheet to allow the sail to better line up with the wind. I can't get full alignment with the wind because that would put the sail at too much of an angle with the sail track at the back of the mast, causing the slides to bind. With no autopilot it becomes a matter of manipulating the heading by hand to take the wind pressure off the sail. I disengage Jeff and with the left arm reach back and turn the wheel to put the boat into the wind. At 20 degrees off the wind the mainsail begins to luff so I simply let go of the wheel knowing that the boat will fall back to a beam reach, and I begin cranking in the halyard, which has become much easier. I might bring in another foot of halyard before the wind begins to press on the sail again. I repeat this process 5 or 6 times until the halyard is in to my mark. Then I've got to bring on the "primary" second reefing line which passes through an eye at the back of the sail. I ease the mainsheet then bring on the reefing line using the starboard cabin winch, watching the back of the boom rise up to meet the reefing point. (This was why I loosened the vang.) That being done I must put in the secondary reefing line. I've learned to do this because in the first few months of sailing I had several reefing lines part under the stress, causing a big problem while under sail and a lot of trouble to thread a new line through the boom later. I use a secondary line to share the load with the primary line and to set up a backup in case one of the lines part. To do this I bring the rear of the boom inboard using the mainsheet traveler then tighten the mainsheet. From the safety of the cockpit I then pass the secondary line through the eye and bring it on tight. I then ease off the primary reefing line to the point where both lines are sharing the load. Then I use the traveler to put the boom to leeward again, ease the mainsheet, and we are now sailing normally. After that I take the slack out of the leeward running backstay and visit the top of the cabin to bring on the boom vang. This process took the better part of an hour and left me wringing wet with sweat under my wet weather clothes.
Putting the mainsail into play gave us another 20 degrees into the wind, putting us on a tolerable course of 120T. Our speed picked up by 1.5 knots to 4 knots. I sat at the steering station cooling off and noticed a lot of sea birds. They all seemed to be the same as before: medium size, under wings grey with black tips, and skimming low above the water apparently hunting for food. And the swell was not quite as scary as on the previous day when we were sailing at a 45 degree angle to big swells coming up from the south. When the boat was on a trough I would look up at the crest of the next swell wondering if this low freeboard boat would rise above it all, but it always did. (Big knock on wood: through all of the gales and storms and mistakes of her captain, Pachuca has never had a sea board her cockpit.)
As I was raising the mainsail I noticed that one of the slides was missing because it looked like its webbing had parted. If a slide had to go, that would have been my preference because it was not at the end of a baton and was high up where to my mind there would be less stress on the sail. (So why did the webbing part?) As I sat in the cockpit I looked up at the sail thanking my lucky stars that Carol Hosse's sail loft team had paired a second slide at the peak of the sail and sewn on leather to protect the peak. I remembered that the sail kit contains webbing, no doubt for this very problem, but there were no spare slides. Then I realized that unless the slide had fractured and blown apart it must still be in the track. From the cockpit I thought that I could see the free slide sitting on top of the second baton slide, but I could not be absolutely sure.
Our noon position was 37S39, 116W19, giving us a n-n distance of 96 miles to the SE exactly. We had been making good progress but the grib files were predicting lighter winds for the next few days. The barometer had risen 3 points to 1019 hPa in the last 12 hours.
At 5.30 PM I was forced to drop sail. I tried to keep the boat sailing. At 3 PM Jeff stopped coping. Although the wind appeared to be 10 knots it wasn't enough to prevent the sails from being overpowered by the pitching and rolling of the boat in the big swell. The boat speed through the water dropped to the point where the water vane was getting stronger signals from the wallowing of the boat than its forward motion. I took over the steering and for an hour I kept the boat into the wind and kept the boat moving with minimal flogging of the sails. Then I ran the engine for an hour and found that Jeff could cope better with boat moving faster through the water, but he still had to be watched. During this engine run I turned on the heater and closed up the cabin and after the engine run I went into the cabin and found it to be warm as toast. I rolled out most of the headsail and kept steering by hand, prepared to steer well into the night if it was worth the effort; but eventually I concluded that it was a hopeless cause. On the plus side we would have kept making maybe 2 knots, probably less. On the negative side I would have gotten very tired (and I don't think that a lone sailor should get over tired if he can avoid it) and worse, the sails would have flogged incessantly which I always hate to see. Another negative is that I've got a comfortable boat and enjoy life in the cabin which I would have missed very much. At 5.30 PM I dropped the mainsail. After tying it down I saw that the headsail was flogging so I rolled it up. I left the staysail up to help steady the boat and to perhaps give us some drive. The boat settled down on a heading toward the SE quadrant doing about 0.7 knots. During those brief episodes of 10 seconds or so when the boat was still and the mast was not moving the instrument was reporting wind speeds of 6 and 7 knots.
While tidying up the mainsail I looked around and noticed that it really was a nice day. After the boat was securely hove to I sat behind the wheel and worked hard to put the disappointment of the slack wind behind me and start enjoying what was around me. (If you can't change your situation, change your thinking.) The sky had cleared and air was crisp with the bright sun reflecting on the ocean as it dropped to the horizon. It was like a clear and crisp day in early winter. Although there was a hefty swell running, there was no wind blown sea and the ocean looked reasonably calm. It looked so inviting that I had a true sundowner enjoying the ambience of my surroundings. Why not? The boat was hove to and secure, I didn't expect to do any sailing until morning, and there was a beautiful end of day unfolding. I had three bottles of booze on board, two of rum and one of tequila. I chose the tequila for old time's sake and poured myself 100 ml into a very clean glass. This was day 51 and it was my first alcohol since day 2 or 3, when I had discovered a can of Pacifico Clara beer in the refrigerator. How did it go? It was bloody marvelous! At the end of that nip I felt mellow and loved the whole world and everything in it. ... Talk about a two pot screamer.
The grib file had predicted a wind speed of 8 knots at this time, which would remain so until 6 AM when it would increase to 11 knots. That extra 3 knots should be enough to get me sailing again, particularly if the swell died down. While bringing down the mainsail I noticed that the detached slide was indeed in the track and I should be able to sew the replacement webbing in situ. This would be a project for tomorrow if I was still becalmed. Another project would be to sew the sun shade onto the spray dodger, something I could do even under sail if the winds were light. During this lull I would also put up the storm trysail before the next bout of heavy winds.
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