At 3 AM after assessing the situation over a cup of hot chocolate I realized how surprisingly quickly I had adjusted to the new reality. Fortunately the winds had not gotten above the low 20's so the sea had not become too rough and the boat had ridden very comfortably all night. This provided the setting for a pleasant evening with a couple of snorts of Captain Morgan rum, a light meal of cheese, olives, nuts, and raisins (I had had a big lunch.) while watching a movie, then a really great sleep snuggled up in 3 blankets with a sleeping bag on top. It all must have helped because I had let go of that intense desire and expectation of rapid progress to the Horn and accepted the fact that, hey, this was just another stage of the story. In practical terms I had plenty of provisions and had suffered no more serious equipment failure. The only sense of urgency was to round the Horn before the end of January and I was confident that I'd be able to do that.
At 4 AM it was daylight. The wind had abated to below 20 knots but did not appear to have shifted dramatically, so I returned to my cosy bed.
I was up at 7 AM. Overnight we had moved 11 miles south and 4 miles west of our previous noon position, so we had held our ground reasonably well Over coffee I thought that I could detect a wind shift on the chart plotter. This was no longer a simple task because with the autopilot out of action the chart plotter was not getting heading data from the flux gate compass. All I could see were the COG and angle of the wind. The batteries were down to 12.0V so I wasted no time in getting topside to start the engine for a 2-hour run and use it to tack the boat. I then engaged Jeff and rolled out a bit of headsail and the course settled to about 075T. As I'd already noticed in these waters the sea state was rougher than what would be expected from a 20 knot wind, so we were having a lumpy ride. I was heading for the center of that low for all I knew, but there was no use in worrying about those uncertainties and best to concentrate on what I could see at the moment.
I opened yet another jar of instant coffee. I was beginning to rival my brother in the coffee drinking stakes (and that's really saying something). According to the spread sheet I had 7x100g jars of instant coffee remaining in store.
And a friend recently mentioned the tragedy of the whaleboat Essex in 1820. That rang a bell and I found that I had the book "In the Heart of the Sea" by Nathaniel Philbrick, winner of the National Book Award for Nonfiction. Wow, what a book. It is a well researched description of what whaling out of Nantucket was like in the early 1800's. The ship was attacked and sunk by an 85 ft whale (inspiration for Moby Dick) at 0S40, 119W0 in November, 1820. That just east of where Pachuca had crossed the equator but at the time was a hopelessly isolated part of the ocean. Eight of the 20 survived. Two were found at either end of a whaleboat, delirious from thirst and hunger, each chewing for whatever marrow they could suck out of one of the many bones of their dead comrades strewn across the length of the boat, after sailing 4500 miles across the Pacific. That book was quite of change from the works of Voltaire, which I had put aside after getting tired of the repetitive fables, though they showed amazing insight into the human psyche. I did return to the book and read Candide, which had helped to open some important doors for me when I was 21 years old. (I look back fondly on the experience of Candide as sort of a ... hmm ... philosophical enema.)
At 10 PM I shut the engine down after a 2 hour run. The wind had picked up, gusting to over 25 knots, and water had been regularly washing over the deck for 30 minutes. I rolled in the headsail which left the boat forereaching quietly at 1.5 knots heading 065T. According to the grib file the centre of the low would be passing just 10 miles north of us at about noon, bringing light and unsettled winds.
Time for hot buttered toast. (Yes!)
At noon our position was 51S01, 097W26 giving us a n-n distance of 10 miles to 148T. It wasn't even worth plotting on the paper chart. The last 24 hours had been a holding operation and at least we had not lost ground.
At 2 PM there was a weak sun showing through the thin clouds. The barometer had climbed 1 hPa since noon and according to the grib file the 996 hPa low was beginning its 3 hour passage from NW to SE of our position, for what it was worth. The wind had moderated by several knots and the sea was a little calmer, but the wind had not changed direction (still from the SE) significantly enough to warrant resumption of sailing. I was prepared to drop the mainsail if the wind weakened enough to cause slamming of the boom. Regardless of when I dropped the sail, once it was down I would secure it well with the intention of not raising it again until past the Horn. In these waters I would feel more comfortable with the stronger, smaller, and easier to manage trysail which would leave me in a better position to deal with strong winds. I had raised the mainsail this time with great reluctance because I felt a duty to try to collect rainwater from predicted rains that didn't even come close to appearing, and I wouldn't be fooled again.
At 3 PM I visited the mast and had a look around. Everything looked fine. The wind had moderated to less than 15 knots and the boat had started to wallow, so I rolled out some headsail to steady the boat and give it some way. The wind had veered a few degrees and we were making 2.3 knots on course 075.
At 8 PM the tenacious SE wind persisted, though diminished to 10 or 12 knots. At least we had not been becalmed as the grib file had predicted. Presumably the center of that low was now to the east and south of us. Pachuca ambled to the NE at 2 knots and I hoped that it would remain so throughout the night.
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1 comment:
Glad you are relaxing with the food.....................
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