Day 82 - More Gale Winds

The winds in this area don't read grib files. The previous day's grib file predicted workable (20-28 kt) winds for the next 30 hours and that raised my hopes for some fast progress. However, last night's grib file upgraded all of the wind speeds to the high 20's building up to gale force 34 knots. We had gone into the night with the trysail and maybe 30 sq ft of headsail so I figured that we'd get through the night OK.

At 1.30 AM I woke up and noted that although the boat was comfortable the wind seemed to have picked up. After dithering around I decided to suit up and go out for a look. The sea wasn't particularly rough but the wind was howling. I decided to roll in the headsail and spent 15 minutes gingerly winding it back in small stages. I was just finishing off with the winch work when I got hit hard in the face by flying water. It got past my collar and I could feel the icy water running down my back. That was the second time that I had been hit at a winch. If you think about it, working a weather winch is about as vulnerable situation as you can be in. You're bent low over the coaming facing the weather with both hands busy working the winch, and even if you can hear it coming there is little that you can do about it. I had a quick look at the wind instrument and saw 36 knots. I wasn't going to hang around to see whether that was just a gust or the norm.

I went down below and took off one sweater and two cotton tops leaving just the Icebraker skin tight merino wool stocking. Then I went forward and brought out two fresh and very dry sweaters, leaving me wearing 3 layers of wool on my chest. The garments that I took off were damp at the back and I would dry them off.

That left the boat heading east at maybe 2.5 knots under trysail alone. I had hoped to escape another walloping from a gale but that was obviously not to be. Ahead in 30 hours I could expect gale force winds of 34 knots.

I plan to dig out the storm jib for the forestay that I have never used and from the look of it has never been used. It is a very heavy sail designed to wrap around the rolled up headsail and be pulled up as though it was hanked on the wire. It is too late to use it for this series of winds because it is simply too dangerous to try to bend a sail at the foredeck in this weather. However, I will use it next time I anticipate similar wind conditions. Were that storm jib up now we'd be doing well over 5 knots instead of creeping along at 2.5 knots. Now that would be a setup: two strong sails up that I can rely on.

Yesterday I carefully re read the sections in Ocean Passages dealing with the Horn and it mentioned nothing about avoiding the shallows. It simply states: "The passage is usually made between 56 S and 57 30" S, to the N of the W-bound route." The Horn is at 56S. On that basis if I see an opportunity to make straight for the Horn I'll take it. My fear of rogue waves has taken a back seat to annoyance at being hammered by gales. And I'm definitely in gale alley. The Andes mountains presents a barrier that funnels and focuses the winds along the Tierra del Fuego coast. I notice that the winds at the Horn itself are much more benign.

At 5 AM I formally hove to. I say "formally" because Jeff had ceased to cope and we were essentially hove to with the trysail up. I did what I could to point the boat into the wind, including lashing the wheel to weather and centering the trysail. (I could not back wind it because the sheeting angle won't allow it.) Still the boat lay beam to the weather. It's all to do with balance. Forward of the mast we have the windage of the rolled up headsail, the two rafts, and the fuel cylinders. Aft of the mast there is only the trysail which tapers to a point only 2/3 down the boom. We were regularly being hit hard by breaking waves, with water getting past the sliding hatch into the cabin. I noted that we were only 35 miles from the continental shelf and 120 miles from the coast. I wasn't too concerned because we were still south of the Horn and the wind was strongly from the north. Nevertheless I would keep an eye on that because we were were moving slightly north of east at about 2.5 knots. If forced to I could always change our tack and move away from the coast.

I had a 2 hour sleep and when I woke up I knew what I wanted to do, which was to steer the boat south myself for a few hours. This would arrest the drift to the east and increase the separation from the continental shelf because it falls away to the SSE. Doing this would relieve my anxieties of drifting onto the continental shelf at the height of the coming gale and would be a positive alternative to simply heaving to on the opposite tack and drifting away from my destination. I knew that it would be no picnic out there so I made sure that I was well protected. I wore a wool beanie under my hood and I dug out the gloves that I had purchased at Neah Bay. I have yet to find gloves at a boating shop that are both warm and waterproof. Neah Bay has a great store where the fishermen who work the Alaskan waters get their gear. For my hands I got what they use: thick rubber gloves over wool mittens. It's crude, straightforward, and it works. (I got the Souwesters that they use also.)

I did an uninterrupted 4-hour trick at the helm from 9 AM to 1 PM. It was pretty wild out there and I had to work the wheel hard. Wave after wave would pass under the boat, lift the stern, then broach the boat, necessitating some fast work at the wheel. I would see tall waves breaking off to the side and think "Shit, sooner or later one will break on top of this boat." I had a wave come over the stern, slam me on the back, and dump 20 gallons of water into the cockpit. It was a jungle out there, folks. Anyway, at the end of the 4 hours I gybed the boat back to the port tack, lashed the wheel to weather, and went below to assess the result. Incidentally, I took the opportunity at the helm to run the engine for an hour. From the look of those following wave threatening to top the aft coaming I thanked my lucky stars for that exhaust valve that I had installed in La Paz.

I had moved the boat 15 miles to the south and after examining the grib files and doing some calculations I concluded that my effort had bought 5 hours, which would be enough to allow us to heave to on the port tack for the 13 hours until it blew over. This would place us near the continental shelf and ready to go. I say that with some trepidation because I realized during my time at the helm that the weather here near the Horn is in control and all I can do is react. There is no wiggle room to allow me to do any reliable tactical planning - the weather has all of the initiative. It's not how I like to sail but Hey, it's not my neighborhood. I'm only a visitor.

Oh, the Noon Report. At noon I saw on the binnacle GPS that we were at 56S13, 072W40. My psychology changes during gales to endurance rather than progress, but for what it's worth, our n-n distance was 86 miles directly to the east. We were about 175 miles west of the Horn.

At 7 PM we were still hove to. The worst of the winds would be in the next 6 hours and then things would begin to calm down, if the grib file could be believed. I was OK and the boat was OK.

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