Pachuca Circumnavigation

1st Day at MdP (2)

2012-02-17T16:28:00.001-07:00

I set off in the dinghy at about 9.30 AM wondering what the day would bring. I left the dingy at the little public landing hoping that it would still be there when I returned. I had deliberately not mounted the outboard motor to keep it a less tempting target. And talk about Sea Legs, even walking on the solid concrete path I was staggering like a drunkard. For the next few hours if I allowed my concentration to stray to look at my surroundings on ponder a problem I would begin to stagger. Why would walking on firm ground after months on a moving boat cause staggering>? You would think that it would allow you to walk a straight and narrow line.

The path across the foot bridge led directly to the Club Nautico, which seems to be an all-round athletics club complete with tennis courts, swimming pool, large exercise room full weights and various exercise machines, and plenty of Lasers and other small sailing boats. The marina accommodated boats generally in the 25-30 ft range. Soon I found the shower and toilet facilities, which were adequate and very clean. Not long after that I met Martha (pronounced "Marta", but I think that it has an "h" in it) at the office who turned out to be extremely helpful and speaks English, too.

To start with, I had gotten some serious misinformation the previous day. Sure, there was no room at Club Argentino, but the man could not speak for Club Nautico which shared the same section of the harbor inside of the bridge, and he had no business telling me to go back outside of the bridge. It turned out that Club Nautico might have room. Martha went off to speak with someone. She had heard me hailing Club Argentino on the radio the previous day. Unfortunately when I finally did call her club just before entering the harbor she was not around.

Martha was surprised that I was looking for almost a year's accommodation in Argentina. She told me that the cost of a slip was 128 pesos a day (about $28 per day). I asked about services in the area and she told me that she knew who ran North Sails, who was a member of the club, and gave me his name. But she said that there were no facilities for having the boat lifted out of the water. I knew better an pressed her. She told me that I might find joy at the commercial side of the harbor.

Then the first potential show stopper came up. She told me that before I could be admitted the boat would have to be cleaned. I asked for clarification and she pointed out a boat whose hull was being cleaned at that moment - except that it was a 15 ft boat hanging off a couple of steel pipes with a hook off the end. 'Yes, but you don't mean lifting my boat out of the water' I replied. She said that Yes, my boat would be lifted out of the water. 'Not on that crane' I replied. I told her that my boat weighs 8.5 tons. She came back with Yes, well that crane can lift 10 tons. I responded that No, it's not going to happen. To lift my boat you need slings and people who know how to use them. I asked if I could speak with the yard manager and she replied that it would do no good because his answer would be the same. We were at an impasse.

Then Carlos the yard manager showed up and saved me. He walked up and asked "Pachuca?". I replied "Si" and he introduced himself with a firm handshake. Regarding the hull cleaning, "No hay problema." Of course they couldn't lift Pachuca. Instead they would get a diver to clean the hull in the water. End of Problem. I saw right away that if I had any problem clearing my salt water cooling inlet valve I could have the diver working below while I worked above. Then he took me on a walk across the foot bridge and showed me where my new slip would be. I hadn't known it, but the closest slip to Pachuca at her mooring, less than 50 meters away, was her future home. The slip is outside of the bridge and Very accessible. I could move in any time. The slip provides water and electricity. I told Carlos that I expected to move into the slip the next day. When I returned to the office I jokingly pointed my finger at Martha and said 'See, I told you so. You learned something today, didn't you?'

Then I set off to formalize my entry. I went straight to the Prefectura (Coast Guard) and they sent me straight back to Club Nautico to have some forms filled out. (The clubs are not just helpful in the entry process - they are essential!) Back at C.N. Martha filled in the forms and told me that I had to do it in the following order: (1) Health (Salud), (2) Immigration, (3) Coast Guard (Prefectura), (4) Customs (Aduana). I found my way to the Health office and was given a slip of paper and told to go to one of the banks and make a deposit of 50 pesos. I commented on what a trivial amount that 50 pesos was (less than $12) but the lady said that it was important to her. As I was about to leave her office a young couple came in. On the way to the bank the couple caught up with me and told me that they had been told to follow me.

It turned out to be Martin and Marianna, a pair of delightful young Dutch people from their boat "Pinto", slipped in the same line of boats where Pachuca will be. Soon it became obvious that Marianna was a dynamo with great people skills and who spoke fluent Spanish, and would in fact be leading me. Martin and Marianna were on their way to Ushuaia from where they would traverse the Beagle Channel and go up the Patagonian archipelago in winter. From there they planned to head for the Marquesas then Hawaii.

We got to the bank and I'd never seen anything like it, with maybe hundreds of people waiting for their turn for service. We were there for 2.5 hours which would have been longer had it not been for a terrific well traveled Argentinean who gave us slips saving us about 80 positions in the queue. During our wait M&M told me of an boating neighbor from Buenos Aires who is adamant that for serious boat work Buenos Aires was the place. They will introduce me to him and I'll discuss it with him. Given that I plan to spend some serious money not on a patch-up but on systems that I expect to last for years I am at present inclined (and resigned) to go to Buenos Aires to have the work done. The move will have the advantage of putting me next to both the airport and the city and all that it has to offer. Having said that, the final verdict is not in. I remarked to Martin "Marianna is very very good." He replied "Yes, I know." I told him that he was a very lucky man.

I had been told to return to the health office before 3 PM because the woman would be setting off somewhere by airplane. We got back to her office at 2.30 PM and the place was shut. M&M led me to the Immigration office and left me to it because they had done that part. I got good help at Immigration but was told that I had to then get processed by the Prefectura and then return. I did that, having great difficulty with the Prefectura because there was no evidence on my passport or elsewhere that I had left Mexico. I showed him my Zarpe, which was the clearance by the La Paz port captain, but he took little interest in it. We got through that and while he was processing my case I showed him a photocopy of my Mexican FM2 residency permit, pointing out the expiry date in July and explaining that because I was still a resident of Mexico I hadn't needed an exit statement. It didn't matter because by then he had decided to process me. However, he had fretted about Pachuca being an Australian boat while I was presenting a US passport. I explained my dual citizenship and presented my Australian passport. He was happy to work with that so from here to Australia I'll be traveling on the Aussie passport.

I returned to Immigration and got their final stamp then headed for the Aduana. At the Aduana the man asked me why I didn't have a stamp from the Health department. I explained that I had visited their office, been sent to the bank where I had spent 2.5 hours as I showed him the bank receipt (he nodded knowingly), then when I had returned to the Health office at 2.30 PM I found it ... he finished my sentence with "cerrado". 'Si, cerrado' (closed). He knew the score. He accepted my form and told me that I would have to wait until Miercoles (Wednesday, and this was Thursday) before returning to Health then back to the Aduana. They said that there as no problem legally.

All I'd had all day was 3 cups of coffee and a muesli bar that M&M kindly gave to me, so I was tired, hot, and hungry. Nevertheless I pushed on to find an ATM to try my Visa card and get some cash. The first bank rejected me for lack of funds. 'Great', I thought, 'the beginning of the next crisis.' But I decided to try another couple of banks before squealing to the ANZ bank in Australia and the next bank delivered me 600 pesos (about $130) with no problem.

Back at Club Nautico I had a chat with Martha. I told her about the delay with Health and she explained that Monday and Tuesday were holidays. What Holidays, I asked, expecting to hear something in the order of Indendence Day, but instead got a reply of "Carnival Time". OK, stop the entire economy for Carnival Time? Why Not? Our lady at Health had decided not only to extend her holiday by taking Friday off, but also by closing the office at 2.30 PM on Thursday and leaving her customer twisting in the wind. I replied to Martha "I'm starting to like this country."

I then went to the restaurant and purchased 2 1-liter bottles of cold Heineken beer. I got back to the dinghy landing, found my Zodiac still there, and soon was back on board. I restrained myself long enough to bring down the quarantine flag and my back pack which was nearly dry. Then I poured myself the first glass of beer and after 112 days at sea, more than 30 days of abstinence, a hard hot day with practically no food, I watch the amber fluid rising under a layer of pure white froth and told myself 'This is going to be very good.' And so it was. The first liter barely touched the sides. At the time of this writing I was half way through the second liter and life seemed very good indeed.

It had been a tough day but you know, I figure that I can do as much living in one day in this cruising life than I would do in 30 days of genteel suburban "living".

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

1st Day at MdP (1)

2012-02-17T16:28:00.000-07:00

I went to bed early with a couple of Ibuprofens to knock me out (only the 3rd or 4th time I've taken them since La Paz). I woke up at 4 AM and found everything quiet and still outside. I figured that it was a good time to move the boat to the next mooring not just because of the quietness but also because I could do it in peace in the dark. There are three moorings in a line, but they are much too close to each other, and close to the wall. When I came in I caught the first mooring with the boat hook but I couldn't hold it as the wind pulled the boat back. I was lucky that the hook didn't come off the shaft and also very lucky not to have to leave the hook on the mooring as the boat pulled away. Somehow the boat got turned around, I saw an opportunity, put the engine in reverse, and backed up to the second mooring where I was able to secure the boat by a stern cleat, shut down the engine, then set the boat up with proper lines from the bow. I usually like to leave plenty of scope on anchors and moorings but I had no choice but to bring the boat so close that it partially lifted the mooring ball out of the water. The wind swung in the evening and I was relieved to see that the stern just cleared the the far mooring ball. However, the middle mooring was opposite a small floating jetty with big upright poles and I had my doubts about the stern clearing those poles, with risk of damage to the self steering. Hence the night operation.

It went well but I had to concentrate hard in the dark, keeping track of which line was which. I started off by pumping up the Zodiac (slow leaks), launching it, and putting in the paddles. Then I threw in one of the four heavy 22mm mooring lines that I had made in Eden NSW and a jib sheet for an extension. I then rowed to the first mooring, secured the heavy line through the ring, tied on the extension, then back on board I pulled the boat half way to the new mooring. From the cockpit I freed the two lines from the second mooring then pulled the boat right up to the first mooring and in the end I had two heavy lines through its ring, with the float part way out of the water. I felt better: The floating jetty was no longer a threat and I was no longer sandwiched between two other moorings.

I must have sent last night's blog just in time for Mark to pick it up before the end of his working day because at 4 AM I was able to read his great advice on what to look for when assessing the state of the engine. (Thank you Mark yet again!!) I will respond to his questions in this blog partly for the benefit of others and partly because the news is good:
- No discoloration of paint in the exhaust or manifold areas (or anywhere else)
- No discoloration around the black plastic drain nipple at the back, or warping of any plastic material
- No antifreeze in the bilge
- Antifreeze level in the plastic reservoir is at normal level

In general, I could see nothing out of the ordinary in the engine.

Mark recommends that I change the saltwater pump impeller (Why didn't I think of that?). I've got a pretty good set of spares on board and there is probably a new impeller in the set.

I got help from Australia too. Reg suggested changing the engine oil while keeping an eye out for evidence of water, and made the interesting observation that it is just as well that the blockage wasn't freed while the engine was running hot because the sudden inrush of cold water could have caused problems. I will indeed change the oil and filter. (Thanks Reg.)

I've had a chance to assess my position. The first priority is of course to make my formal entry because I cannot move around without it. Then I'll visit the yacht clubs. This afternoon I'll deal with the second priority: diving under the boat to free whatever is obstructing the water inlet. Looking beyond that, I figure that regardless of where I wind up I'll be on this mooring for at least a week. I'll have to get my bearings and figure out how I can get fresh water on board, dispose of my garbage, and maybe even have some laundry done. I'm thinking of also taking the damaged headsail ashore where I can lay it out flat on the ground and fold it properly and bag it. I'll do the oil and filter change right here on the mooring because I have the equipment and materials for doing that. I've just checked my spares and yes, Mark included a new impeller, so I'll be changing that. I want to get the engine running again not just for the obvious reasons but also in a more immediate sense I need it to maintain the batteries charged up or otherwise I'll have to rely on the modest contribution of the solar panels.

I do not expect to be either bored or idle while on this mooring.

I got out the backpack for going ashore and found it clammy damp, a bit moldy, with all 9 zippers seized up with corrosion. It is a great backpack and I'll be needing it. I freed all 9 zippers using WD40, pliers, a screwdriver, and lots of patience. The tendency to pull hard on the tabs must be resisted because they will break off every time. After soaking each zipper in WD40 I would work on the stock of the zipper, left and right with the pliers, then back and forth with the end of the screwdriver. Afterwards I sacrificed 12 liters of fresh water to wash the backpack in a weak solution of dish soap and bleach with a good rinse afterwards. It is now hanging out in the sun. I was rewarded for my effort by recovering from an obscure pocket over 40 pesos in change, a US dime, and 2 rusty AA batteries. Today I'll go ashore with the folder containing my documents in a shopping bag hanging around my neck.

I mentioned jelly fish yesterday. The harbor is teeming with sea lions, maybe partly due to the presence of the large fishing fleet. And yesterday on the way in I saw a strange sight. I motored by a seabird that appeared to be standing on a log. As I passed within 30 ft of it the bird flew off and the log turned out to be a small baby seal or sea lion. I reckon that could be the theme of a children's story.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 113 - Safe on a Mooring, Overheated Engine

2012-02-16T12:23:00.000-07:00

At 4.30 AM I was up writing this blog happy that I had managed the boat well during the night. I had motored east for an hour then let the boat drift and to my dismay noted that the east wind had strengthened to over 10 knots and we were drifting west - toward the coast - and 0.7 knots. I was now just over 4 miles from the coast so retired with the plan to get up every 90 minutes for a check. To that end I started to use the chart plotter more effectively than before. I set its alarm, which is a very good one because when it goes off it will not stop until I push the "acknowledge" button, unlike an ordinary alarm clock that gives after less than a minute. I then set its anchor alarm with a radius of 2.5 miles. This guarded against a sudden increase of wind speed pushing me to the shore faster than I had anticipated. Then I set the little hand timer for 90 minutes and went to sleep. I could even have had another alarm working for me, the "timer" alarm of the chart plotter, but figured that I had enough working for me. In any event the little hand timer woke me up every time.

At the 3 AM check I saw that the wind had dropped and now we were heading west at only 0.3 knots. At 4.30 AM we were still drifting at the slow pace but the shallows were only a mile away. The light wind was from the north and the boat was pointing toward the shore inching itself along at 0.3 knots. The wheel had been lashed with rudder amidships all night so I decided to try the rudder hard over to port. Like magic I saw the boat slowly swing to the south, gain speed to 0.7 knots, then continue the swing to settle pointing and heading to the SE at 0.5 knots. Now that we were drifting away from land I could relax! We had made a total westward drift of 2.8 knots during the night and were now only 2.3 miles from the harbor entrance with less than an hour to go until dawn.

Then I saw the flashes of lightning. I looked out and it appeared to be a nasty looking thunderstorm headed our way. I saw a couple of bolts of lightning strike toward the ground. By the time it got close I had shut everything down, thrown breakers, and thrown the main switches after heating some water for a bowl of oat meal. It was the most electrical activity that I had seen on the voyage, with almost constant flashes of lightning, though fortunately most of it seemed to be between the clouds. Then the wind came. Even under bare poles the boat heeled over to a wind that was well over 30 knots. I sat in the darkness eating my bowl of oat meal making sure that I stayed away from the mast or any other metal. An hour later it was over. The wind settled back down to 10 knots and we had moved only 1.7 miles to the SSE. I had lashed the tiller to port just in time. It was now time to have coffee then begin to prepare the boat.

The preparation took a little longer than I had expected, mostly because I had had to clear out the V berth area to get to three fenders stowed in the starboard sail locker. But by 9.15 AM the flags were up, fenders were on the sides, mooring ropes were in position, and the anchor set up at the bow. Stowage of the anchor and chain had been one of the successes of the passage. They never caused any problems with shifting or making noise. When it came time to restore the chain I simply had to pull it straight up through the hatch from the plastic milk crate directly below the hatch. When I opened the lid to the anchor well I found everything in order: the 80 meters of rope for the second anchor was still neatly coiled up and the various pieces of anchoring equipment were in place as though we were still in La Paz.

I hailed the official on VHF 16 and soon was speaking with someone whose English was better than my Spanish. I answered all of his questions and when I asked if I had permission to enter the harbor he told me to stand by. After 20 minutes of standing by I decided to make the one hour run into the harbor with the VHF radio on in case he called me. As far as I was concerned I had met the requirement of announcing my arrival. I tried several times to hail the "Argentina" yacht club on VHF 71 (not 72 as I said in the previous blog) with no success. Before entering the harbor I called them again with no response then I hailed Club Nautico, another sailing club, and they did not respond.

I wish that I had gotten a few higher resolution levels of the Google map for this area on the laptop GPS DataLogger software because then I would have known where to find the swinging footbridge. At water level it was very difficult to figure out where the openings were. I got directions from one boat then from a second and finally found the bridge. I got through it and found myself in a rabbit warren of narrow fairways and posts all over the place. Then a man told me that no new boats were allowed in the area because there was a regatta on and there were 40 visiting boats in the harbor. I asked him how long the regatta would last and he said about 10 days. I had to exit back through the swinging bridge. The operator had seen everything and understood the situation. I asked him where I could go and he pointed and used words that I didn't understand. I saw 3 yellow moorings so I said "amarillo?" and he said yes. Catching the mooring that had no rope on it was no picnic but I had to do it because by then I knew that I had a serious problem with the engine.

While asking directions from the second boat the engine alarm came on and I dismissed it as just another battery fault alarm, muted it, and continued talking. Ten minutes later I was talking with the man regarding the regatta while he fended off the bow from a boat and I dealt with my stern which was resting on a pylon. Two fellows came up and one pointed out that there was no cooling water coming out of the exhaust. I got the boat turned around and on the way through the bridge I looked at the temperature gauge and couldn't believe what I saw: it was pegged out at the far end of the red zone. I had to keep going to snag the mooring or the wind would push me into the rock wall. Fortunately it kept going with apparent problem long enough for me to secure the boat. I the shut down the engine immediately, of course.

Afterwards I had a look at the prime suspect. I uncoupled the water inlet hose from the thru-hull fitting, opened the valve, and instead of a rush of water all I got was a trickle. There was not much distance in the passage through the valve and to the water, but there was an elbow involved and try as I may I could not get any wire of any thickness to go around the corner and free the obstruction. I even got a strand of the stiff wire from one of my broken shrouds and even that wasn't good enough. I would have to go for a dive the next day armed with a screw driver. There were a lot of jellyfish in the waters outside of MdP and I'm wondering if I didn't suck one up on the way.

Naturally I'm worried about possible damage done to the engine, even though it didn't seize up. I shudder at the thought of the water pump working dry, for one thing. I wonder about other long term effects on the piston and rings. During the crisis the engine was doing very low revs which may have helped.

So instead of at a marina I was on a mooring for who knows how many days. I decided to prepare for tomorrow's venture to the Customs and Immigration officials inflating the Zodiac and getting the paddles ready It's just as well that the Zodiac survived the Horn because I would be needing it for the next few days. I'll ask Mark for advice on the incident.

My first impressions of the marine facilities here were not good. It was unprofessional for the yacht clubs to not respond to my calls (even though they claim 24 hour radio service) which forced me to come in blind into literally a trap. I didn't like the forest of wood pylons, narrow fairways, and seeming lack of organization. I didn't see any serious boats around. But this is just my first impression. I'll visit the clubs and go about my business with an open mind and after a few days I'll be able to make a decision on what to do, the option, of course, being to push on to Buenos Aires.

For now I was half way there: in a well protected harbor, secure on a mooring, and for the first time in over three month would be able to go to sleep without worrying about the boat. And I was looking forward to my visit to dry land again. I was tempted to go ashore, find an ATM, then return to the boat with some alcohol for celebration and as a circuit breaker, but decided not to take a chance on playing loose with Argentine law.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 112 - Motoring, Land Ho, Poised for Entry

2012-02-15T19:04:00.000-07:00

We lost about 3 hours of sailing during the night. The boat surprisingly gybed and when I went topside I saw that things had changed. We were surrounded by rain clouds, there was lightning in the distance, and we were in a squall with 22 knot winds. I immediately rolled in the headsail and a few minutes later thought it prudent to take the mainsail down to the second reef. Then the wind died altogether and stayed dead. I decided to leave the sail up to have it ready in case the wind returned so I lashed the boom amidships and tried to get some sleep listening to the painful sounds of the sail snapping as the boat rolled. Fortunately the wind returned and two hours later we were sailing again to a 20-21 knot wind under a clearing sky. However we were now 35 degrees off the desired course and I could foresee some tacking in the morning. At this point we were 50 miles from MdP but tacking would increase that distance and I didn't like our chances of getting into port on this day. It was very dark outside because what was left of the moon had not risen, but I could see the loom of the lights of Buenos Aires to the north. Soon the quarter moon was rising and the sailing was pleasant outside. I was glad that I had delayed putting out the anchor.

Just before dawn I was up again to make some changes. I put the boat on a port tack heading NE to position it to take advantage of a backing of the wind at about noon. I also shook out the second reef to get better drive against the 12 knot breeze. We were managing to make 3.5 knots but on course 065T, when MdP was almost directly north of us. I had no doubt at this point that we would be spending another night at sea. MdP was now 43 miles away, directly upwind.

I was up at 9 AM to find the boat still plodding along at 3 kt on course 355. The wind was down to 10 knots and was predicted to remain light for several hours. Because we were sailing almost tangentially to MdP and the sea was calm I decided to use the engine for a while. Without the autopilot I would have to steer continually and put the engine in neutral during all but the shortest dashes into the cockpit to get something. I would be satisfied with positioning myself outside of the MdP harbor before nightfall, and to achieve that I calculated that it would take at worst 10 hours of motoring (more of course if I took long breaks). But I would also use the wind whenever it was feasible.

I started the engine just after 9.30 AM and ran continuously (with 2 short halts to assess our position) for about 10.5 hours. At the end of the long day we were quietly lying ahull in a calm sea 2.5 miles from the coast and 3.6 miles from the entrance to the Mar del Plata harbor.

It turned out to be a very good day for motoring. All day long the wind was below 5 knots, starting off from the north and eventually backing a full circle. The sea became calmer and calmer until late in the afternoon it took on that smooth oily look. I left the mainsail up for about half of the journey but then the wind swung to the south the sail began to fret and by then I was fairly certain that there would be no wind for sailing that day. The day started off with a thin overcast but steadily cleared. The temperature was mild verging on warm and I could not have asked for better conditions.

Steering the boat was an easier chore than I had expected. One of the reasons why I purchased Pachuca was that it had an attribute high on my list of requirements: a comfortable steering station. I sat on the wide seat with my arms extended on the coaming and steering with my foot on the bottom of the wheel. Sometimes I would cross my steering leg and still easily manipulate the wheel with flicks of my foot. I found that by lashing the wheel I could get several minutes away from the steering in order to dash below to make a cup of coffee, dig out a muesli bar, check our position on the chart plotter, or whatever.

At about 4 PM I got my first glimpse of land and as I approached a fairly large and modern city unfolded. There must be maybe 20 bulidings of at least 10 floors and several that appeared to have more than 20 stories. At about 5 PM I was close enough to see masts in the harbor then I followed the line of the breakwater to see the entrance. Having done that I motored for another hour to compensate for what had been a drift to the south at 0.7 kt from a test that I did. When I finally stopped just after sunset I found that we were drifting toward the shore at 0.3 knots. I did not expect to get long bouts of sleep throughout the night.

Overall I was pleased with the results of the day. The engine ran beautifully and after 4 hours of running I kept the engine turning the 2000 rpm at which I had been running all day, slid back the engine cover, and saw that the vacuum gauge still had the needle in the little square at the bottom of the scale, indicating absolutely no problem with the Racor fuel filter clogging up. That vacuum gauge was a very reassuring piece of equipment to have and I was very glad that Mark had been firm about the need for it. I calculated that I had used no more than 30 liters of fuel during the run, and averaged about 4.3 knots.

I would be up at dawn (and half the night probably) and get cracking on preparing the boat and myself for entry into the harbor, e.g. Quarantine, Argentina, Aussie flags up, Anchor on the roller, fenders out, ropes ready, and a bath, clean clothes, lots of mouthwash, and a bit of after shave for me. I would then contact the port captain on VHF 16 announcing my arrival and once I had his OK for entry I would contact one of the yacht clubs on VHF 27 to arrange a slip.

I enjoyed a dinner of rice, corn, and mackerel in the cockpit admiring the lights of Mar del Plata. (The reminded me of La Paz, actually.) I particularly enjoyed the meal because I had got through the day on muesli bars, coffee, and hot chocolate.

I wasn't happy about the westward drift of the boat and planned to motor east for an hour before hitting the sack.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 111 - Less Than 60 To Go

2012-02-14T14:17:00.000-07:00

At the 3 AM check I found that the boat was managing to continue sailing in a delicate balance between the sails, the calm sea, and the weak wind that was below 9 knots. The boat had been making 2.0-2.5 knots (sometimes as low as 1.5 kt) but it was to within 10 degrees of the destination, making it all pure gain.

We were now only 100 miles from MdP and between motoring and sailing I expected to arrive on the following day, a Wednesday. It was now time to begin the final preparations for the arrival, such as setting the anchor and rode on the bow and lining up the ropes and fenders. A very important task would be to use the excellent book "Spanish for Cruisers" to prepare the phrases that I would need for the entry. The hours of studying Spanish were going to pay off because my Spanish had improved and I would be able to remember many of the phrases rather than having to hastily paw through books to figure out what to say.

[Oops! While I was writing this at 4.30 AM I saw my first AIS target in weeks. It's 90 miles to the south of me and typically over this distance only the basic information is getting through. He's doing 17.1 knots and heading my way at 008T. His closest point will be 50 miles in 4 hr 17 min. He'll pass to my east, probably heading north beyond Buenos Aires and Monevideo. I cannot yet see his name, call sign, MMSI, destination, etc. The important thing is that it confirms that the boat's AIS is working and being displayed on the chart plotter. 90 miles is an amazing distance for line-of-sight VHF communication. I've seen ships as far as 128 miles away, and first sight never at less than 25 miles away.]

At 8 AM a lovely 11 knot NE wind sprang up and we were making 2.7 knots almost directly to MdP. I could hardly believe my good fortune. So far it was developing into a gentle ending to a tempestuous passage. A moth or butterfly landed on the boat. I would get it back to Argentina if it was wise enough to stay put. Two hours later the wind was at about 15 knots. The grib file was not predicting any winds over 20 knots for the next 24 hours so I shook out the second reef and went to the first reef for the first time in months, actually. The change might get me another 10 or 15 miles over the night.

Shortly before 11 AM AIS reported a cargo ship south of me with the lofty name Virtuous Striker, headed for Bueneventura, wherever that is. Then a target popped up only 9 miles away, traveling at 3.1 knots, and due to close to within 2 miles. With its speed, its status of "restricted maneuverability" and the way it kept appearing then disappearing it might be either another sailboat or perhaps an industrial barge. I could not see it with my binoculars but would keep a lookout for it. Thirty minutes later the rest of the data came up on the mysterious craft. It was the Promospes1, a 79 ft commercial fishing boat out of Montevideo. Hence their restricted maneuverability. I still cold not see them at 6 miles even though the sea was calm and the sun behind my shoulder.

It had turned out to be an outstanding day of sailing. The boat was moving well into a soft and warm 15 knot breeze across a calm sea and under a sunny sky. It could have been a Sunday afternoon recreational sail near a big city such as, say, Buenos Aires.

At noon we were at 39S07, 57W12, representing a n-n distance of 62 miles to 342T. We were 75 miles SSE of MdP and 60 miles off the coast. The boat was still moving well at only 10 degrees off target and the prospects were good for an entry the MdP on the following afternoon, though if I could not make it in during daylight I would stand off for another night. By now I was seeing too many ships on AIS to mention - 5 on the screen at the moment - and I had made sure that the AIS alarm was on. This was to be expected near the busy estuary of the River Plate with Montevideo on its northern side and Buenos Aires to the west.

At 6 PM we were 59 miles from MdP and still moving well at 3.1 knots against a 15 knot wind. It had been a great day of sailing in all respects. The prediction was for the continuation of the moderate winds from the north throughout the night so I expected to keep the boat moving well, though I could not be certain of how direct our track would be, and the directness of our track would determine how much distance would remain to be covered in the morning. Any sailing to be done in the coming day would be finished by about 3 PM when the wind was predicted to die down. Thereafter I would motor the remaining distance if I could get into port before nightfall.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 110 - 125 to go and N of 40S

2012-02-13T14:09:00.000-07:00

The prediction was that the wind would steadily back eventually making a near complete circle, and steadily weaken, but the it held up well enough throughout the night so that we made good progress without the necessity of a sail change. We had crossed the slope of the continental shelf and at 7 AM we were on the continental shelf itself, 155 miles SSE of MdP, making 4.2 knots at 295T. We were only 23 miles south of lat 40S. I expected to gybe the boat to the NE within 3 hours to accommodate the backing wind. I had morning coffee while listening to Radio Australia on this morning of good reception.

The boat gybed itself an hour later, and good thing that I had put a preventer on the boom. I set the sails to the new tack and soon we were headed NE. I expected the wind to keep backing. Then the boat gybed again and I gave up trying to get Jeff to steer on a wind that had dropped to below 8 knots. I started the engine and valiantly tried to keep the mainsail up during the run in the hopes that the wind would come up but the incessant thrashing of the sail bothered me enough to drop the sail altogether and we continued motoring toward MdP. I ran the engine for 2 hours in the relatively calm waters thinking of it as a double charging run. When I finished the engine run we had a nice little 12 kt breeze from the SE so I rolled out the headsail and soon we were headed almost due north at 3.2 knots. I would decide on raising the mainsail later.

At noon our position was 40S06, 056W46, giving us a n-n distance of 86 miles in the direction 329T. We were on the continental shelf, 136 miles from MdP, and within 6 miles of crossing lat 40S. I was very satisfied with the result, which had been achieved in moderate to light winds and relatively calm seas. It had been a cloudy and drizzly morning, but the sky was beginning to clear.

After several hours of very light winds where the headsail was having trouble coping it picked up to about 10 knots and I was able to raise the mainsail for the night, when I expected stronger, though still very moderate, winds. The wind had clocked around from the north to the west, the south, and now it was from the east. It would continue backing to the north and I expected to do some beating. For now we were on a beam reach heading precisely toward MdP at 3.5 knots knots. There was nothing to complain about.

Just before 6 PM local time we crossed lat 40S and were now in the 30's. Reaching the 30's had seemed like such a distant and desperate goal during the difficult early days after turning the boat toward Argentina, and now it had actually happened and I was feeling much, much better about our prospects.

We were 125 miles from MdP.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 109 - Wind and Under 200 Miles

2012-02-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

The evening's grib file presented prospects than the previous evening's. The windless seam which had been predicted in the earlier grib file was now going to be east of Pachuca, according to the more recent grib file. The wind that would begin from the north at about midnight would be viable for the remaining 48 hour span of the grib file.

I was up at 12.30 AM to find a usable 8 knot wind from the NE. I rolled out half of the headsail and soon had the boat moving to the NW at 1.4 knots. There was a lot of weather helm but Jeff seemed to cope OK. Even though there was good moonlight I wasn't prepared to raise the mainsail for such a weak wind. I went back to bed after setting the alarm for another 2 hours.

I got up just after sunrise and found that the boat was still moving to the WNW and had covered a distance of 10 miles. I knew that there had been a light shower overnight because I had carelessly left the companionway open and there was water over the engine cover. (Fortunately I had been sharp enough to close both hatches for the night.) Over coffee I reviewed the grib file. According to it the light winds were only 20 miles east of the position from which we had started sailing. I decided to raise the mainsail as soon as possible and make haste toward the west.

I improved the hoist procedure. I left the running backstays on and rolled in the headsail as I had learned the day before. I started the engine, put the boat into the wind, and set Jeff dead to wind, hoping that he would be able to steer even with the boat's superstructure in front of the airvane. I found that he could indeed keep the boat within 10 degrees off the wind, which removed a lot of pressure from me to keep running back to the cockpit to adjust our heading. At the mast I released the peak of the sail and put some tension on the halyard by raising a bit of sail. Then I worked my may back to the cockpit, making sure that I kept the tension on the halyard. I decided to raise the mainsail by hand as much as possible, and just as well because I had to time some of the jerks to clear two of the battens past the taut port running backstay. Before I knew it I had raised the sail to within 2 ft of its full (double reefed) height with ridiculous ease. The only reason why I wasn't able to complete the hoist was that the reefing line had become taut, so I finished the hoist with the winch. I suspect that I would be able to raise the sail to at least single reef height by hand, using the engine to keep the boat into the wind. (However, I normally hoist the mainsail on the run under jib when I don't have the mast step tangle problem, and this does require the use of the winch.)

I shut the engine down after one hour which left us heading slightly north of west at 2.8 knots off a 12 knot NNW wind. I didn't want to tack to the north yet because I wanted to get as far west as possible from that seam of slack wind to the east. The important thing was that we were on the move again after 60 hours of drifting around.

I finally captured the entire weather fax schedule from the Chile station. Immediately after the schedule they transmitted the isobar chart which came through beautifully clear. We were still under the influence of a high. There had to be a low to the east causing this northerly wind but unfortunately the Chile faxes did not extend east beyond our present position. Nevertheless their weather faxes would be sufficient to get us into MdP. Once in port I would find out the situation with Rio. They had either radically changed their schedule, their frequencies, or less likely stopped transmitting altogether. I would need their services for the passage to Cape Town.

At 9 AM we were making 4 knots to WNW off a 19 knot wind. I left out plenty of headsail because we were sailing on a starboard tack to the strong side of the rig.

I went through my set of courtesy flags and as expected I did not have one of Argentina because I had not planned on a visit. However, all was not lost. I had a Guatemalan courtesy flag which has the same blue-white-blue pattern running vertically instead of horizontally like that of the Argentinean flag. I figured that by turning it sideways and with some creative sewing to get the proportions right I would be able to transform it into an Argentinean flag good enough to get us into port.

At noon we were at position 41S19, 055W46. In the few hours that we had been sailing we had moved 33 miles in the direction 313T. At the time of the noon report we were making 4.7 knots on a port tack on heading 037T. We were 215 miles from MdP.

After several hours of work the Argentinean courtesy flag was ready and the result in my opinion was outstanding. The proportions were right, the colors were right, and the material was right. From a very short distance the flag would pass muster with no problem. There were in fact two different Argentinean flags shown on my chart of world flags. The only difference between the two was that one had in the center what appeared to be an image of the sun complete with eyes and mouth (maybe a traditional sun god?). The simple flag is symmetric on both axes which presents the convenient property of having no backwards or upside down. I got lucky with the Guatemalan flag in that its proportion of stripes was such that I could get the Argentinean proportions with a simple fold on each stripe, so I had to do no cutting. The only alteration that I made was to pierce a tiny hole in the material for the lower lanyard. I was able to use one of the existing grommets for the upper lanyard. This means that if I get blown of course and wind up in Guatemala all I have to do is to pick out the stitches form the Argentinean flag. (Just kidding.)

At nightfall we were just under 200 miles from MdP and still sailing toward it at over 5 knots. We had just crossed lat 41 S and were within one degree of reaching my goal of getting out of the Roaring Forties into ... let's call them the Tranquil Thirties.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 108 - Becalmed and Plenty of Fuel

2012-02-11T15:03:00.000-07:00

The night's grib file predicted yet another day of calm winds ahead. I had first been dropped my sails on day 106. The grib file predicted calm winds through most of day 109, making it three days of being for all practical purposes becalmed. In the penultimate frame of the grib file, 1500 UTC on 12 Feb, there was the first indication of a usable wind, at 10 knots from the NW.

Shortly before last light I dropped the mainsail and rolled in the headsail. The wind had dropped to below 5 knots, the sails were fretting, and the latest grib file didn't give me much hope for the immediate future. After a meal and a movie I noticed a bit of wind so rolled out the headsail and got the boat moving toward the NE at maybe 1 knot. At the 2 AM check I noted that the boat had arced around toward the SW. The wind was so weak that when I tried to gybe the boat stalled pointing dead downwind. After 5 minutes of doing what I could to complete the gybe I concluded that if there wasn't even enough wind to wear ship then trying to sail wasn't worth the effort, so I rolled in the headsail and hit the sack.

In the morning I went on deck to find us on an oily sea, i.e. so smooth that we appeared to be floating on a gently undulating sea of oil. I had not seen this since the North Pacific in 2009. In order to hold down the amount of data being transmitted I restrict grib file reports to a rectangle of 2 degrees of latitude and 3 degrees of longitude. For days I had been seeing usable winds in one corner of the rectangle or another, but I was always in the wrong place for me. Frames in the latest grib file showed me to be in a seam between usable north winds to the west and usable south winds to the east, but I was not willing to use precious fuel to motor for 10 hours chasing grib file vectors.

It was another bright and sunny day in paradise and I saw opportunities to do some useful things in the calm (though with some rolling) conditions. It would have been a good time for setting the anchor on the stem roller with the chain in the locker below, but the boat sails beautifully with the light bow and I didn't want to upset its trim for any rough weather that I might yet encounter in the remaining 250 miles to MdP. However, I decided to do my last fuel transfer. I had considered holding back the remaining 20 liters until I actually had the port in sight, to make absolutely sure that I had enough fuel for the entry. But my fuel consumption calculations had proven to be accurate and if anything on the conservative side and besides, I would be too busy and excited in those final hours for a fuel transfer. The ship's papers and my passports were in one zip up folder, but I would review everything and put the papers in easy-to-reach order. I would also put the quarantine flag within easy reach but unfortunately I didn't have a courtesy flag of Argentina.

And then there were the Spanish lessons. Since altering course for Argentina I had been hitting the Spanish lessons pretty hard (by my standards) for over one hour every day, and I would probably put in 3 hours today, with plenty of rests in between. I've been working through a wonderful text and audio course provided to me by Al and Cathy in La Paz. The beauty of the course is that it has started me talking. Many times in La Paz I just knew what to say but wouldn't speak until I had verified its meaning and pronunciation, which never seemed to happen. Every day I "learn" words that I already knew from my early childhood a long, long, too long time ago. I'd estimate that I remember about half of the words and phrases in the course so far, words from the world of an 8 year old boy, such as "miedo", "tambien", "por que" and yesterday "lluvia" (rain). But the ones I didn't know such as "a veces", "muy a menudo", and "demasiado" have taken a lot of effort to assimilate, generating a lot of sympathy in me for anyone learning a language from a cold start. In Argentina I'll probably piss off the locals with my chattering in bad Spanish, but so what? The adult ego is probably the biggest impediment to language fluency for older people, in contrast to the mindless blabbering of children, who learn at an amazing pace.

I did the fuel transfer and it went very well, with a better outcome than I had expected because I had more fuel on deck than I had thought. I knew that I had one full 20 liter container and 2 or 3 partially filled ones. There were 2 partially filled ones. One of them had only about 5 liters in it but the other was a 28 liter container with about 22 liters of fuel still inside. The result was that both of the internal tanks were now full and I still had an estimated 14 liters spare on deck. This was an outstanding position to be in after 108 days at sea with almost daily hour-long engine runs for battery charging. The engine should use no more than 3 liters an hour at a cruising speed of 2200 rpm. That would yield approximately 45 hours of engine time. Depending on the boat speed that I achieve it could represent a range of over 200 miles. I would do a speed-rpm trial during the day's engine run. I would wait out this spell of becalming but if it were to be repeated further down the track I would probably hand steer the boat toward MdP using the engine to move through the calm waters.

I knew that I would get fuel all over me so I worked starkers. After the fuel transfer I worked at the side in the sun for over an hour picking apart difficult knots and re securing the 3 fuel containers, and found myself actually sweating. It felt great. This was my kind of climate. Afterwards I had my second bucket bath in the cockpit in 2 days. The shampoo and water helped wash out the rest of the diesel on the cockpit sole.

Those fuel containers are very effective. I got to see all of the fuel that I transferred because I first had to stage it in a bucket. There was no evidence of water in the fuel, which is impressive considering the howling gales that the containers had been through on deck. I did find, however, particles of soot-like material at the bottom of the containers, which I presume came from the Pemex station in La Paz. I decanted some of it (apologies to the marine life) and the Baja filter took care of the rest. This suggests to me that I'll be able to put cleaner fuel into the boat's tanks if I put it in manually using the Baja filter rather than pumping it straight in at the marina. ... Come to think of it, I should be able to filter the fuel coming from the marina pump through a funnel with a coarse filter or better yet, the Baja filter, if the operator is willing to exercise some patience that perhaps could be greatly revived by the offer of a generous tip.

At noon our position was 41S37, 055W09. In 24 hours we had moved 6 miles almost directly to the north. At least we had not lost ground. Mar de Plata was 250 miles to the northwest. Patience was required. What had the wise man said? Ah yes, "Langsam langsam aber weiter."

I did the speed-rpm trial under ideal conditions. The wind was below 4 knots, the sea was oily, and as far as I could tell there was very little current and what there was would likely be set to the east, at right angles to our heading. As I had found earlier, the relationship of speed to rpm was more or less linear: 2.4 kt @ 1100 rpm, 3.5 kt @ 1650 rpm, 5.0 kt @ 2200 rpm. I've established that the engine consumes about 1.3 l/hr at 1100 rpm. If we assume a linear relationship between rpm and fuel consumption, the engine should consume about 2.6 l/hr @ 2200 rpm, yielding 5 knots in neutral conditions. If I make the conservative estimate of 3 l/hr @ 2200 rpm, that suggests that the 140 liters of fuel in the tanks will last 46.6 hours yielding a distance of 233 miles. These are only estimates based on several assumptions so I would not place the welfare of the boat in the hands of these numbers to the last liter of fuel, but they give me a rough benchmark which tell me that I am in the ballpark. And it doesn't have to be an all or nothing thing. Had I known two days ago what I know now I would have motored toward MdP until I found wind and then started sailing. Who knows, I'd probably be half way there by now. It sometimes takes me a while to get come around to new ideas.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 107 - Creeping Along in Light Winds

2012-02-10T15:31:00.000-07:00

The evening's grib wind prediction was dismal. For as far as it could see, a second 24 hours, there would be light winds. Fortunately we got a reprieve of sorts.

At 1 PM local time I prepared the bunk after finishing an Arnold Swartzenegger movie then went on deck for a final look around. I felt wind which the instrument was reporting to be at about 9 knots. I decided to have a go at sailing because I had little to lose but a bit of time. The visibility was excellent in the bright moonlight and working on deck was easy.

The boat was pointing to the south so I rolled out a bit of headsail, gybed the boat, then set the sail and engaged Jeff. The sail filled beautifully and Jeff held the course and we were now making about 2 knots to the NW. I had a cup of hot chocolate at the steering station enjoying the setting and watching Pachuca as she silently plied through the water. 90 minutes later as I was preparing for sleep the wind died down. I went up and saw that the sea had become so calm that the swells were low enough and long enough to cause very little agitation to the sail when it was overpowered. On that basis I kept the boat keep sailing on a beam reach to just to the north of west, at about 1.5 knots. That was better than drifting to the SW at 1 knot. We had already lost 3 miles to the south.

I checked the boat every 2 hours and she kept moving throughout the night. In the morning over coffee and coast I watched in amazement as the boat sailed and steered itself with only 4 and 5 knots of wind. I had never seen the boat move in such light conditions before. The key to it was the calm sea.

I then spent 90 minutes searching for weather faxes. I could hear the signal from Wiluna, Western Australia, but the fax was too grainy. I had better luck with Chile. I missed the first half of their schedule because I was too slow to try their lower frequency, but I hung in there and the next fax was the isobars one that I had been wanting. The Chile weather faxes extend to the east only as far as 55W, and I was at 54W58, but that was enough for me to see the high under which we were sitting. Then the wind picked up another knot or two and I was able to put the boat slightly into the wind. After rolling out a bit more headsail we were making 1.8 knots to WNW. I could see opportunities during the next 2 days if I was willing to play the winds.

It was another warm, clear, and brilliant day. This was the calmest deep water sea that I had experienced since crossing the North Pacific from Hawaii to Juan de Fuca. I was now trying to escape from tranquil, peaceful, pleasant, safe and relaxing conditions. Ah, if only all challenges in sailing were this easy! For the day I was planning a bath, change of clothes, a beard trim, and my first attempt at a self haircut ever. I opened the cabin and forward hatches to air out the boat, which was amazingly free of mold considering what it had been through.

While I was spending some time in the cockpit enjoying the sun I noticed that the wind had picked up to close to 9 knots, which I figured might be enough to carry the mainsail. The mainsail would reduce the weather helm, help us point better into the wind, and thereby increase the speed of the apparent wind. It took a bit of doing because of the halyard-mast step problem. I used the engine to point the boat into the wind so that the halyard would be pushed away from the mast when I eased the tension. I then learned two new things to make the future hoists easier. First, I must completely roll in the headsail before the hoist. I learned this after rushing to the mast to remove the lanyard holding down the peak of the mast. While I was there the boat moved off the wind, the headsail filled, and before I knew it we were headed downwind. What saved me from a difficult upper step halyard wrap was the second thing that I learned. By oversight I had left both running backstays hard on. (They are ropes that pass from the aft corners of the boat to tangs about 2/3 up the mast.) The taut backstays had acted as barriers that prevented the loose main halyard from swinging side to side. Wow, what a help that is!

After the sails and Jeff were set I saw that we had gained about 0.7 knot in speed (Not much in absolute terms but a 25% increase in speed) and we were pointing at least 20 degrees better, now on course 295T. This was 40 degrees off target but given that I had expected to be lying ahull drifting to the SW all day I wasn't complaining. The apparent wind was about 10 knots and given our position within a big, lazy, stable high, I was hopeful that it would last all day. Schedules aside, the sailing was splendid. I planned to spend a lot of time in the sun with bare legs and maybe even bare arms. For the first time in many weeks I put out the fishing lure to try my luck at trolling.

I spent an hour in the cockpit having an all-over sunbath. I found that the sun had just enough warmth in it to keep me from getting cold. Halfway through the session I had a salt water cockpit bath and after drying off, instead of rushing into the cockpit to get dressed I stayed in the sun for another 30 minutes to warm up and really dry off. Afterwards I trimmed my beard, moustache, eyebrows, ears, an nose. I had a go at cutting my hair but of course found it difficult. Nevertheless I got a lot of hair off and finished looking fairly presentable, from the front at least.

By then the wind had dropped to below 6 knots but the boat just kept sailing on. Even the boom was behaving. However, it was not doing us much good because the wind had backed and now we were headed WSW. Time to tack. I tacked and that yielded a satisfactory course to the NE at 0.7 knots. But the wind had dropped further and was plumbing 4.5 knots. The sails were barely managing to carry on and the situation would not be tenable for the night. However, I decided to hang on in case the wind picked up later. Jeff didn't have enough way to function, so I disconnected him and lashed the wheel hard to port and found that the course held steady.

At noon our position was 41S43, 055W09, representing a n-n distance of 35 miles to the west at 274T. We were 250 miles from MlP and 50 miles east of the start of the continental shelf.

I managed to keep the sails up during the lull where the wind had dropped to below 5 knots and in the late afternoon we were sailing to the NE at 0.8 knots with the wind at about 6 knots. I would keep the mainsail into the night knowing that if I had to drop it I would be doing it in bright moonlight.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 106 - Under 300 Miles

2012-02-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

The Sailmail messages began flowing again last night and I got the following response from Sailmail Operations: "There was a problem with the internet connection at the Chile station. In that part of the world, it takes a bit longer to get things repaired. It is now up and running and you should have received your weather reports. Nothing was lost, only delayed." The Sailmail organization had always given me great support. One of their technical people helped me over a period of days to solve a technical problem that had developed with my weather faxes when I was making the crossing from Hawaii to Juan de Fuca.

The grib file that came in confirmed that the terrific winds that we had been experiencing were from a high to the west. Unfortunately the wind would begin to die as the center of the high passed over this area, but there might be enough wind to keep the boat moving through to noon report time.

At 3 AM I was up to find that the wind had strengthened to closer to 20 knots and had not backed as much as I had expected. I took advantage of the stronger wind and calmer sea to tweak Jeff to put us a little closer to the wind and less than 20 degrees off target on a broad reach, making 5.5 knots.

I was up again at 7.30 AM to find the boat heading west at about 5 knots with the wind down to less than 10 knots. I thought about what to do over a slow cup of coffee and decided to try sailing wing and wing. Bob had mentioned it in La Paz and more recently Dieter had mentioned using the technique also, so I figured that I'd give it a go. (Wing and wing is when you sail dead downwind with the mainsail and boom out to one side of the boat and the headsail poled out to the other.) I figured that I'd best do it in stages and decided that Stage 1 should be winging out the mainsail with a preventer. (A preventer is a line from the end of the boom forward to prevent the boom from swinging back and around to the other side of the boat violently.) I had fooled around with winged out mainsails and preventers before and had not found them particularly cost effective, but the stakes now were high now and I had to give it a good try.

For the preventer I used the long 8mm line that I had been using to tie the mainsail to the boom. I tied it to the end of the boom, passed it through the big anchor bollard at the bow, for once routing it correctly past the jib sheets, then back to the starboard spinnaker winch. A little bit at a time I eased out the mainsheet and brought on the preventer, until the boom was out 45 degrees to the lubber line (i.e. center line of the boat). I lashed left the preventer on the winch and cleated off the end on a bollard then rolled in the headsail which was being blanketed. I adjusted Jeff to take us another 10 degrees downwind then observed the result for 15 minutes. I liked what I saw: the boom had stopped its occasional slamming, Jeff was steering well, and the boat was moving at over 4.0 knots. I decided to stop there for now and think about Stage II, sailing dead downwind and poling out the headsail. One issue was the dying wind. If it became too light I would not want to reduce the apparent wind by going faster with more sail. I had already looked up and seen the Windex mechanical wind indicator do a 360 degree circle because the movement of the mast had overpowered the wind. For the first time in 2 months I had been able to work along the full span of the deck without wearing foul weather gear.

Then I zoomed out and looked at the bigger picture. It was a partly cloudy but very sunny and warm day, the sea was relatively calm, we were north of 42S which meant that we had less than 2 degrees to go to get to 40S, and we were down to 285 miles from Mar del Plata. Wow!

An hour later I gybed the boat which left us headed directly to Mar del Plata, though at a modest 2.5 knots. Soon after I tightened both lower shrouds.

I spent the middle of the day doing some engine maintenance work which I had been neglecting for the past 2 weeks. The engine oil and transmission fluid levels were spot on, and I added a bit of coolant. The I took a small clean jar and drew diesel from the sediment bowls at the bottom of the tanks. The initial draw of the port tank produced a few dark red specs of residue that settled at the bottom of a fairly cloudy sample. The second draw was much better, though certainly cloudier that the diesel that one gets straight out of the pump. The starboard tank produced a more ominous result. I drew about 100ml and in the jar I saw a separation with a 3mm layer on top that looked like coffee with lots of cream in it. The second draw was OK, though still a bit cloudy. I'm no expert but that 3mm layer suggested water to me. However, I treat the fuel with an additive that is alleged to dissipate water. But how the additive works and whether it leaves a sediment is beyond me. The fuel tanks are in a state of constant agitation. I think that I'll give them a few days to settle down then I draw more samples to see what I get. During this day's engine run I will check the vacuum gauge in front of the Racor fuel filter.

Soon after the maintenance work I was forced to drop the mainsail due to lack of wind. I incorporated the drop with an engine run, putting the boat into the wind to keep the loose halyard from fouling on the mast steps as I dropped the sail. That worked OK and I managed to secure the halyard nice and tight so that it would not swing around wildly and get caught on a step. I then hand steered for an hour making just under 5 knots at 1700 rpm toward MdP. While the engine was running I slid back the engine cover and had a close look at the fuel vacuum gauge. The needle was dancing around the square at the beginning of the scale, not reaching the first tick mark of 3. The yellow zone which I regard as a warning of problems starts at tick mark 7.

I then spent 30 minutes tidying up the mainsail and boom and at the end of that I was hot and sweaty and for the first time since La Paz it felt like summer. At the nav station I saw that the boat was drifting WNW at about 1.3 knots, which suited me just fine.

At noon our position was 41S45, 054W22, giving us a n-n distance of 113 miles in the direction 302T. That was a surprising result given that the wind had begun to drop off during the night. On the other hand, we had spent many hours doing between 6 and 7 knots. We were now 273 miles from Mar de Plata. Unfortunately the wind party was over for the next 12 hours and I hoped to get information from the night's grib file on what to expect next. For me the afternoon would be one of rest and relaxation, and possibly a bath and change of clothes. I wasn't too upset about the enforced time out because I felt that we were in calmer waters and now it was just a matter of time; and besides, I had just had 2 days of phenomenal progress. The climate was certainly good. The barometer was at 1022 HPa, the highest since I began keeping records back on Dec 25.

In the afternoon I baked a loaf of bread (my best yet) and spent a lot of time downloading weather faxes from Chile. They seem to have totally revamped their schedule and I was having to monitor their frequency and see what came up. I got one ice report, 1 wave report, 2 wave predictions, and a satellite photo. Unfortunately there was no isobar report which is what I wanted. I'll keep trying. Rio must have changed their frequencies because I haven't managed to get anything out of them.

I revisited the previous night's grib file and it predicted calm winds as far as it could see - noon report time the next day. That represents at least 24 hours of becalming. I was eagerly looking forward to this night's grib file. Our drift had settled to 1 knot WSW - not the best, but no disaster.

At 9 PM local time I went on deck and saw a beautiful evening. The sky was crystal clear. Across the western horizon was the glow of the last light of the day. To the east was the nearly full moon rising. To the south was the Southern Cross and above it the False Cross. To the north was our friend the comet and one of the planets. The sea was calm and there was a gentle breeze but I knew better than to try to sail to it. Perhaps tomorrow.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 105 - Under 400 miles and No Incoming Mail

2012-02-08T05:45:00.000-07:00

We went into the night still sailing nicely to the NW. During the evening Sailmail session my blog and other messages went out OK but somewhat unusually there was no incoming mail. It takes 15 or 20 minutes to process grib file requests and when I connected 30 minutes later for the result, and several times thereafter, there were still no incoming messages. I then sent a second grib file request and there was no response to that either. At 3 AM I got up the find the boat traveling well then I connected to Sailmail and still there were no incoming messages. I figured that the organization was experiencing a technical problem (e.g. server down) that would be corrected the following working day.

I woke up again just before the 5 AM alarm went off to find the boat headed south at a brisk pace. It could not have been headed south for long because the change of direction was not showing on the track being displayed on the chart plotter. The conditions were such that I was able to tack the boat with no trouble - made easier by the fact that there is no longer an inner forestay. Then the wind slackened, so I let out more sail and put the boat beam to the wind. Very soon the wind picked up to close to 30 knots which had me scrambling to roll in headsail fast. It was a cloudy and drizzly morning and to the SW I could see a squall that I figured was causing the instability. Fortunately the wind eventually settled down to just under 20 knots from the SW and soon the boat was making directly for Mar del Plata at over 4 knots. From the directions of the winds I figured that there was a low to the south of us, which suited me just fine. The barometer had dropped only 5 HPa to 1007 in the last 18 hours. After the dark days below lat 45S when I had felt trapped by seemingly insurmountable headwinds I was very grateful for the favorable winds of the last few days.

I could see the newly spliced lower shroud nicely taking the strain with each roll of the boat but it was much too loose, so soon I was at the side deck tightening the inner four bulldog clams then tightening the shroud itself. For now the shroud was doing its job nicely.

I then settled down to monitor the boat, the wind, and the weather. We were 415 miles out of Mar de Plata and only 11 miles south of lat 43S. Without a grib file to guide me all I could do was to hope that this wind would last - which had been the way of sailors until very recent times.

It turned out to be a wonderful day of sailing. The wind stayed strong (20-28 kt) and favorable (SW) throughout the day and we made phenomenal progress directly for Mar de Plata. We were on a broad reach and I gave the boat its head figuring that the mainsail and backstay would take much of the load. I watched the boat making over 7 knots over a span of 30 minutes until I shortened sail because the excessive weather helm was giving Jeff trouble and making the headsail was fret a bit. Generally we made over 6 knots. I had initially thought that the wind was from a low passing to the south but the way the wind held and the sky cleared suggested to me that we were in the embrace of a high centered to the west.

At noon our position was 42S45, 052W12, giving us a n-n distance of 94 miles in the direction 313T, directly toward Mar de Plata. We were 378 miles from Mar de Plata, and still moving well. One of my objective was to get above lat 40S as soon as possible and in 24 hours we had moved almost one degree to the north. Needless to say I was very happy with the result but like a good sailor I wanted more.

I connected to Sailmail several times during the day but still did not receive any incoming messages. I sent a message to Sailmail Technical Support advising them of my problem.

At 7 PM local time the wind was still favorable though somewhat diminished in strength we were making 5.7 knots still toward Mar del Plata.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 104

2012-02-07T14:26:00.000-07:00

It's 1.30 AM local time. I stayed up because I knew that the wind would slacken sometime during the night and sure enough at 1 AM the boom started slamming and mainsail started snapping as it lost the air the got it back when the boat rolled. I had been hoping to be able to leave the mainsail up but had to face reality and dropped it trying hard to keep the halyard tight as I brought it down so that it would not wrap on a step. But with the sort of rolling that is going on it was an unrealistic expectation and the halyard wrapped around steps between the crostrees. However, I plan to go up the mast tomorrow and I should be able to sort things out without too much trouble. The only way in which I'll be able to go up to splice a new piece to the damaged shroud is when there is enough wind to fill the headsail because without any steadying sail the spasms of rolls are too violent.

I milked the wind for all it was worth and both the chart plotter and Dave's "GPS Data Plotter" software are remarkably consistent in estimating the distance to Mar de Plata as 497 miles. Fortunately the light breeze is pushing the boat on an arc from NW to NE so we should not lose ground during the next few hours. According to the latest grib file we should get 24 hours of moderate northerly winds starting at about 9 AM and I am looking forward to that because we'll be able to set a course to Mar de Plata sailing off the strong side of the rig (starboard).

I got up at 6 AM and found the wind to still be light - less than 8 knots - as expected. After two cups of coffee I got to work assembling the tools and materials for the day's rigging work. Thirty minutes later the wind picked up a bit so I rolled out some sail engaged Jeff, and had a third cup of coffee to see how things would develop. Soon I was up the mast to swap the broken section wire with my second and last spare. I encountered the sort of problem to be expected when sizes are mixed up. I had replaced the 3/8 (10mm) wire with 5/16 (8mm) wire and had been forced to use a correspondingly smaller rigging bolt (toggle pin) because the 3/8" bolt was too big for the 5/16" swaged end. I discovered that the smaller pin had slipped through the tang at the mast enough so that the pin had been held by only one side of the tang. I improvised with a shackle at the tang mating with a shackle at the swaged end of the wired, and I moused the shackles with s/s wire. I made the new splice with 6 bulldog clamps instead of 4 because I was able to rob two clamps from the inner forestay which by now was being held by only 2 wires. Soon the spliced jury rig was in place and snug, though not tight because we were on the leeward side of the boat which meant that the shroud could be expected to be a bit loose. I was careful not to over tighten the end clamps because I had noticed that the inner forestay wire had broken just above the top clamp, and I figured that I had created a fatal stress point with that clamp.

I then raised the mainsail after playing games with the halyard wrapped around several steps. Soon we were sailing at over 4 knots to the NW. I then turned my attention to the inner forestay, cutting the two last wires, lashing the upper part to a mast ring, and throwing the lower part over the side after recovering the bottle screw.

The entire effort took 5 hours including cleanup, and the shroud splice represented the last shot in the locker as far as rigging fixes go. Back at the cockpit I monitored the boat over a cup of hot chocolate and muesli bar and watched with great pleasure as the boat headed almost toward Mar de Plata, making over 4 knots on COG 300T. We had crossed back across lon 50W. Outside it was a lovely day with clear skies and bright sunshine. From the pattern of winds during our becalming it appeared that the center of the high had passed right over us. The cabin temperature was 68.2F.

At noon our position was 43S36, 050W24, giving us a n-n distance of 66 miles in the very good direction of 303T. After a 6 hour period of calm we were again making good time toward the NW on a northerly wind that was expected to last 18 more hours as it gradually backed to the NW. We were 470 miles from Mar del Plata.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 103 - Sailed All Night at a Cost

2012-02-06T15:35:00.000-07:00

I managed to keep the boat sailing all night. At 3 AM the wind was consistently just over 30 knots but I kept the boat moving even though it was taking as big a pounding as ever on this trip. Our track had been more to the north than I had expected and we had crossed Lat 45 and at 10 AM were only 2 miles short of Lat 44S30. This had been a big win because I now knew that if I had to I could sail into a 30 knot wind, as long as it was not associated with a deep depression.

However, it came at a price. We had been sailing to the weak (port) side and this morning I saw that half of the strands at the top of the jury rigged D1 lower shroud had parted. The lower section had held and the splicing with bulldog clamps had held. It was the same failure as with the original D1 shroud and lends weight to Jim's suggestion that a toggle is required at the upper end as well as the lower to eliminate metal fatigue from the constant flexing as the mast moves. Had I seen this in the middle of the night I would have hove to, but now that the worst of the wind was over I proceeded as is. During the day I would dig out the second spare D3 cap shroud that still has its upper portion intact (the bottom having gone to the inner forestay splice). There is a period of calm forecast for tomorrow morning and I'll try to go up the mast and make the change then. I checked the records and the failed jury rig D1 lasted from day 87 to day 103, 16 days which included some terrible weather. If I'm lucky the next and last splice might see me all of the way to Mar del Plata.

I've been thinking about the rigging problem and it seems to me that the mast cannot fall over as long as the upper shrouds stay intact. And the mast is such a thick heavy beast that it seems unlikely that it would fold up in the middle under the side and compression loads from being under sail with a double reefed main and a modest amount of headsail. I am also using the running backstay to give the mast support. (I hope that this isn't just wishful thinking.)

On the plus side the headsail got through it OK.

On the Pilot Chart for January we had moved into a 5 by 5 degree quadrant where the percentage of NW winds decreases and their average strength drops from Force 5 (Fresh Breeze, 17-21 kt) to Force 4 (Moderate Breeze, 11-16 kt). There would be more N and NE winds. These are statistical averages but the trend was definitely going our way.

At noon our position was 44S11, 049W07, giving us a n-n distance of 73 miles to 028T. We had moved more than one degree in latitude to the north. The wind had already lasted longer than predicted and if it held on for a few more hours, night would see us north of lat 44S. I had enjoyed splendid sailing conditions for the last several hours, with the wind at 18-20 knots and a brilliant sunny day. The damaged stay was still hanging on by its remaining wires and I had my doubts that it was doing much supporting any more, which meant that the mast was supporting itself with the help of the remaining stays. According to the laptop software we were 535 miles out of Mar del Plata.

In the late afternoon I had a close look forward and discovered that the inner forestay that I had jury rigged with a splice had broken above the first bulldog clamp and was hanging by only a few wires. That hard night's sail has taken its toll but I don't regret it. It had to be done and I knew at the time that if I lost the rig so be it. But I've got to be careful. I'll feel better after I have spliced up the D1 shroud tomorrow, but for the next few weeks I'll have to weave my way between making adequate progress and over stressing the rig. One thing that I realized a few days ago is that creeping along too slowly can ultimately cause more stress on the rig if it exposes the boat to more of those punishing gales. The interesting thing is that the rig survived those winds of last night in spite of that damage. Those upper shrouds have to hold, that's all there is to it. Normally I wouldn't worry about them but they may be under increased stress because of the lower shroud problems. Several days ago I got to the point where I stopped over worrying about it and decided to sail as prudently as I know how and let the chips fall where they may. At least I am getting closer to rescue - and rescue it would be because there would be no way to jury rig a mast and sail upwind. If it were to happen when I am closer I would try to have enough diesel dropped at the boat for me to motor in.

Just after 7 PM local time we crossed latitude 44S (Yes!) As the high moved on the winds had started to veer and I was able to set a course directly for Mar del Plata. As the wind veered I altered course and let out the mainsail and we were still headed for our objective at 4.5 knots on a broad reach. Wow! It has been great to be sailing directly to Mar del Plata instead of obliquely for the last few hours. If the wind holds out long enough we might cross longitude 50W again.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 102 - Rough Night and Monitor Repair

2012-02-05T14:13:00.000-07:00

t was a tough night. At 4 AM I got up and saw the wind speed firmly in the 30's, touching 40 at times. Fortunately we did not have waves slamming us from the side as previously.

Just before dawn the boat tacked very subtly. I figured that the wind must have dropped, changing the dynamics and the boat had crossed the wind because her wheel was lashed to weather. No harm done. About 5 minutes later wham! and she was firmly back on her original starboard tack. I suited up and went into the cockpit to find the boat firmly hove to, sheet and traveler tight, and all well. Strange. Must have been a sudden wind gust from the side. The sky was crystal clear. I looked at the compass and saw the boat was pointing to 200T and the wind was from 240T, the abrupt change predicted by the grib file and a sure sign that another front had passed through. Another sign was one that I missed until making the previous day's noon report: in 24 hours the barometer had plunged from 1017 Hpa to 996 Hpa.

When the wind speed climbed into the 30's the drift of the boat had increased. I went to sleep unhappy in the knowledge that we were drifting south at the rate of 2 knots and there was nothing that I could do about it. Changing tacks would not have helped because the boat's motion was not forward but rather downwind. I hoped that the expected wind shift would arrest this southern movement and so it happened. After the wind shift to the SW the boat was drifting ENE and we had made a loop in the track. Unfortunately we had crossed back to the east side of longitude 50W, a hard-won milestone of the previous day.

But there was more bad news. The night's grib file predicted that after a few hours of weakening wind, reaching down to 10 knots, there would be another cycle of strong NW winds lasting 18 hours, followed by the familiar backing and weakening of the wind. I figured that I'd probably manage to get in a few hours of sailing toward the NW to make up for the ground that we had lost during the night and maybe a bit more, but try as I might I couldn't see how I would be able to do any sailing during the second blow. It would be out of the NW at 28 knots and probably higher because the grib files have been underestimating the winds lately. The seas would once again be huge and I would not be able to sail into it or across it and of course running before it would take me to the SE. So it was going to be another lost day with a lot of pounding of the boat. I seemed to be in a bad zone and I somehow had to inch my way to the north. At this point despair was my biggest enemy and patience my best ally. Fortunately I had actually experienced several reasonable days of sailing since turning toward Argentina, so I knew that I'd be able to ratchet my way north eventually. But it would take time and the boat would be subjected to a longer period of stress (not to mention the skipper). Fortunately I had plenty of supplies, though I would be arriving at the destination with less fuel that I had anticipated.

At 8 AM I faced the task of getting the boat moving. We had lost 10 miles to the ESE while hove to. The wind was in the low 20's out of the SW and the sea was still rough. Under more normal circumstances where there is a gap of days and maybe even weeks between gales I would have waited a few hours until conditions settled down, but I had no such luxury now. I used the engine to tack the boat because I wanted to use all of the help that I could get. I then let off the starboard running backstay and brought the port one on hard to support the mast. After a quick trip to the foredeck to free a sheet from a bollard I rolled out a small amount headsail, set the course, then engaged Jeff to do the steering. My effort was well rewarded. At the nav station I had the pleasure of watching the boat move at over 4 knot to the NW, almost exactly in the direction of Mar del Plata. The boat was moving much smoother through the water that I would have expected, probably because once more we were climbing over the swell head on. I was hoping to hold this tack for 8 or 9 hours while the wind veered, weakened, then strengthened from the NW leaving us on a track to the NE. Soon after that I would tack to the strong side of the boat and heave to again.

The sail throughout the morning went well. The lull that had been predicted didn't happen and the wind simply began to veer and strengthen. My plan was to keep the boat moving as long as possible. If I got lucky and the winds turned out to be 2 or 3 knots lighter than predicted and there were none of those vicious gusts of the night before I might even sail throughout the entire event.

At about 1 PM local time the boat tacked itself. I figured that the prop walk from the running engine had caused the tack and ent topside to sort it out. The problem was a bit more complicated: one of the Monitor control lines had broken. I shut down the engine and hove to with the headsail backwinded as it was. Soon I had my hands on a nice section of rope, a bit thicker than the existing lines, but in very good condition and professionally cut at one end. The thicker rope passed through the blocks OK so I went over the stern rail to fit it. But the divas had decided to throw a curve ball at me and when I put my foot on the lower port strut it gave at one end. This was serious because that frame must be drum tight in order to deal with the stresses from the moving parts. I managed to thread the new line through without much problem. It was the same deal as before: bending over trying to tease out the rope from the bottom of the vertical Monitor tube and the pitching stern putting my arms in the water to my elbows.

The lower brace runs horizontally from the stern of the boat to meet the aft vertical tube section of the Monitor frame. The brace is flattened at the end with a hole for a bolt to be threaded upward into the vertical tube. Fortunately the frame had not broken and all that had happened was that the bolt had come loose even though it had been wired on. And fortunately I had purchase the repair kit with the Monitor. It was an optional item that from memory took most of the $500 incentive discount given by the company, but at this point it was definitely money well spent. I got out the repair kit and the bag with all of the nuts and bolts and washers had a packing list that included two 5/16" bolts with holes through the head. That's what I wanted. I saw a possible problem in lining up the brace with the vertical section so that I could blindly thread the bolt. Using a small Phillips screw driver I found that fortunately the two pieces were already lined up very well and there was enough movement in the brace to get the exact lineup without requiring too much force. I managed to get the bolt stared then used the 11 mm wrench to bring it home tight. Then I got the mousing wire in one hand and managed top bend over with my head almost in the water so that I could look up and see the hole on the bolt head. I finished wiring up the bolt and soon Jeff was back on the job again. The repair had taken about an hour. Once again I counted my blessings. The failure had happened in broad daylight, clear weather, and just as the wind was starting to get stronger. And if the rope had not broken I would not have known about the missing bolt.

At noon our position was 45S16, 049W57, giving us a n-n distance of 19 miles in the direction NNE (026T). After the battering of the night before and loss of 10 miles while hove to I was actually happy with that result. At the time of the noon report (3PM local time, 1800 GMT/UTC) we were still sailing, doing over 4 knots into a 23 or 24 knot wind. Our COG was 045T but I didn't care because we were moving to the north, and I very much wanted to get north of 40S in the hopes of finding better conditions.

At 9PM we were still hanging in there sailing to 030T. The wind was close to 30 knots but neither it nor the sea were as vicious and they had been last night. Although I had reduced the headsail to maybe 20 sq ft we were still going against the wind at 4.2 knots. We were only 6 miles from crossing lat 45S and I was hoping that at dawn we had made a good start to 44S.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Dy 101 - Moderate Progress Upwind and Gale

2012-02-04T14:24:00.000-07:00

I had a quiet night. I went to bed at 1 AM with only 30 or 40 sq ft of headsail out so I saw no need to interrupt my sleep for a night check and set the alarm for 0730, to give me another crack at a fax out of Rio at 0750 (which failed). The wind had moderated to 15 knots and the sea had calmed down and better yet, the wind had veered putting us on a course of WNW. I didn't waste much time in rolling out plenty of headsail and hardening the mainsheet, and soon we were doing 3.3 knots on course 300T.

The night's grib file indicated that this northerly wind would last another 15 hours, which would give me another 50 miles of progress toward Mar de Plata, which was now just under 600 miles away. After the 15 hours there would be a period of weakening and backing wind, leading to a 2 or 3 hour period of 35 knot winds out of the SSW as the system passed through. It was tempting to drop the mainsail and run before it with a tiny bit of headsail and steering by hand, but I figured that that in the world of grib files 35 knots could easily turn out to be 40 knots so I decided to keep the mainsail up and at the appropriate time tack the boat and heave to on the starboard tack, presenting the strong side of the rigging. Besides, all of this would happen in pitch black dark after the moon was down and I wanted to minimize the possibility of an unexpected problem. I wanted to see how the boat hove to under mainsail anyway. For a few hours we would making way toward the south, but that was the price that I would have to pay. After the blow there would be a period of 6 hours or so when I could resume my track to the WNW (on the weak port tack of the boat, unfortunately) until the wind died down. Anyway, for now the sky was clear, the sun was out, and I was looking forward to a second good day of sailing to the strong side of the boat.

At noon our position was 45S35, 050W05, giving us a n-n distance of 62 miles in the direction 285T. We were 570 miles SE of Mar del Plata

That distance was covered with a continuous northerly wind and lots of hard pounding, and I'm afraid that it is as good as it will get when driving upwind. The problem is that as the wind builds up the seas also build up forcing the reduction of sail. This morning the wind picked up into the high 20's and I was force to repeatedly shorten sail reducing our speed to 2.5 knots. Then there is the direction problem. Under ideal conditions I can point the boat maybe 30 degrees off the wind. But with the huge amount of yawing caused by the boat being knocked around by the waves I must add a hefty margin of around 15 degrees to prevent the headsail from luffing excessively. That puts me 45 degrees off the wind. But then there is the lee, which is the pushing of the boat sideways by the wind and waves, and is considerable in a strong wind. Yesterday I did a careful check of our compass heading, adjusting for magnetic variation. I compared that with our actual Course Over the Ground (COG) and found a 20 degree difference. What this means is that I am actually sailing 65 or 70 degrees off the wind.

Combine the speed and direction problems with the idle times becalmed or hove to and I figure that I'll be lucky to average 30 miles a day to my destination. Yes, I'll play the winds and try to exploit every advantage possible and I might get lucky, but at the moment I'm resigned to a 20 day passage of the 570 miles to Mar de Plata.

Not long after the noon report the wind picked up to a higher level, eventually qualifying as a gale with speeds of 33 and 34 knots and gusts in the high 30's. I rolled in the headsail and started experimenting with heaving to. I disengaged Jeff then held the wheel hard to weather to see if the boat would have a stable heading and not try to cross the wind and tack. That worked out OK so I lashed the wheel and pulled the traveller to weather to bring the mainsail amidships, figuring that if I could line the boat with the sail the bow would be more head on to the oncoming waves. I watched for 30 minutes and saw that the boat had a tendency to point 30-45 degrees off the wind, though once it a while it would be knocked to 60 and 70 degrees off and quickly recover. In general the boat seemed to be meeting the big waves more from head on than the side, which was a vast improvement on the past. The boat was pointing NW, the wind was the N, and we were making 0.6-0.9 knots over the ground to the SW. I considered the heaving to a success, though I would have liked to have seen the boat a little closer to the wind.

With the headsail rolled up, the wheel lashed from two sides, and the mainsail set I had done everything I could for the boat and left it to its own devices. Down below the boat was not as stable as I would have liked and I hoped one day to try heaving to with also a backwinded staysail or small jib.

It's interesting how my psychology changes during a blow. Normally I fret about wind directions, boat speed, distance to objective, slow progress, etc. But during gale weather none of that seems to matter any more. What matters is hunkering down with the boat and crew as comfortable as possible.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 100 - Mainsail Up and Moving Well

2012-02-03T14:39:00.000-07:00

I spent the first hours of this great milestone, my 100th day at sea, wallowing in the water becalmed. The fair wind of the previous evening didn't last long and by dawn we had lost half of the ground that we had gained during that short fair wind. I was up at dawn to make sure that I would get a crack at climbing the mast before the wind returned. It was going to be a dry and sunny day - very good for climbing - but with the wind still below 5 knots the boat was still undergoing regular spasms of rolls because there was no effective steadying sail. I would try to be patient and wait until the predicted 15 knot southerly arrived before noon. ... I knew that the wind was below 5 knots because the wind speed data had magically reappeared on the chart plotter.

During the night I got two messages giving me more information on Mar de Plata.

Dieter confirmed that it is a port of entry and also said "Just as well you didn't stop in the Falklands, there is a $7000 fine for boats arriving from there." Wow, did I dodge a bullet there! The Argentina-UK struggle over the Malvinas/Falklands probably seems like a footnote to history from the Thatcher era to most of the world, but I learned from Falklands Radio that it is still a very hot issue, continuously smoldering along. Every day there was talk about the problem of sovereignty.

Brenda sent me all the information that I need to know about the entry procedure and the presence, facilities and contact information of 3 yacht clubs in the harbor. There is a boat yard and plenty of boat lifting capability.

It didn't take long for the wind to show some life, so I started the effort to get the mainsail up. I rolled out plenty of headsail then brought down the trysail and packed it neatly into its bag. I then climbed up the mast with the goal of freeing the halyard from its wrap around a step and installing fresh cord in that section, between the two crosstrees. On the way up I looked at the two D1 lower shrouds and neither had broken wires (Phew!). Unfortunately there was still too much rolling to allow a safe job so I compromised by reaching up past the radar dome to the cord, untying it with one hand, and letting it fly with the wind. This allowed an easy freeing of the halyard. Until I reached port I would have be very careful about always ensuring that the halyard was taut enough that it would not swing around a step. I was not too concerned about this because I did not plan to manipulate the sail much, keeping it at the second reef in fair weather or foul. Before freeing the halyard at the mast I prepared the sail for raising, freeing it from the boom, removing the line that restrained the back of the boom, freeing the mainsheet and reefing lines, etc. Then I rolled in the headsail, started the engine, and put the boat into the wind. This was especially necessary to ensure that the halyard would be pushed aft of the mast by the wind. I then freed the halyard at the mast, releasing its tension, then raised the sail using the engine to keep the boat into the wind. That worked fine and for the first time in weeks I had a mainsail. For some reason the sail has a better form with the second reef than the first reef and it looked great as it took to the wind.

The wind was from the north and we had the refreshing change of sailing on a starboard tack, which was the strong side of the rigging. After an hour was up I shut down the engine and we settled down to a comfortable beat in a lumpy but not rough sea, into a 17 knot apparent wind, doing 3.5-4.0 knots on course 300T. The boat looked good with the sails drawing nicely and a good angle of heel, and for once I was not worrying about the mast. Things got even better. The grib file predicted northerly winds as far as it could see, 30 hours ahead. Armed with the mainsail I was looking forward to some good progress to the west.

At noon our position was 45S49, 048W38, giving us a n-n distance of 31 miles to 292T, WNW. This reflected our 12 hours of laying becalmed. However, since early morning we had been moving well to the west at 3.0-3.5 knots with the prospects of maintaining this course and speed for another 24 hours. The wind out of the NNW had strengthened somewhat to about 22 knots and I had reduced a bit of headsail and eased the mainsheet to make reduce the amount of heel. The sea had risen to match the wind but there was no hull slamming and the boat rode remarkably well. The barometer was at 1017 Hpa, the highest I had seen it since 27 December.

During the afternoon the wind backed 15 degrees and its speed increased to the mid 20's with the seas rising correspondingly. The prediction was that it would gain another 2 knots in speed throughout the night. Before dark I reduced sail, dropping our speed from 3.3 kt to 2.2 kt. Much as I wanted to cover distance rapidly I wasn't willing to pound the boat all night for that extra knot in speed. Our course was slightly to the south of west.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 99 - Better Progress and Shorter Distance

2012-02-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

I got several items of good news last night.

The new grib file replaced its earlier prediction of 30+ knot winds in 12 hours with more manageable ones.

Then in the batch of Sailmail I received extremely useful information on a possible alternative destination to Buenos Aires.

There was a message from Brenda in which she passed on a comment to the blog from James Blackburn, in which he suggested the repair facilities at Mar del Plata, 220 miles south of Buenos Aires. I had never heard of Mar del Plata but told myself that I would look into it.

The next message was from Dieter, who also suggested Mar del Plata as an alternative, giving its location, some description of it, and stating that the harbor is easy to enter and it has "Very nice and helpful people." Dieter had been there twice, first for final preparations for his solo run for the Horn and then on his return from the Horn.

I zoomed in on Mar de Plata on my C-Map chart and it was as described: a small but wonderfully positioned and easy to enter harbor. That was all the convincing that I needed. All of a sudden the my distance to be traveled had shrunk by over 200 miles to less than 700 miles. That 200 miles would save me days of sailing. (Thank you, James and Dieter.)

Then I remembered a question from Mark about the motoring range I had with my fuel supplies. It was a timely reminder. I have the unfortunate tendency to look at the engine as an auxiliary to be used only for short range work such as maneuvering around anchorages and marinas. I suppose that I would have eventually come around to thinking about using the engine on a larger scale, but it was good to be able to incorporate it in my planning now.

I made some range calculations under the following assumptions:

- Another 20 days of travel to get within motoring range, meaning 20 more engine hours for battery charging
- Fuel consumption when charging the batteries at 1100 rpm of 2.5 L/Hr (2.3 L/Hr in the past)
- Cruising rpm of 2200 using 5.0 L/Hr

Given my current stock of fuel and allowing for 18 liters of reserve I figure that I'll be able to cruise for 40 hours. The speed made good will be a more difficult assumption: Will I be fighting wind and current? Will the sails be able to help me?

The assumption of 5 knots SOG gives me a range of 200 miles and 4 knots SOG yields 160 miles.

Given that, my goal is to sail within 150 miles of Mar de Plata and avail myself of the motoring option from there.

So now my sailing distance is less that 550 miles, but let's face it: it would be largely a windward passage and I would have to cover a lot more distance than that, hence my estimate of 20 days to reach the motoring zone.

The wind was very good overnight, in the 15-22 knot range. For a while we were tracking NNW but later the track became slightly to the east of north. Nevertheless we had managed to maintain a boat speed of 3-4 knots and I expected the day's n-n number to be good (by recent standards). There would be a period of calm beginning at about midnight and the following morning the seas might be settled enough to allow me to climb the mast and free that mainsail halyard. I very much needed to put up that mainsail. The trysail had been great for heavy downwind work but I now needed the mainsail for beating to weather and heaving to properly. Jim had recently passed on advice from Jon Sanders to heave to only with a deeply reefed mainsail. Jon has credentials: he owns an S&S 39 and is the legendary round the world solo sailor.

The ST60 masthead unit has again stopped sending wind speed data. I'll have it checked out expecting to replace it. Even though the unit is fairly new (New Zealand, late 2008) I don't begrudge the failure because those units must have an extremely hard life up at the top of the mast, totally exposed to the weather and the gyrations of the mast, with cups whizzing around at very high speeds during gales and storms. The unit survived a gale off the Oregon coast strong enough and sustained enough to bend the braced metal support of the VHF antenna, leaving it cocked at a 45 degree angle (but the radio kept working).

I'm amazed at how easily I am able to live on 2 liters of fresh water a day. Last night I didn't have to cook because I ate the second half of a rice and sardine dinner that I had prepared the night before and this morning I had a surplus of almost a liter of water. I know that I can ease up now with the prospects of land soon, but after more than 3 months of tight water restrictions it seems to be a case of old habits dying hard (or possibly chronic insecurity dying hard).

At noon our position was 46S01, 47W57, representing a n-n distance of 67 miles toward 009T. We were not heading toward Mar de Plata, which was on bearing 315T, so we were not closing in very quickly. However, we had moved more than 1 degree of latitude to the north. I wanted to get above latitude 40S with the expectation of calmer conditions and more NE winds. This incessant pounding into rough seas and winds up the the high 20's was hard on the boat, hard on the crew, and knocked probably 15 degrees off our pointing ability.

The wind speed had been picking up all morning and I had steadily been reducing the headsail. As I finished the noon report we got hit big time with 30+ knot winds - could have been 40 knots for all I know. The wind was screaming, the waves were starting to break as though we were at the beach, and I became concerned that if it kept up we might get rolled beyond the gunwale, which the sea was starting to reach already. I rolled in the rest of the headsail, lashed the wheel hard to weather, and did note that the boat was still making enough way to point us a precious 10 or 15 degrees off the beam. To the north it was relatively clear. To the south the horizon was filled with heavy dense cloud. It was too big to be a squall so I figured that it must be a front passing through. This would explain the dramatic backing of the wind predicted by the grib file. Mercifully, after 30 or 40 minutes it was over and the wind reverted to a respectable roar. I went to the cockpit and saw that the weather system had moved to the east. The wind had now backed to 240T. I noted that many of the sea birds had also hove to (well, lay ahull actually), and a few were up and flying again.

This event had demonstrated the weakness of grib file predictions which are only spot forecasts and are not able to articulate subtleties such as a strong front that might knock you down. I greatly missed the weather faxes. I had not been able to get any from Chile, Rio, or Australia for weeks.

Anyway, this was the wind change that I had been eagerly anticipating. I rolled out headsail and soon had us moving at 3 knots on the wonderful course of 295T. The boat was once again climbing over the swells, but as things settled down I would begin rolling out as much headsail as I dare to make the most of this most fair of winds.

I managed to complete two more Spanish lessons during the day. It's quite a challenge to study a language while the boat is pitching and rolling heavily and you're worried that the mast will falling over.

As night approach we were doing 3.3 knots on course 300T. I was hoping that we would be able to hold this course all night.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 98 - Creeping North

2012-02-01T14:34:00.000-07:00

At last light we ran into a monster of a squall. I could see the clouds coming from the north and heard the thunder with occasional flashes of lightning. I shut down the chart plotter, threw the breakers to it and the VHF radio, and then shut down and disconnected the navigation computer. I didn't expect much else to happen because I had seen this several times over the previous few days. But then the wind started suddenly and I had to scramble fast to wind in the headsail. I figured that the wind must have been well over 40 knots. I disconnected Jeff, lashed the wheel, then left the boat to its own devices with the trysail up and went to bed until it blew over. At 2 AM I was up again, saw that the wind had settled down, and started sailing again. I could see flashes of lightning to the south.

I stayed up another 2 hours where I received messages from Brenda and Stephen about my proposed change of plans and then issued my statement to the blog while it was still dark and the Sailmail reception was good. I woke up several times thereafter and saw that the boat was headed slightly east of north against apparent wind in the high 20's. It was a very agitated ride, but our speed varied only between 2.5 and 3.5 knots. Yes, it was a load on the rig but it was either sail into it or drift in the wrong direction. Over coffee in the morning I looked at the pilot chart and noted that above lat 40S there is a large component of NE winds. Also the northern and southern coastal currents converge at Rio de La Plata and head out to sea from there, so I was sure that I'd be able to make my way if I found myself too far north along the coast. But I was hoping that it wouldn't come to that. Whenever I had an opportunity to sail to the west I would push the boat harder to make the most of it.

Soon after, the wind hit gale force speeds complete with breaking seas as had been predicted by the grib file. I spent 30 minutes in the cockpit rolling in the headsail, disconnecting Jeff, an lashing the wheel hard to weather. Wind steering or not the boat was riding beam to the wind so I may as well give Jeff a break. The trysail would carry the load. This left us moving to the NE at about one knot.

I then baked a loaf of bread and did my first Spanish lesson since the early days of the voyage. Approaching and rounding the Horn had not been very conducive for study but now that was behind me and ahead was Spanish speaking Argentina.

At noon our position was 47S07, 48W12, giving us a n-n distance of 46 miles in the direction 025T. I was amazed that we had covered even that much distance. During the night the boat crept along at about 3 knots into a very stiff wind. Most of this day had been spent hove to in what peaked as a full gale complete with episodes of thunder and lightning and hail. A few minutes before the noon report I noted that the wind had dropped slightly, but more importantly had backed. I rolled out a tiny amount of headsail and setus moving again at about 2.5 knots slightly to the west of north - very good!

I spent some time at the companionway watching the boat's progress. It was a wonder that the boat was making any headway at all, The wind had backed which meant that the boat was meeting the large swells more or less head on, climbing over the front and descending down the back of each swell. But the sea was fairly confused and there were some swells coming from the side frequently causing the boat's stern to wallow. Somehow Jeff managed to always retain the course and we plodded on at 2.5 knots.

I then noticed that the forward lashing of the whisker pole was slack, allowing a lot of movement of the pole from the toe rail. I found that the knot of the cord holding it down had unraveled. I retied the knot and for good measure tied a second lashing using shock cord to stop any movement of the pole. On the way to the whisker pole I had noticed that the lower starboard shroud was alarmingly loose on the rolls. I then visited the port side shroud, the jury rigged one, and put about 3 turns on the screw. I didn't force anything because I was afraid that using force might put stress on the toggle and break it. Once in a while the boat would roll to weather enough to make the shroud go slack and when this happened I would apply another turn of the screw.

The grib file was predicting yet another bout of winds of over 30 knots in 12 hours. And of course they would be from the NW, the direction in which I wanted to move, I was looking forward to this night's grib file hoping that this prediction had changed.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 98 - Change of Plans

2012-01-31T22:13:00.000-07:00

The boat is at the moment headed North toward Buenos Aires, Argentina.

After passing the Falkland Islands I grew unhappier each passing day with my situation and the prospects for the passage to Cape Town. Progress was much slower than I had anticipated and I had made plans for a 60 day passage, which would have stretched my fresh water and diesel resources to the limit but more importantly exposed the boat to a longer period of risk. And to make it in 60 days I had to be prepared to drive the boat harder. I figured that if I lost the mast further out than 1000 miles from Cape Town I would set off my EPIRB, prepared to accept rescue and abandonment of the boat.

Yesterday morning in response to Mark's wish to me for happy sailing I responded that my sail and rigging problems had taken all of the joy out of the cruise. I read these words and realized that I had to do something. I don't mind the privation, and I can deal with danger when it comes (what other choice is there?), but perhaps because of the 3 years of university statistics I am extremely sensitive to risk, probabilities, expected gain, that sort of thing; and I had a really bad feeling about pushing on to Cape Town. It was just too risky and the passage was going to be an ordeal rather than a joyful adventure. Probably 20 times a day I check the headsail and port lower shroud to make sure that they are still intact. Every time I hear a hard sound my eyes are immediately up to make sure that the mast is still secure. Every time the boat gets up a head of steam I look at the angle of heel and reduce sail to relieve the load on the rigging. This is no way to sail a boat if it can be avoided.

I brought up David's software on the laptop, zoomed out to include South America, changed the image type from Google satellite to road map, and right away saw Buenos Aires. I then used the distance & bearing function to see that it was less than 900 air miles away. 900 miles to Buenos Aires is a lot shorter than the 3100 miles to Cape Town. Buenos Aires is a world city and I figured that it would offer all of the services that I needed. I saw it as the solution to my problem and immediately I felt better. I sent off a quick message to Brenda and Stephen telling them of my idea and asking for information on marinas in Buenos Aires. It was about 11 PM in Fremantle and Stephen was still up and responded immediately. Ten hours later I had all of the information that I needed for the moment on marinas and yacht clubs, with references to haulout facilities and the statements "North Buenos Aires has a large and very friendly sailing community" and "There are good facilities available and also a good range of marine supplies in Buenos Aires." This information sealed my decision.

Reaching the Rio de La Plata will not be as easy as it would have been had I proceeded along the coast to the west of the Falklands because I am now far off the coast and the prevailing winds are from the west. However, Buenos Aires is to the northwest and I figure that I've got ample time to play the winds and work my way west before reaching latitude 34S30 of the city. I'll undoubtedly do a lot more than 900 miles of sailing to get there, but it will still be very much shorter than Cape Town.

The latitude of B.A. is similar to that of Cape Town and Fremantle, so it should have a pleasant climate. Looking ahead, the passage from B.A. to Cape Town should be straightforward: sail ESE to pick up the route at latitude 41S or 42S. However, the timing of that passage will require some thinking. I've already been beat up by the Southern Ocean in winter, and I am not interested in repeating the experience. This suggests a stay in B.A. through at least November. I don't mind the long stay. In fact, I don't mind going to B.A. I have not visited any South American countries so far in this circumnavigation and now that the urgency of the Horn is behind me I am under no pressure to keep moving. It's called retirement. I'll have to see how things unfold but it seems to me that if I can put the boat in a secure place there will be ample opportunity for doing some serious bus touring.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 97 - Bath and Change of Clothes

2012-01-31T16:01:00.000-07:00

Shortly before dark the wind died to below sailing speed and we were left wallowing with the rolled up headsail and the trysail up and tightly sheeted. After dinner I went out and saw that the wind speed was down to 4 knots. I went to bed at midnight UTC with the alarm set for 0300. At 0300 the wind was still too calm so I reset the alarm for 0600 and went back to sleep.

At 0500 I woke up and saw that we had about 16 knots of wind. The wind strengthened even as I worked in the dark to get the boat moving. At 6 AM things had settled down and we were moving NE at 3.5 knots slightly beating against a 23 knot wind and rising sea.

The new wind was good but we must have lost 8 hours of sailing in this latest of what was beginning to appear to be a cycle of regular and frequent lulls of the wind.

And the trysail once again showed its advantage. To get the boat moving again all I had to do was to ease its weather sheet because it had been up during the becalming helping to steady the boat. With the wind in the low 20's it was now delivering all of the power that I dare put onto the rigging. Had it been the mainsail I would have had to first get some way with the headsail then gone on deck to untie it from the boom and free its halyard, and after that raise the sail with one hand while steering the boat into the wind with the other, all in the pitch black darkness. Call me a lazy sailor, but a lot of it has to do with risk minimization. The less activity on that deck the better, particularly in darkness or bad weather.

Within the hour the wind strengthened and began to gust up to 33 knots, forcing me to return to the cockpit and reduce headsail fast. Doing this is in a high wind must be done very carefully because if either the sheet or the furler line goes free the strain on the rigging and sail will be enormous. I begin the cycle by easing about a foot of sheet, just enough to make the sail start fretting a little. Then I use the winch to turn the headsail roller. I don't like using a winch on the roller, but in heavy wind I have no choice. I coordinate the cranks with lulls in the wind to ease the strain. I repeat this cycle until I'm satisfied with the amount sail still out.

The wind got even stronger, with one gust hitting 38 knots. This forced me to reduce the headsail to maybe 30 square feet. This reduced our speed to 2.2 knots. It all showed the challenge of these waters: not enough wind or much more than you can use. And back to the virtues of the trysail, I would have been very unhappy to see a 38 knot gust slam into the double reefed mainsail and I probably would have hove to immediately. The problem is that many of these events are unexpected and develop fast. They are not predicted by the grib files which are only snapshots at every 3 hours of what the computer model thinks will be happening. Even if the model is spot on, the grib file says nothing about the time between the snapshots. At least this wind was fair and we were headed NNE.

I woke up at 9 AM to find us headed north. Soon I had the boat moving more comfortably downwind, 30 degrees off the wind. I rolled out a bit of headsail which gave us a speed of 3.5 knots. There was scope for increasing sail later. For all my grumblings about the wind, at least they are predominately from the west. Back to the trysail issue, I'd be very leery of running downwind with the mainsail in this wind because I would expect the boat to constantly round up and overpower Jeff. And to risk a gybe would be unthinkable, meaning that I'd have to go on that deck and set up a preventer.

When I get back to Fremantle I'll get the spare mainsail out of the garage and put it up. Steve Hartley of Tasker Sails pronounced it a very good sail but couldn't guarantee that it would get me around the world, so I said 'Fine, you'd better make me a new one.' Out of that came the fancy stack pack with its lazy jacks and only two sets of reefing points in the sail. I'm pretty sure that I'm through with stack packs because of the problems that the lazy jacks present when raising the mainsail and the way in which they obscure the boom. The spare mainsail has the more traditional 3 reefing points and slides along the track of the boom, not loose footed as the stack pack version must be. I want a traditional clean system with no obscuring sail cover or lazy jacks bullshit. I'm quit happy to manually tie the dropped sail around the mast and put a traditional sail cover on it. I'll have the current mainsail refurbished and speak with Steve about putting slides along the foot and maybe even a third set of reefing point if it is practical.

I got a scare from the wind instrument: it stopped sending wind speed data to the chart plotter although it continued to send wind direction data. I figured that something had gone wrong with the rotating cups at the top of the mast but happily the wind speed data began to display again 10 minutes later. Very strange.

I visited the head to pump out my 2 liter ration of water for the day. The pump was almost back to normal in its ease of use. Somehow that olive oil with which I had liberally coated the stem must have worked its way through the seal and tube overnight. In future I'll make sure that I work both the head and the galley manual pumps regularly, giving them the olive oil treatment. Yes, I got by with 2 liters of water yesterday (and about 100 ml of pineapple juice left in the container) and had enough surplus for a second cup of coffee this morning. I cooked the spaghetti in a smaller pot and judged the amount of water beautifully, ending up with well cooked spaghetti and no surplus water in the pot. The only loss of water was as steam during the cooking process. Tonight it will be rice which is easier to judge.

Today has been the most temperate and pleasant day since before we descended below latitude 50S more than 40 days ago. The sun was shining brightly, the breeze was mild and relatively warm, and the cabin temperature was 66F.

At noon our position was 47S49, 48W40, giving us a n-n distance of only 40 miles in the direction 033T.

After the noon report I decided to take advantage of the warm conditions to have my first wash and change of clothes since Day 63, 29 December, when I put the Icebreaker wool tights on. I got out a fresh towel and under clothes that still had the pleasant scent that the Marina de La Paz laundry leaves on the clothes. I found a nice wool undergarment sweater that I had purchased in Opua, NZ. From another bag I dug out a pair of fresh thick alpine socks and track suit bottoms. The cockpit bath went better than I had expected. I pampered myself by using a top quality shampoo (Elvive by L'Oreal of Paris) that Brenda must have left on the boat. After drying off and getting dressed I felt great. While putting the dirty clothes into the laundry bag I thought of the magnificent job the Icebreakers had done in supporting me around the Horn. After they've been laundered I will carefully pack them in a plastic bag to await the next circumnavigation. (Yea, right!) Soon after I gave myself the second beard trim of the voyage.

Looking back, I must say that I was remarkably successful in keeping the clothes that I was wearing dry during the doubling of the Horn. I was always very meticulous about suiting up properly before going topside because I knew that one good splash of salt water would require a complete change of clothes. I was similarly successful with the bedding, particularly the blankets. No matter how tough the conditions were I always had a warm and dry place to sleep.

I've been seeing lots of birds in the last few days - hundreds. Yesterday I had a large group of small birds that seemed to be following the boat. It was a joy to see them in action: fast, agile, and able to alight on the water and take off with effortless east. With the help of Brenda's book on sea birds I think that I am correct in identifying them as diving petrels, such as the "Common Diving Petrel" and the "Magellan Diving" petrel. This afternoon they are back, accompanied by larger all-brown birds with white beaks that I would identify as "White Chinned" petrels. Such zest and carefree joy of living. Watching them would be good therapy for a troubled mind.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 96 - Gas Cylinder Change

2012-01-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

It was not a night for fast sailing. The wind was from the NNE in the low 20's and I didn't want to drive too hard against the rough sea, particularly in the pitch black night. We were now far enough away from the high latitudes to have normal nights.

In the morning the sky was clear, the sun was out, and the wind had backed. I rolled out more sail and at last we were making a modest amount of northing and a not-too-great but acceptable 3.3 knots.

I went to the head to pump out the first daily jug of water from the port tank and found the hand pump so stiff that I almost gave up the effort. I used a lot of olive oil to lubricate the plunger shaft and hopefully the pump will free up over time. The alternative is to switch on the water pressure pump, fill up the jug at the galley, then immediately switch off the pump again.

The wind stayed stronger than predicted and we sailed on a beam reach well into the afternoon. The sail and rigging seemed happy enough so I let the boat move at over 4 knots in an effort to make up for the recent slow going.

Before the noon report (which is a 3 PM local time) I decided to take advantage of the dry and not too rough conditions to remove the empty LPG gas cylinder from the lazarette and install the spare which I had been carrying from La Paz on the stern rail. I connected the cylinder up then brought it on line. As I was securing the cylinder with rope and shock cord my elbow hit the valve knob and gas came out. The gas was passing through the valve stem but when I turned the valve knob hard to the open position the leaking seemed to stop. I went back with a paint brush and soapy water and after trying very hard I did not see any gas bubbling out from either the cylinder valve or the hose connection. Like too many other things in this boat I'll have to wait and hope. Lack of gas would not be a show stopper but would certainly remove a lot of the comfort and pleasure of this cruise. I road tested the work by having my second hot drink of the day, a tall hot chocolate.

At noon our position was 48S23, 049W13, giving us a n-n distance of 67 miles in the direction 080T. The chart plotter was performing beautifully.

Late in the afternoon the wind died to 10 knots leaving us making 2.3 knots.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 95 - Success with Chart Plotter

2012-01-29T15:11:00.000-07:00

At nightfall there was a brilliant quarter+ moon and just to the right of it was our friend the comet, our companion for weeks now.

The evening's Sailmail brought good technical information from Arnold on the design of the Seatalk network. I ask his indulgence in my publishing his words which may be of help to others:

"The Seatalk bus consists of three wires that are connected to each device
on the net: 12V (red), GND (grey), and data (yellow).

The interface could not be more simple. A single wire (yellow) transmits
data between instruments. The wire is normally at 12V. When somebody talks,
the wire voltage bounces between 12V (binary 1) and GND (binary 0).
Technically, it's an open collector bus that is "pulled up" to 12V through
a resistor to indicate idle or 1, and is "pulled down" through a transistor
to indicate a 0.

I suggest you go to the Seatalk connectors in the comm closet and check the
following:

Red wires -- should be approximately 12V steady.

Grey wires -- should be 0V.

Yellow wires -- really need an oscilloscope for this. Check with the
multimeter anyway. If nobody is talking, it should be at 12V. If somebody
is taking it should be between 0V and 12V. After the DC check, change the
multimeter to AC function, low voltage. If somebody is talking I would
expect to see a small AC voltage.

The multimeter GND lead is connected to GND during measurements, of course.

If the red (12V) and grey (GND) wires look OK, I would try to disconnect
each device yellow (data) wire at the Seatalk junction box, one at a time,
to identify a bad device that may be corrupting the data bus."

Stephen sent me several messages containing the results of an internet search that he did for "Seatalk Failure" which were extremely useful and verified that I had been on the right track. (And a struggling amateur needs all of the validation that he can get!).

Several points stood out in my mind from this information: (1) ANY problem with a wire or connector can bring down the entire Seatalk network (2) I must heck that the autopilot black box is putting out 12V (3) Divide and conquer by isolating components from the Seatalk network.

With this information I went to bed determined to either fix or isolate the problem the next day, armed with a multimeter, wire cutting splicing equipment, fine sandpaper, the can of terminal cleaner, and lots of resolve. ("This ends NOW, Seatalk!") The ocean is a harsh environment for wiring and there was a good chance that corrosion had crept in somewhere.

The wind didn't even last the night. I was waken up by the heavy rolling of the boat, which meant insufficient wind and the headsail flogging back and forth. I got up and rolled it in and there we were, wallowing in the water. It was a a brilliantly clear night yet ahead of us on the horizon I could see regular flashes of lightning.

After 3 cups of coffee I began work on the Seatalk Problem.

I'll give the outcome up front so that anyone not interested in the technical details may skip "The Fix" section.

I would have to call it a total success with the chart plotter but a partial success with the system.

The chart plotter now displays position, heading, the COG/SOG data, the wind direction and speed, and the depth. So for the first time in weeks I am again able to monitor the boat at the nav station and no longer do I have to stick my head out through the companionway to look at the wind data.

The autopilot was the source of the problem and has been isolated from Seatalk. I will probably remove its 5A fuse to ensure that it is not energized.

To my surprise and disappointment the radar is still not functioning. It goes through the 60 second scanner warmup OK but when I give the TX command there is no rotation or imaging.

--------------- The Fix -----------------

I began the work with the principle that I need not investigate the wind & depth instruments or cabling because I had already isolated them with no result.

I probed the Seatalk network at the Raymarine junction box and got 9.8V on the red (R) and 0.73V on the yellow (Y). I switched on the multimeter to AC on low voltage as Arnold had suggested and got nothing on the red or yellow.

Going into the top of the junction box were two Seatalk cables: one from the autopilot (AP) and one from the front of the boat. The individual matching wires had been joined with solder and crimps. I withdrew the top wires from the junction box and found that the wires going into the lower end of the box were now dead. Going into the lower side were 3 Seatalk cables: one from the GPS at, one from the front of the boat, and one from the wind & depth instruments.

Of the two cables passing to the front of the boat, one had to go to the C120 and the other had to go to the depth transducer, though at this point I wasn't sure which was which.

I removed the 5A fuse from the AP and probed the fuse gap and got 12V.

I then did my first wire cuts: the R, Y, and G (ground) wires from the AP. I stripped the R and Y and probed to find 0.36V from the R.

I then cut and stripped the top wires going to the front and got a reading of 11.38V on the red. This had to be the C120 cable, and the source of power to the Seatalk network.

Leaving the three bottom sets in place (i.e. GPS, depth transducer, and wind & depth) I connected only the Seatalk wires from the C120 cable at the top, leaving out the AP wires. The chart plotter came alive, displaying everything.

I then decided to push my luck to see if reconnecting the AP wires would bring back its functionality and allow the C120 to once again see the flux gate compass and for the AP to work. It was worth a try because I had cut out several cable joins. I connected the AP cables and once again the chart plotter went dead. I withdrew the AP Y (data) wire and still the chart plotter was dead. Next I withdrew the R (power) wire and still the chart plotter was dead. Finally I withdrew G (ground) wire and the chart plotter came alive. Why the Seatalk ground cable of the AP causes a problem is beyond me. Perhaps something has gone wrong with the AP's power supply.

Back to the radar, I opened the access panel behind the C120 to make sure that I had not disturbed the radar cable when I looked into the area the previous day, but the plug is a heavy duty screw on type and solid as a rock. The area is so protected and dry (The cables are dusty.) that I saw no point in disturbing the connection. I had not run the radar since the hard passage around the Horn and it is possible that the heavy weather caused a problem up at the radome, or maybe even the cable running down the mast, though it is in its own conduit.

------------------- End of Fix Account ---------------------

So that has left me with full functionality of the C120 except for the heading, but no autopilot or radar. Most importantly, I have no reason for doubting that the AIS is working since it is a 3rd party product interfacing into the C120 via an NMEA 0183 interface and totally independent of Seatalk, which is working anyway. (I'll know when we encounter the next ship.)

I give my thanks to both Arnold and Stephen for their indispensable help in getting this vital system up and running again. Thanks fellows for your support.

As if on cue the wind began to get lively just as I had finished. Soon we were moving NE with a gentle wind and I went back below to put all of the tools and materials away. Within the hour it was drizzling and the wind had picked up to the mid 20's. I reduced sail and started the engine because the House bank was down to 12.0V.

The starboard water tank started making gurgling sounds as though it was about to go dry. I had been expecting it and I considered every day of water from that tank since the Horn a gift. The 140 liter starboard tank combined the water from La Paz and the rainwater that I had captured in the doldrums had supported me for 95 days. Now I had 140 liters of water in the port tank and 15 liters of La Paz water in reserve to get me Cape Town. I was fairly sure that I would be able to collect more rainwater once my mainsail was back up, but for now I had to assume the worst. I would reinstate the system of using the jug to hold myself to 2.5 liters of water a day, giving me 56 days at sea. Certainly the morale sustaining indulgence of all of the hot coffee and chocolate that I could drink which sustained me past the Horn would have to cease, since all that seemed to do was to push the fluids straight through me.

At noon our position was 48S34, 50W53, giving us a n-n distance of 69 miles in the direction 061T. In the last 3 days I had averaged a paltry 64 miles per day. At this rate it would take 50 days to make Cape Town. I needed to do better and I expected to.

I had been drizzling for hours and at one point I saw some serious looking clouds approaching. I dug out the spare shower curtain and spread it over the cockpit well in front of the binnacle to see if I could capture even a few liters of water. Unfortunately as all the other so-called rain since the doldrums it turned out to be more weak drizzle.

As darkness approached the sky began to clear and I was eagerly awaiting a predicted backing of the wind so that our course would alter more to the north than our current 100T.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 94 - Modest Progress from Northerly Wind

2012-01-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

There was a good strong wind overnight and we made reasonable progress. In the morning the wind veered and I had to put the boat into the wind, but not too hard because with the trysail we can't point too well. In any event I did not want to go hard to weather against the rough sea, This put us on a COG of W at about 3 knots.

This trysail is a mixed blessing. I woke up in the middle of the night with the wind unexpectedly up to 27 and 28 knots, which would have put too much load on the rig had the double reefed mainsail been up.

At mid morning we began to cross the edge of the continental shelf which is wide in this part of the continent and I noticed that there were many sea birds around.

Falklands Radio is fading fast. It is a medium wave service of 530 KHz with limited range. I enjoyed it while it lasted and am sorry to see it go.

At noon we were at position 49S04, 52W23, giving us a n-n distance of 66 miles in the direction 055T. In the past 24 hours the wind had gone from calm to too strong, generating rough seas from the north. It had been a relatively slow 2 days and Cape Town was a long 3200 miles away.

Two hours later the wind hit 30 and 31 knots, making it a Force 7 Near Gale. I rolled it most of the remaining headsail and we crept along at 3 knots taking a pounding from the regular breaking waves. It is difficult to baby the rigging and sails when nature will not cooperate.

By nightfall the high winds were finished and we were entering a period of 12 hours of steadily declining winds.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 93 - Horn Doubled and Assessment

2012-01-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

We had a rough night with the boat being pounded regularly by breaking waves. I set the chart plotter alarm for 3 AM local time but that failed to go off and of course it would fail because without GPS input the chart plotter does not know the time. (The C120 is called by Raymarine a "multifunction display" rather than a chart plotter, because it can display more than charts. At the moment the only service that I'm sure the C120 can provide is radar display.) I stuck my head through the hatch and saw a brilliantly clear sky full of stars. The wind was down to the mid 20's, but the sea was still rough. At the laptop chart plotter I saw that the boat had maintained its NW course and we were well above latitude 50S, meaning that we had formally doubled the Horn. This had no practical effect, but it meant that we had entered the roaring forties. At this point I was satisfied that we had rounded the Horn in all respects, in particular the dangers specific to the rounding, and that phase was behind us.

I woke up at 5.30 AM to a brilliant day, and with a falling wind over a falling sea it promised to be a day of heavy rolling and fretting sails. I dispelled the gloom of the latest gear failure of the C120 by thinking of the things that were still working. The rigging and sail survived the night with no apparent damage and the Monitor had done a brilliant job of steering. The spot forecast indicated no heavy winds for the next 3 days and after this day's lull of the wind I was hoping to get into a gentle routine of plodding our way to Cape Town.

Looking back on the impacts on the boat and crew during the doubling of the Horn, which took 27 days (Day 66/Jan 1 to Day 93/Jan 27) and I must say that we fared remarkably well. First of all, no really bad things happened: no rogue wave, no knockdown or rollover, no survival storm or "greybeard" waves. Discounting the torn headsail, broken inner forestay, broken Monitor control and trip lines, and autopilot problems, which either happened before the rounding or can be attributed to wear and tear rather than the passage round the Horn, the only tangible damage was the torn port D1 lower shroud and the loss of one empty fuel container. The life raft and Zodiac above it survived intact, as did most of the fuel containers on deck. Even the spray dodger survived without further serious damage: most of the rest of the starboard window was blown out and the port side retaining strap broke, but all of the canvas and the port window are intact and the dodger continues to provide valuable shelter to the companionway. I have to ascribe the good outcome to the benign season of the year, selection of the approach path to the Horn, and lots of good luck, particularly since I was not able to heave to properly.

I spent two hours looking into the chart plotter problem and got no result other than gaining more insight into the system. I removed the cover behind the C120 and saw that the connections being used are power, radar, Seatalk, and NMEA0183. Seatalk2 and DSM are not being used. The NMEA 0183 connection is for the non-Raymarine AIS transponder. Notably, there is no GPS input.

I then went into the communications closet behind the nav station and managed to open up a Raymarine junction box. Seatalk wires from the various Raymarine devices (3 wires per device) had been crimped together before connection to the junction box. There was no GPS input and then I realized that the Raymarine GPS antenna would have smarts in it to deliver its output via Seatalk, the same as the depth and wind devices. All of the corresponding Seatalk wires were spliced together, with the single Seatalk cable then going to the C120. I know from investigation that Arnold did earlier that Seatalk has a laughably simple structure and protocol, with no central control. So the question is why is the autopilot display reporting "Seatalk Failure" and the C120 not seeing any of the Seatalk devices? The only thing I can think of is that noise is getting into the system, either from a device or a bad connection. Regarding connections, they all looked OK to me and I jiggled them around while watching the C120 and got no success. I didn't go very far into isolating the autopilot from Seatalk largely because I didn't want to start cutting wires only to learn later that the problem was a simple one elsewhere. However, I did remove the fuse from the autopilot which should have made it dead in regard to the Seatalk network, and that got no result.

At noon we were at position 49S40, 53W48, making a n-n distance of 57 miles to 034T. We had been becalmed for 6 hours and were still waiting for wind.

With the impending light winds I thought that it was a good time to make the changeover to the mainsail. I dropped the trysail and stowed it in the cabin and fortunately I checked the main halyard up the mast before unfurling the mainsail. It was wrapped around the one step above the second crosstrees. I managed to free that but then noticed that there was a second wrap, between the first and second crosstrees, and it was behind a cord. I have a vague recollection of tying the loose end of that broken cord and I must have been too focused on the cord and not falling off that I didn't notice that I was trapping the main halyard behind a step. For now there was nothing to be done but put the trysail back up and wait for a quiet day so that I could go all the way to the top of the mast to sort things out. Until that calm and dry day came I would be sailing in a degraded mode. This step-cord business had caused me a lot of trouble and I must confess that it was self inflicted.

While all of this was going on fog began to roll in and the visibility dropped to less than half a mile. What had begun as a brilliant clear day had clouded up fast. Soon after the trysail was up and we were sailing to a feeble wind I began to hear a fog horn at about 5 seconds every 30 seconds. The sound was coming from ahead and it was getting louder. I was on the wrong tack anyway so I started the engine, tacked the boat, and began to move to the ENE. The horn still seemed to be getting closer so I turned on the radar. The radar went into standby mode OK but when I hit the command to transmit nothing happened. I remember being told that with modern radar all of the processing is done at the dome, so possibly the data was being passed to the C120 via the Seatalk protocol. It's a shame. I was planning to use the radar as a substitute for the AIS ship detection system. The only thing that the C120 may be useful now was for displaying AIS targets because the data is via the NMEA 0183 connection. To me this had exposed the big flaw of an integrated system.

OK, so I decided to hail the fog horn via VHF 16. "Fog horn at approximate position ... do you copy?" After 2 minutes of no response: "Fog horn approximately 185 miles NE of East Falklands, do you copy?" A minute later he responded. I explained that I was on a small yacht, gave my position, course and speed, then asked him if I would be OK. He said No Problem and that he was 3 miles away. I gave him my thanks.

By then a light wind had established itself and we were moving roughly NE at 2.5 knots and now that we were moving again I felt better, but I was determined to get the mast step problem solved as soon as possible.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 92 - Chart Plotter Failure

2012-01-26T15:10:00.000-07:00

We sailed all night with a steadily moderating wind. First thing in the morning I rolled out more sail to compensate for the 12 kt wind. The lull would last about six hours then the wind would build up again to a near gale.

I calculated that in the 6.4 days days in which we had sailed the 531 miles from the Horn we had averaged 83 miles a day. This included one slack day of very little progress and of course the challenge of getting around the Falklands. It increased my confidence in my assumption of 80 mile per day for the run to Cape Town, given that it would be a straighter run and I would be using the mainsail.

Not long after morning coffee I ventured to the foredeck for the first time in 2 days. All looked well. Both of the jury rig stays were still taut and the rest of the rigging looked OK. The headsail was still battling on with no obvious deterioration, and the fuel containers seemed secure. I started the engine early to get that out of the way before the wind strengthened. It looked like we would be becalmed for much of the following day and I hoped to seize that opportunity to do the bulk of the cord work on the mast steps and swap the large gas cylinders. Fortunately the cords at the top section of the mast were still intact, though I would still like to replace them with stronger cord. If I could replace the cords from the second crosstree down I would then be in a position to raise the mainsail.

I got up after a short nap, had a look at the situation outside, and decided to try to go up the mast and lay the mast step cord barrier from the first crosstree down. Even though the wind was at 17 kt and there was still a bit of a swell I thought that I could do it. It was the lower rungs that were almost totally unprotected and dealing with them would allow me to raise the mainsail if that became urgent. It was not an easy task. During the climb up the front of the mast facing aft and the actual work, the rolls were constantly pushing me hard sideways trying to spin me off the mast. This required clinging on hard, stiff as a board, during the rolls and trying to make progress between the rolls. I managed to do it and when I got back on the deck I was wringing wet with sweat. Down below I shed the foul weather gear and two sweaters in an effort to cool off. The thick and strong cord was perfect for the job. Had I used this in Fremantle when preparing the boat I have no doubt that it would have lasted throughout the entire circumnavigation. I would have to pick a very calm day for the work above the first crosstrees. This would require having no sail up the mast because at the first crosstree I must move to the other side of the mast to get past the radar dome.

At noon our position was 50S29, 54W37, representing a n-n distance of 92 miles in the direction 050T.

In the late afternoon the autopilot control at the binnacle began to audibly alarm and would not stop. Up to then it was always quietly displaying "Seatalk Failure" on its display. I powered down the C120 and threw the breakers and when I restarted the C120 was not plotting our position. For weeks it would lose touch with the GPS every 15 minutes or so but come back after a few seconds. This time it had gone hard.

I will rely on Dave's laptop software for navigation. In the computer is also C-Map. I also have two backup computers. I'll keep the C120 switched on in case it is still able to display AIS targets. However, without GPS input the C120 will not be able to calculate intercepts and warn me of danger. I will look into all this again on a calm day. I'll have to clear the port quarter berth area as well as the crossover between the quarter berths to enable me to trace the GPS and autopilot cables. I'd like to completely isolate the autopilot and ensure that the GPS cable is properly connected to the chart plotter.

At 7 PM local time we were sailing in a 30 knot wind. According the Falklands Radio the high winds were the result of a low passing toward the east, yet the sky was clear. Maybe we were in a squash zone. We kept sailing through it and held our course, making about 3 knots under the trysail and a greatly reduced headsail.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 91 - Plans for Next Phase

2012-01-25T18:09:00.000-07:00

The wind began to calm down during the night. Even though I was only 27 miles off the coast I could see no lights from the shore. Even when I had Stanley to the beam I could not see even the lights of the port. When I arose at 11 AM local time the sky was clear and the wind had shifted to the NW. I altered sail to take us back to a NE heading and looked back towards the Falklands coast 32 miles away and still saw nothing. I suspect that the Falklands are rather low lying with no tall mountains.

It would have been very easy to call in on Stanley. Several days before, Brenda and Stephen had provided me with everything that I needed to know about the entry procedure, the services provided, the charges, etc. This even included a message from the Stanley harbor master which included the name of a person who would coordinate whatever repair services were available. My C-Map chart showed the harbor to be well sheltered and even showed the floating Customs pontoon. Unfortunately, helpful and obliging as the island seemed to be, it could offer no formal commercial repair services such as rigging and sail repair. Some repairs could be done by private citizens, but no specifics were given. Nothing could be promised on spares. Everything could be ordered from the UK but of course that would take time. I would be allowed only 24 hours on the Customs pontoon and thereafter would have to either lease a mooring or ride at anchor, and I didn't relish the prospect of relying on the Zodiac in the cold and damp climate for my transport to shore. After thinking about it overnight I decided that my situation was not dire enough to warrant a stop. By then I had jury rigged my second rigging failure and I thought that I had a good shot at making it to Cape Town without mishap.

But with characteristic ambivalence, on this bright and sunny morning I had second thoughts. If I could confirm by radio that water and diesel were available and I could dispose of my garbage at the pontoon a 24 hour visit might be warranted. I might even be able to procure more bulldog U-clamps and wire. Given my current position it would cost me only 2 days. But I decided not to break my momentum and would push on. I had sufficient diesel, had yet to tap into my port tank with 140 liters of water, and the garbage was plastic material that had all been washed and had no odor. The key issue was the state of the sail and rigging and time would tell if I had made the right decision. It would have nice to have stepped ashore at Stanley and met some of the residents but on the other hand there would be the grim satisfaction of knowing that I had made it all of the way to Cape Town non stop in spite of my problems. Ambivalence. That's a concise word that says that you want it both ways.

Then I started looking ahead. I was approximately 3500 sea miles from Cape Town. With the fair current and prevailing wind I thought that a conservative 80 miles of progress a day, representing an average of only 3.3 knots, was a realistic assumption for my planning. (Don't forget that there will be days of total calm, according to the pilot chart. In Fremantle I had planned on 120 miles per day in this leg.) That represented another 45 days at sea, for which I had enough water and diesel on board. I had plenty of food and other provisions.) To maintain that modest average I was willing to push the boat a little harder. After consulting once again the excellent current and sail route charts of "Ocean Passages" my plan was to head NE until I reached latitude 42S then proceed east on that latitude, passing south of Gough Island which is at (40.3S, 009.9W). Once past Gough Island I would head ENE making directly for Cape Town a further 1400 miles ahead. According to the chart I would have the strong Southern Ocean Current behind me most of the way, which could be worth 20 miles per day. The climatic chart for January showed a permanent high centered between S. America and Africa at 30S. The average number of days per month that the wind would be Force 7 (28-33 kt) or higher was 5. The pilot chart showed the winds to be generally favorable. From that look at the pilot chart I reduced the variation in the chart plotter to only 4 degrees west. I had no complaints about the prospects of the sailing conditions to Cape Town.

At noon our position was 51S27, 56W30, giving us a n-n distance of 105 miles in the direction 032T. It was a bright sunny day and we were making about 4.5 knots to the NE off of a 22 kt NW wind. We were almost 60 miles away from Stanley.

Total engine hours was at 202. I had done a oil and filter change at 72 hours so I would be able to wait until I got to Cape Town before changing the oils and filter and still be well within the prescribed time.

At 10 PM local time we were still moving nicely to the NE with a moderate NW wind. I wasn't sure whether what I had been experiencing was normal to the area or I had been just plain lucky, but the winds for the last 3 days had been very good to us.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 90 - Passing the Falklands

2012-01-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

It has taken me less than 12 hours to get hooked on Falklands Radio. The first thing that I did after waking this morning up was as always to check the boat's position, course, speed. The second thing was to look through the hatch to make sure that the headsail and the shrouds had survived the night intact. The third thing, almost without conscious thought, was to turn on the radio. I don't think that "pop" is a good description of the station. To me it sounds like a mixture of ABC and News Radio in Australia, or like the Canadian CBC. Last night I heard part of the nightly current affairs and business reports from the BBC and did a lot of catching up on the Euro (and world!) financial crisis. (I'm with Angel Merckel. The Greeks have to do more. How can you run a modern economy where the only tool against flagrant tax dodgers is "name and shame" rather than prosecution and confiscation.) I'm amazed at the amount of normalcy the radio service has brought to the atmosphere of the boat after 3 months at sea.

The boat moved well all night. I set the alarm to wake me up in 3 hours because we were due to pass 23 miles south of Beauchine Island and I wanted to make sure that a totally unexpected wind shift was not sending us to the north. All was OK so I slept on for another 4 hours. In the morning I saw with great pleasure the surprisingly straight track of the boat to the east (085T). Even with reduced sail we were moving at over 4 knots in front of a wind in the low 20's. Beauchine Island was well behind us and we were half way across the southern shore of East Falkland island and 90 miles SSW of Stanley. I saw no reason for changing course at this point, particularly because it would keep me outside of the 200 meter contour line around the Falklands, but if a 20 degree veering of the wind came as expected in a few hours I would gybe the boat and head NNE. The latest spot wind report indicated no winds stronger than 26 knots for the next 4 days, so I was hopeful of reaching 50S without encountering heavy weather.

At 10 AM local time (UTC-3) the boat's track confirmed that the expected veer of the wind had occurred and I gybed the boat. The course seemed to be 040T which would give me good clearance of the Falklands. In time the track on the laptop chart plotter would confirm the actual course. (It turned out to be 30T, still OK.)

In the late morning the wind strengthened to the mid-20's and waves began to slam into the side of the boat partly, I suspect, because we were sailing into shallower waters. I shortened the headsail to maybe half the size of the trysail to protect it and to reduce the load on the rigging. With a strong fair wind and following sea I saw no need to stress the boat and in fact we were still doing over 4 knots. This conservatism would have to be my approach all of the way to Cape Town.

At noon our position was 52S56, 58W00, giving us a n-n distance of 89 miles in the direction 073T. We were 45 miles east of Beauchine Island and 35 miles from the southern most latitude of East Falkland Island. The boat was taking a pounding from the waves in a 29 knot wind and I suspected that this would be a very dangerous location during a gale, given that we were at the top of a steeply rising ocean bottom. An even more dangerous place would be the Burdwood bank to the south, which rises from over 1000 meters to less than 200 meters then falls again. Pachuca had sailed past the west side of it then turned east and ran along the the depths between the bank and the shallows around the Falklands.

At last light Pachuca was north of the southern shore of East Falkland and was beginning the 60 mile passage along its east side. Even though the coast was less than 40 miles away I had not been able to see the island because it was shrouded in cloud and mist. It had been a much rougher day than I had anticipated. The wind had been a bit higher than predicted but it was the ferocity of the sea that surprised me. A couple of times the boat was hit so hard that I checked the deck to make sure that the fuel containers were OK. I had been apprehensive about the passage past the Falklands because I knew of several boats that had gotten past the Horn OK only to be slammed hard near the Falklands. The wind was still a hefty 23-25 knots. I had stayed in the cabin most of the day, venturing out only for quick dashes to run the engine or adjust Jeff's airvane. I was hoping for some relief when we got into the lee of East Falkland.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 89 - Moving well to the east

2012-01-23T18:42:00.000-07:00

I retired for the night with a small amount of headsail in a 10 knot breeze and woke up several hours in a 31-32 knot wind. I saw on the plotters that the wind had backed and we were now headed west of North. It was drizzling outside. The grib file predicted that the new wind direction would persist for many hours so it was worthwhile to gybe because we needed to move to the east. I took my time getting suited up hoping that the wind would settle down, but it didn't so topside I went. It's amazing how quickly the sea can be whipped up into a frenzy. I rolled in the headsail, tightened the trysail sheets, then tried to use the Monitor wind steering to turn the boat but it wasn't even coming close to budging the boat from its beam reach; so I had to revert to my usual practice of disengaging Jeff and turning the boat manually. Even with the wheel hard over it took about a minute to respond.

While I was tidying up the lines I saw a light on the horizon and figured that it was probably a fishing boat out of the Falklands. However, the chart plotter reported it as another passenger ship, the Artania, also bound for Ushuaia. She was headed my way and would be passing too close for comfort so I hailed her on VHF 16. I told the man that I was a small sail boat about 5 miles ahead of him and he responded that the distance was actually 4.4 miles. I explained that I was making only about 3 knots and could I leave it up to him to avoid me. He told me not to worry. She passed less that one half mile off the port beam, all nicely lit up. I noticed afterward that her heading had changed from 221T to 218T.

The wind did settle down to about 20 knots so I rolled out a bit of headsail. We were now making 3.5 knots to the ENE. I was very happy with this course and the prospects of holding it for most of the day because we needed to move 4 degrees to the east in order to pass on the east side of the Falklands.

For the second consecutive day I tried to get a weather fax out of Rio and got no signal. Their schedule must have changed since Aug 2010. Just for the heck of it I tried CBV in Chile and got a beautiful signal. I revisited their coverage data and realized that contrary to my earlier impression, all of their weather faxes cover the waters on both sides of South America down to almost the pole. I take back all what I wrote earlier about their coverage. I think that I took 80S to be toward the equator rather than the pole. The coverage of their weather faxes is from 10S-80S and 030W-130W. I had been missing out on a valuable resource but would now start using their service until I crossed 030W. I would also start trying Rio at random times.

I spent an hour teasing out long lengths of heavy cord from the lazy jacks that I had brought down many weeks earlier. In La Paz I had tried to do the right thing by replacing the cords running from the mast steps to the shrouds designed to present a barrier to halyards that might want to wrap around the steps. Unfortunately the cord that I used was too light and much of it broke in the gales. I would have been better off leaving the old cord up. Anyway, the only heavy cord that I had on board was what I recovered during that hour. The hard part would be going up the mast and replacing all of the cord from the top of the mast down to the boom. Obviously I would choose the time carefully. This was a very important task because it would be a dangerous problem were the main halyard to wrap around a step while trying to reduce sail in rough weather.

At noon our position was 53S20, 060W24, giving us a n-n distance of 63 miles in the direction 068T. The distance was not great due to the weak winds but at least it was in the right direction. We were making about 5 knots in front of a fair wind of 22 knots and the prospects were for continuing moderately strong winds (low 20's) for the next 24 hours. Hopefully in 24 hours we would be far enough east for the real objective: to turn northward and make haste for lat 50S. Matt had correctly stated that doubling the Horn meant passing from 50S on one side to 50S on the other, not 55S as I had stated earlier. But that wasn't so important to me. In my mind the lat 40's represented milder conditions and more reliable westerly winds. I wanted to get away from the clutches of any monster low that might arise from the pole. I never would have thought that I would ever consider the Roaring Forties a refuge from rough weather.

During the engine run I keyed into the HF radio the frequency that Brenda and Stephen had sent me for Falklands weather reports. (530.0 KHz). I expected to hear a government station silent most of the time except when issuing official bulletins. Instead I got the Falklands pop station which presents a mixture of music, interviews, local and overseas news, weather, etc. I heard a fascinating account of the history of the Argentina-UK dispute over the Falklands and in the news I learned that a deep water oil drilling rig has just arrived. From the weather report I learned that there is a big high to the west of Chile that is causing the SW air flow over the Falklands. The overseas news was centered around England with some other international items. The music seems to cover the entire spectrum - but then it would, wouldn't it, given that it's the only station in town. I'm going to enjoy listening to this station as I pass by, and I expect to learn a lot about the Falklands culture.

I downloaded two weather faxes from Chile. According to the second one, the "Ice Report", there is no ice anywhere near my position.

An hour after sunset I reduced sail for the night and we were still headed east at 3.5 knots before an 18 knot wind. We had begun the passage across the meridians of East Falkland Island.

An hour after that I stuck my head out of the companionway to look around and saw the comet to the northwest, bright and spectacular as before.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 88

2012-01-22T19:04:00.000-07:00

I had set the alarm for 0700 UTC in order to try to download my first weather fax out of Rio. However, I was up at 0600 after 4 hours of sleep to the sound and feel of wind. Up on deck in the gloom of what passes for night I saw on the instrument that the wind was at 17 knots. Fortunately the boat had managed to lay ahull beam to the weak wind so we were still pointing in the right direction. Soon we were making a satisfactory 4 knots to the NE. I used the precise position and time data that I had recorded to calculate that we had drifted 6.2 miles in 6 hours in the direction ESE, 102T, so the current in this area was not set strongly to the north as I had expected.

A few hours later I was settling in for a nap when the chart plotter gave an alarm. I went to it, zoomed in, and Yikes! there was a ship less than 3 miles away. I suited up, went topside, and saw that it was a big and modern passenger liner headed toward the Horn. The AIS report was that it was the "Seabourn Sojourn", bound for Ushuaia doing 12.7 knots on course 241T, almost the exact reciprocal of my 045T. Even though we were passing 3 miles apart my boat must have yawed enough to momentarily give an estimate of less than 2 miles of separation, i.e. within my security ring. I thought of that ship with its complement of passengers much smarter than me in visiting the end of the world in the luxury of a modern cruise liner with all that it has to offer. ("Hmm. Shall I do my banking then catch up with CNN News on the satellite internet this morning? No, I think that I'll visit the spa before a Steak Chateaubriand for lunch at the restaurant then visit the casino for a bit of gambling. Anyway, when does this place get to Ushawa or whatever it's called?")

I visited the side deck with tools for tightening the shroud that I had jury rigged the day before. To my surprise it was nice and taut, even when the boat rolled to its side. That increased my confidence in the fix a little bit more.

At noon our position was 53S41, 062W04, giving us a n-n distance of 49 miles toward 044T. We were still over 100 miles from the southern shores of the Falklands. It was slow progress, no doubt about it, but at least the weather was good. For 2 days the winds had been much lighter than predicted by the grib and spot files. Just before the noon report the wind died down again. I took measures with our sails and course and managed to keep the boat moving at less than 1.5 knots. But at least the current wasn't dragging us back. I was making an effort to move to the east enough to pass to the south of Beauchine Island in order to sail up the east side of the Falklands. Beauchine Island is only 30 miles from the coast of East Falkland and I didn't want to risk being caught near a lee shore by a gale.

I tried as an experiment to run downwind with the headsail stretched out on the whisker pole but the wind was too weak and kept overpowering the sail. It was worth a try.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 87 - D1 Shroud Jury Rig and Depth Sounder OK

2012-01-21T18:01:00.000-07:00

I had a good night's sleep in segments of 90 minutes when the timer would wake me up for a look around. When I got up for the day I found a beautiful morning with a clear sky, a tiny sliver of a moon, and the sun about to rise. The wind was light, below 10 knots, and the sea was calm, with no heavy swell. Perhaps the South American continent and Staten Island were beginning to act as a giant breakwater protecting me from the relentless heavy swell on the west side of the continent. It was so nice that I stayed in the cockpit looking around and then looking up at the lower crosstrees thinking about some clever ideas Bob Carrol had sent to me about supporting the lower mast until I could replace the D1 shroud. ("Why didn't I think of that?")

I heard a familiar chuffing sound to my left and saw that it was a large dolphin doing his thing. It made me wonder how many dolphins, sharks, and even whales have passed by the boat while I was totally oblivious down below. (I remember spotting 2 whales out half way to Tahiti only because I happened to be at the first crosstrees doing something.) I thought too how in contrast to the terrestrial wildlife where the animals bark or howl or whine or honk or screech or roar or twitter or whatever, the deep ocean is a largely silent world where it seems like every creature plies his trade as quietly as possible.

Then I went back to the shroud problem and came to realize something that should have been obvious from the beginning. The D1 ("Diagonal 1") is the lowest shroud whose function is to keep the mast from moving to the leeward side due to either leaning or bending and seems to be under an enormous strain when sailing hard. But it seemed to me that it doesn't work completely alone. Obviously the D2 and D3 on the windward side restrain the mast from leaning, but it seemed to me that the leeward D2 and D3 shrouds also provide support because as the mast tries to bend, the leeward crosstrees push against those shrouds which resist the movement. It seemed to me that the absence of a D1 shroud would therefore put extra load on the leeward D2 and D3, but not lead to a catastrophic loss of mast. Wishful thinking? Maybe. I wish that I could speak with a rigger about it.

But wait, there was more thinking. The weather fax out of Wiluna in Queensland was again completely unrecognizable as even a fax. Then I got the idea of trying the Wiluna station in Western Australia and presto, I got a grainy but quite readable fax. (I could see tight isobars and another front at "gale alley" on the lower west coast of Chile and felt sorry for any poor bastard in that area desperately trying to get to the Horn.) So it looks like I may have passed a watershed where my communications with Australia are now orientated to my east rather than my west.

I had had my day of rest and was feeling better. After breakfast of buttered toast I would begin work on the replacement of the D1 by digging out the replacement (at least an hour of hard work) and re routing the restraining line to the mast to wrap around the port D2 or D3 shroud instead of the damaged D1. (I could imagine leaning back on either the D1 itself or the rope on the port side, the D1 deciding to part at that moment, and over the side I'd go.) If conditions were still calm when all was ready then I would try to swap out the D1 this day.

I started to work after breakfast and before long I had everything ready for doing the shroud replacement. Conditions were still calm so I proceeded with the job. The difficult part of course was making the swap at the upper end. I loosened the damaged D1 at the deck then went up the mast trailing a cord with which I would pull up the replacement shroud. Around my neck was a shopping bag with tools and materials. I wore my safety harness so that I could clip on to a mast step while I did the work. At top end I secured myself to a mast step then secured the damaged shroud with a lanyard so that when I freed it by pulling out the rig bolt it would not go crashing down on the deck. Everything went pretty well according to plan. I removed the cotter pin from the rig bolt, pulled the bolt out, the shroud dropped a few feet, then I hauled up the end of the replacement shroud with the cord. It took a lot of one handed fiddling but I got the shroud on using the same rigging bolt and a new cotter pin. I climbed down to the deck to savor the last few steps in my triumph and discovered my blunder.

The replacement wire was much too long and as soon as I saw that it was thinner than the D1 wire I realized that in Hawaii it was the Cap shrouds (D3) that had been replaced, not the lower ones. I also noticed that the lower fitting through which the rigging screw fit was split at the top of one of its two sides. I resolved the problem by in effect shortening the cap shroud by cutting off a section and joining the two remaining parts with bulldog clamps. I had one spare bulldog clamp in the hold. The inner forestay had 7 clamps on it, two of which did not clamp two wires but were there to prevent the sail from being damaged. I recovered three clamps from the inner forestay, leaving it with 4. That allowed me to use 4 clamps for the new shroud join. The result is that the port D1 now has 5/16" wire with a break load 5700 kg instead of the prescribed 3/8" wire with a break load of 7200 kg. But at least I've got undamaged wire in that position that will do the job as long as it looks intact. If the wire fails I've still got the other cap shroud from which I cut the bottom off for the inner forestay.

I was very fortunate in being able to work in the calmest day I've seen since the doldrums. While I worked I saw a lot of sea life including tiny black birds the size of sparrows which I'm sure were storm petrels and a totally white animal about 10 ft long that glided under the boat a few feet below the surface. There seemed to be a constant presence of those large dolphin except that the last one I saw was so big that I'm thinking that it must have been a whale, but I don't know enough about the size overlap between dolphins and whales to be sure. We were totally becalmed, with the wind an unworkable 6 knots. But the sun was out, the sea was calm, I had lots of sea life to keep me company, I had managed to do something about the damaged shroud, and I could rest, relax, and enjoy life on the boat. I couldn't complain.

At noon our position was 54S16, 063W02, giving us a n-n distance of 57 miles in the direction 024T. We had been becalmed for several hours.

After a light lunch in the cockpit I started to go into the cabin for a nap and heard the same light buzzing sound that I had noticed the day before. I tracked it down to of all things the ST60+ wind display. It was working fine but I thought this might be a good time to loosen the panel and have a look behind the instruments. The first thing I did was to pull out the Seatalk cable thus isolating them from the network with no room for doubt. This had no effect on the autopilot's "Seatalk Failure" problem so as far as I was concerned I had eliminated either of the two companionway instruments as causes of the problem. Just before I put the panel back in place I noticed a broken wire going into the back of the depth sounder. I jiggled the one next to it and it broke off with no effort. There was the telltale green color of corrosion at the breaks. I got out my electrical kit, put fresh crimp on fittings to the three wires, plugged them in and bingo! the depth sounder was working again.

I then wondered if the autopilot display, very exposed at the binnacle, might have a similar problem. I loosened the display from the mounting and found that the wire connections to the back of the unit were fine. I jiggled them around and they seemed firm. With that I thought that I had eliminated another possible cause of the problem.

As if on cue, the wind started getting some life as I was finishing up. Soon we were on the move again to the north at a modes 2.5 knots with an 11 knot breeze.

Unfortunately the breeze died and toward the end of the day we were drifting again. We must have been caught in a counter current because we were drifting to the south at 0.5-1.0 knots. I recorded our position at 0000 UTC to calculate the amount drift in the morning. The early morning weather fax showed that we were sitting under a 1010 mb high.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 86 - Past Staten Island

2012-01-20T17:56:00.000-07:00

I woke up to find the boat heading ENE. Outside it was cloudy and drizzly and the wind was at about 10 knots over a calm sea. I decided to tack but there was not enough drive to cross the wind so I "wore ship" and gybed to the other tack. I found that for the second consecutive morning I had called the wrong shot and put the boat back on her original tack, harder to the wind, and with more headsail. This raised the apparent wind to 12 knots and soon we were making close to 3 knots to the NE.

Back at the chart table I finally got my navigation brain into gear. Ever since the Horn my goal had been to get around the NE corner of Staten Island and head north. Suddenly I thought "Wait a minute. After the gales you've been through you decided that you no longer had concerns about passing to the east of the Falklands." I zoomed out the laptop chart and could see that the NE course since the Horn had been fine all along. The grib file prediction indicated favorable and moderate winds for the next 24 hours so I was optimistic about making steady if not spectacularly fast progress.

We were on a port tack which in light of the damaged D1 shroud was now the weak side. It would be on a day like today, 10 knot breeze and calm sea but without the rain, that I would swap out the shroud. I would put the boat on the starboard tack and I had already worked out most of the other details in my head. But I first needed a quiet day or two to get some rest. After the excitement of the rounding and the hard previous day I was a tired old sea dog. I was hoping that this day would be one of those rest days.

Two hours later I woke up and had to scramble. The wind had backed and risen to 18 knots. I had a lo,t of headsail out and rolled half of it in then moved the sheet car forward on the track. Jeff could not cope and had us on a beam reach but that was fine because the wind had backed. I adjusted the sails and Jeff and the excitement was over. We were managing to do over 3 knots and I would adjust the sail to maintain that speed and no more. Just before returning to the cabin I looked forward and saw land. It appeared to be tops of mountains. Down below I saw that Staten Island was 36 miles away. Zooming in with the Google Earth images of the laptop navigation software I could see mountains, with a few patches of snow.W

At noon our position was 55S08, 063W46, for a n-n distance of 71 miles in the direction 045T. The distance covered was not large because of the light winds but it had been from a good direction giving us an excellent course. At noon the wind was up to 24 knots and would remain so until midnight. I wound he headsail right in to minimize stress on both the sail and the ailing shroud, and we were making about 3.5 knots. Staten Island lay 30 miles to the north and we were an a good course to pass it to the east. This was the last position that I expected to plot on the paper chart that ended at 063W. After this it would be back to electronic charts exclusively.

During the engine run I attended to both still cameras. For several days I had been unhappy with the state of their carry bags. They both felt damp and clammy even after sessions drying them in front of the heater. So today I spent 30 minutes kneeling in front of the heater with both cameras in had, rotating them as the hot dry air blew over them. Then I got two clean Ziploc bags and gave them a dose of hot air too. The I got two plastic food containers, rinsed them in fresh water, then dried them too in front of the heater. So both cameras are now in carefully sealed Ziploc bags inside plastic containers into which I put grains of rice which Stephen tells me can soak up moisture. I'll soak the camera bags in fresh water at first opportunity to make sure that there is no salt in them. The video camera was OK because it always travels in its own plastic container.

Then I attended to the poor computer mouse. On a port tack when the boat is leaning to the right the mouse keeps falling off the task and onto the floor because I keep forgetting to put it in the shelf to the left of the laptop when I do not have it in my hand. It must be a tough mouse because it is still working. Nevertheless I decided not to push my luck and have now tied the mouse by its cable to the shelf above the desk with a piece of shock cord. The idea is that when the mouse goes over the side it will be held in mid air by the shock cord.

There have been many sea birds in the neighborhood of the Horn and this area near the east end of Staten Island is teeming with them. They tend to be relatively large, undoubtedly a mixture of albatrosses and the larger petrels with a few shearwaters. One common visitor that I have managed to identify using the marvelous book on sea birds that Brenda left on the boat is the black-browed albatross. Yesterday morning the boat was visited by a group of 6 or 8 unusually small birds. From the distinctive white marks on their backs I would say that they were one of the "white rumped" storm petrel group, possibly Wilson's storm petrel. I'm pretty sure that I've seen some sooty shearwaters too. Unfortunately I have not seen any dolphins or whales yet, but I minimize my time on deck for safety and comfort reasons.

By the end of the afternoon we were clear of Staten Island which we had passed 5 miles off the coast, headed NE with the southern edge of the Falklands only 200 miles away. It was my intention to pass east of the islands, not far from the coast.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 85 - Gentle Wind, Busy Day

2012-01-19T18:49:00.000-07:00

I went to bed tired and relaxed after the Rounding celebration with the champagne and a big hot meal of rice and sardines in sauce. The tack was taking me SSE and away from the Horn and according to the night's grib file would back in a few hours, but one cannot put the welfare of the boat in the hands of a grib file so I set the alarm for 3 hours. I woke up to another beautiful dawn with a quarter moon not far above the horizon. The wind had indeed backed and the boat had made a nice curve in its track and was now headed NW. The wind was down to 17 knots and now that we were off the continental shelf the sea was the calmest that I had seen in days. The calmer sea meant that we could carry the downwind sails better. I let out more sail. It was a good feeling to have everything going our way. The eastern end of Staten Island was 130 miles to the NW. I could see quite clearly on the chart that as I made progress to the NW I would could expect more and more protection from any strong NW winds that might come screaming down the west coast. I then went back to bed.

I was up at 6 AM and over two cups of coffee I came to the conclusion that it was time to drop the trysail that had carried us so well through the rough weather in order to run more downwind with the headsail. I decided to put up the whisker pole to improve the downwind angle even more and calculated that it was best to stay on the current starboard tack. That led to a strenuous and sweaty two hours of running back and forth between the cockpit and the foredeck. I started off by lubricating the piston on the whisker pole with WD40, then connecting the lanyard for pulling back the piston when it was time to drop the pole off the sheet. Then I set up the pole on the ring and left the other end sitting on the rail while I went back and rolled in the headsail. Back on the foredeck I connected the sheet to the pole and returned to the cockpit to roll out the headsail. The really difficult part turned out to be the dropping of the trysail. I freed the halyard but the sail would not come down, no doubt because of the pressure on it from downwind running. I went back to the cockpit, sheeted in the trysail hard, then set Jeff to run us dead downwind. Still the trysail would not come down. Duh! I had released the topping lift and not the trysail halyard. I brought the boom back up with the topping lift then dropped the trysail with little trouble. However, tying it along the mainsail and boom was not easy. The problem was that I was working on the leeward side of a heavily rolling boat. Thus I had to face the center of the boat but the rolls were trying to force me backward over the side. It was a cycle of doing a little bit more, stiffening up like a board and hanging on during the next roll, the doing a little more work.

Back in the cabin I was disappointed with the result. Either I had miscalculated or the wind had shifted. A gybing with the whisker pole was in order. I was tired and sweaty but it was important to get the boat set up for the day so I immediately went back on deck. I had never gybed the whisker pole but then again there are many things that I had not done before this cruise. There were more lessons learned. The lanyard would not retract the piston for dropping the pole and I discovered that it is important that the loop connected to the piston be on the correct side of the sheet. I swapped the pole, connected it to the sheet, then went back to the cockpit to find that Jeff did not have enough way for steering the boat so from then on I had to helm as I went. Because we were so off the wind there was agitation at the sail and the pole dropped off the sheet. The lanyard that I had set up to fire the piston had wrapped around a deck cleat, become taut, and done its job. Another lesson learned. I set up the pole again, returned to the cockpit, and began to roll out the headsail only to find that I had made another very imaginative mistake: I had put the pole on the wrong sheet. So I wound the headsail back in then went forward and sorted it out.

The results justified all of the effort. That whisker pole is GREAT. I can run dead downwind with it in a moderate breeze and in the run to Staten Island it will save me many hours of sailing if the wind behaves as predicted. Who knows, those hours saved might save me from another battering by a gale. I can't thank Bob Carrol enough for encouraging me to get a whisker pole.

The day was turning out to be a pleasant one. After a few early rain showers the day became partly cloudy and sunny. The sea was a little lumpy but remarkably calm considering our position. We were ambling toward Staten Island at a gentle 3.5 knots running before a 13 knot breeze.

I decided to dispense with boat time altogether and set the ship's clock to UTC/GMT time. I had been using La Paz time which was becoming more inappropriate as I moved east, and I saw no point in making clock adjustments as I crossed time zones. My "noon" reports have been based on La Paz time and correspond to 1800 UTC/GMT. I will continue issuing my noon reports at that time.

At noon our position was 55S59, 065W16, giving us a n-n distance of 88 miles in the direction 084T. We were making about 4 knots in the direction of the NE tend of Staten Island 95 miles ahead.

I decided to take advantage of the clear weather and relatively calm sea to do a fuel transfer. It's messy business without a proper fuel pump but I got it done. However, it took only 17 liters and my records show that I've put 35 hours of running time on the engine since the last top up. Either I did an intermediate transfer that I didn't record or the crossover pipe that joins the two tanks cannot keep up with the rate at which I filled the starboard tank. I would find that surprising because I ladle the fuel in from a bucket at about a liter at a time. The only way to find out is to do another fuel transfer soon. I have to be sure that I am at a known state, and without a fuel gauge or any way to plumb the tanks, full tanks are the only certainty.

The forecast was for a period of light winds from the north so I decided to put away the trysail and use the mainsail. Looking up I saw that several of the cords that prevent halyards from wrapping behind the mast steps had broken, so I had to go up the mast above the radar and patch things up. It's just as well that I went up because I found two broken wires on the port D1 shroud, the lower stay that goes to the bottom of the first crosstree. I was discouraged. The entire rigging was new when I sailed out of Fremantle 3.5 years ago. In Hawaii both forestays and both D1's were replaced. In Port Townsend the headstay was replaced yet again because of a serious mistake that the rigger in Hawaii had made that made me very lucky to make it to Pt Townsend without losing the mast. (He made a modification to the furler and put one screw in too far so that when I worked the furler the screw scored the wire. When this was discovered in Pt Townsend there was a neat score 2 or 3 mm deep completely around the wire.) Fortunately the only spare stay remaining on the boat is one of the D1's replaced in Hawaii. I'll need a day or two to make dig out that spare D1 and make sure that everything is in order with it, then will swap out the damaged wire when I get a very calm day. In the meantime, I'll have to stick with the trysail.

I have a long way to go to Cape Town and now I'll be babying the rigging as well as the headsails all of the way. This will cost me a lot of time but the important thing is to make it to Cape Town in reasonable shape. I do have one big thing going for me: the mast is big, heavy, and strong. The list for Cape Town keeps growing, and completely re rigging the boat is now on the list. Cape Town is about 4000 sea miles away, in contrast to the 6000 sea miles between La Paz and the Horn. However, the run is much more straight forward that was the La Paz - Horn segment. Averaging 3.3 knots for only 80 miles a day would require about 50 days.

I needed to resolve the fuel issue so I went through another refueling run. I managed to put in another 30 liters using the port tank filler. The tanks were really full this time because fuel was coming out of the breather. That's a hefty 47 liters of fuel in one day. The fuel situation with the Horn behind us is good. Both tanks are full, representing 140 liters of diesel. On deck are another 30 liters. The plan of carrying fuel on deck was a success and I don't know what I would have done without that extra fuel.

It was getting late when I finished the refueling (which included a lot of cleanup) and I noticed that we were now heading E rather than NW. That meant that the expected wind shift had happened. While the engine provided way for Jeff to continue steering I rolled in the headsail then dropped the whisker pole. I then hoisted the trysail again and rotated Jeff's air vane to put us beam to the wind. I rolled out a bit of headsail and set the sheets of the trysail and when it was time to shut the engine we were already sailing to the new wind.

It had been a busy day with no naps and no lunch, but I felt that I had taken good advantage of the gentle conditions, particularly to top up the diesel tanks and assess our fuel position. The wind had been very gentle all day and as the semidarkness approached we wer making maybe 2.5 knots against a wind of less than 10 knots. The sea was amazingly calm, with just a low, slow, and gentle swell.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 84 - Round The Horn

2012-01-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

Normally I sleep until 2 AM when it is time to prepare for the weather fax. This night I set the timer for 90 minutes so that I could check our position vs Diego Ramirez just after midnight. I had made a subtle adjustment to Jeff and yes, we would clear the island comfortably. Then on the chart plotter I saw the grey symbol of an AIS target It was the Lovina, a tanker, headed for Rio and 50 minutes away. He was a big brute, with length of 797 ft and beam of 140 ft, making 13.4 knots on course 091T. The chart plotter was constantly calculating the intercepts of our two vessels, which was continually changing as Pachuca varied her speed and heading from moment to moment as she yawed and pitched while dealing with the waves. The estimated closest point between us varied from 2 miles down to a few hundred feet. There were two ways to deal with this: make a subtle course change or keep an eye out for the ship. A ship passing a half mile away does not look nearly as scary in actual sight than it does on the chart plotter screen. Soon the "Dangerous Target" alarm started going off whenever the chart plotter calculated that the tanker would penetrate my 2 mile diameter safety ring within 24 minutes. This was good, because it would have woken me up.

I elected to suit up and go topside to sight the vessel and take manual control of the wheel if it was required. I turned on my VHF radio for possible emergency communication. From the cockpit I was amazed at how close the tanker was. We were on an almost parallel course which was not surprising, given that we were both trying to round the Horn. I hailed him on the VHF radio: "Tanker Lovina, Tanker Lovina, do you copy?" I got an immediate calm and polite response from a gentleman with a Spanish accent. "Good morning. I am a small sail boat off your starboard side. Do you see me? Over." His response was "Yes, I have you on my starboard side." "Thank you sir, have a good day." He wished me a good day too and the conversation was over. I could see that the tanker would cross my bow so I altered Jeff to take me 5 degrees to starboard. This opened the intercept to a steady 1 mile or so. Lovina was doing 13.4 knots to my 4.5 so even though we appeared to be running neck and neck only a half mile apart I knew that she would cross my path well ahead of me. Even though I had gone to bed at dusk 90 minutes earlier it was now a beautiful dawn in a partly cloudy sky and I'm sure that between Pachuca's tricolor at the top of her gyrating mast and her red trysail the Lovina would have had no trouble in seeing us. That was the first sign of human activity that I had seen in weeks.

For me the "night" was over. I put the kettle on for coffee to prepare for the coming day. We were well on the continental shelf with Diego Ramirez 20 miles off the starboard bow and the Horn 65 miles ahead. We had a fair wind of 20 knots and were moving well. I was confident that we would round the Horn in good daylight.

I tried to download a weather fax at 2.30 AM but it was a hopeless cause. The image was just a mass of random black and white pixels. I'll give up on weather faxes out of Australia for a while will try station PWZ-33 out of Rio. It provides surface analysis for the SW Atlantic Ocean.

The area had plenty of sea birds both in quantity and variety. This was not a surprise given the relatively shallow waters, proximity to land, and the nutrient-rich waters rushing by. The wave pattern was different too. The waves seemed shorter and faster, no doubt due to the relatively shallow water.

At 10 AM I went out for a look and saw land. I probably could have seen two hours earlier had I bothered to look. My part of the sky was relatively clear but to the north and east, over land, it was cloudy and misty. Seeing the mountains was a spooky sight after the solitude of the open ocean. I was headed slightly to the north of the Cape so an hour later, after putting a pan of bread dough in the oven, I gybed 23 miles from the Cape. After the gybe I took bearings to confirm what I thought I was seeing. Exactly to the north was the False Cape. Then sweeping to the right were the Hermite, Grevy, and Wolloston Island groups. At bearing 040T was a mountain that from the Google satellite photo I was fairly sure was on Wolloston Island. And to the right I was fairly sure that I was looking at Cape Horn. The bearing of 073T conformed to what the chart indicated. From my vantage it looked cone or dome shaped.

At noon our position was 56S07, 067W52, giving us a n-n distance of 103 miles in the direction 079T. We were 22 miles WSW of the Horn and at the SE course we were making we were approximately 23 miles from the meridian of the HORN, which would mark the official rounding.

After 2 hours I could see that the wind was subtly but steadily veering, so I gybed back and I could now just lay the Horn. Unless there was a wind shift I expected to get within 5 miles of the Horn before gybing back. To the NE of the Horn were some tiny islands which made the present course untenable even if I could just get by the Horn.

As we closed in on the Horn I went on deck and hoisted the Australian flag with the Fremantle Sailing Club Burgee underneath it. I was tempted to also hoist the autographed SCAMP pennant that Simeon Baldwin of Port Townsend had entrusted to me but I didn't want to risk losing it in the wind. Simeon can know that the pennant went around the Horn nice and cosy in a Ziploc bag. I had also planned to hoist Victor's storm jib for the rounding but without a functioning inner forestay that was not possible. Nevertheless Victor can know that his boat Chiquita's storm jib has been round the Horn.

When we were just within 10 miles of the Horn I managed to get a reasonable video of the flags with the Horn dead ahead. From the angle that I was approaching the Horn its profile was the classical one depicted in most photos, with a gentle slope on the left getting steeper to match the angle of the right side. However, the sea was becoming so rough that I gybed soon after to head for deeper water. At this point I had yet to cross the meridian of the Horn but that would come soon. Within an hour of the gybe the sea became noticeably calmer.

On 19 January 2012 at time 00:10:12 UTC/GMT the sailing vessel Pachuca crossed the meridian of Cape Horn and formally made the rounding of the Horn. I celebrated with a half bottle of French champagne (Piper-Heidsieck brut) that Jean Davies of Port Townsend had provided for the occasion. (Thanks Jean, superb champagne!) I drank toasts to Jean and her Blackberry the Cat, then to everybody who has followed this adventure.

There is plenty of time for me to reflect on this event in more measured words than I am capable of now. However, I will utter the two words that best describe my feelings at the moment: gratitude and thanks. I am grateful to life for allowing me this opportunity and for actually allowing me succeed. And I give my thanks to all who have followed this adventure and have given their support, often with very practical advice.

I don't claim to understand the psychic and spiritual realms, even though I know that they are there and very real. Having said that, I will say that wasn't alone in this. I had company and I had help.

Enough said for now.

Love Ya All, Folks.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 83 - Closing In

2012-01-17T19:59:00.000-07:00

Last night I spotted one of the fuel containers on the port rail on its side. I ventured to the side deck and found that it was an empty one, held on by cord around its handle. It seemed very comfortable there, protected from the wind by the two wooden planks used for securing the line of containers and rather than fiddle with the knots while exposed the weather I left it as is. Down below my attempt to heat water came to a halt when the gas cylinder finally gave up the ghost so once more I suited up and was soon laying down in front of the lazarette feeling in the dark for the swap over valve. Just in time I remembered to shut off the empty cylinder before opening the fresh one. That little cylinder will support me for weeks until I find a calm day in which to swap the large cylinders. The empty cylinder will replace the full one on the stern rail but I'll have to figure out a different way to secure it since it does not have a mounting bracket.

When I got up for the 2.30 AM weather fax the worst was over. We would continue to have gale force winds for another 3 hours but the trend was downward. I could tell that the boat had taken some terrific wallops while I was asleep because the computer mouse which I thought I had secured had been thrown across the laptop and was dangling by its cord. The computer had stretched out its restraining shock cord as I had expected. There was water on the companionway landing and galley floor indicating that water had flooded through the main hatch.

The weather fax was a failure. The signal had been steadily degenerating over the past weeks to the point where I could barely make out the big and important things, and this morning there were was no recognizable signal. I didn't hear the warning tone, I couldn't see the characteristic wave pattern, nothing. I think that I am just too near the South Pole for communication with Australia. The loss of the fax was not too important at this point because the distillation of the weather fax data as expressed in grib and spot files was more useful in these close quarters.

I stuck my head out briefly through the companionway and everything looked OK. The wind was still gusting to over 35 knots. I decided to return to bed, the best place to be in a hove to boat.

I woke up at 6 AM to find the wind down to 20 knots. There was blue sky and sun. Time to start sailing again. After a big bowl of rolled oats (with powdered milk and honey) I suited up and went topside. I noticed that I had lost a fuel container from the starboard rail, which was surprising because that had been the lee rail. I'm pretty sure that it was an empty container and I'll be able to confirm this when I take an inventory.

I gybed the boat, set some sail, put the boat on a heading, and then engaged Jeff to take over the steering. One reason why I pamper myself with rest and food is to be 100% functioning when a crisis comes up. Today it was Jeff's turn to give me a scare. Jeff would not hold course. He looked like he was working but always would let the boat slowly round up to a beam reach. Then I looked back and noticed that the water paddle was not locked down and was bobbing up and down in the water. The trip line to free it from lock was broken too. I fetched the boat hook from the cabin and used it to force the paddle down into the lock position. The paddle would reach the lock position but would not lock in. Gulp. Any problem with the locking mechanism would be extremely difficult to fix or work around because it was all only 3 inches above the waterline and bobbing in and out of the water constantly. I had visions of hand steering the boat around the Horn.

I rolled in the headsail and let the boat heave to under trysail then clipped on and went over the back rail onto the Monitor frame to have a look. I couldn't do much with my hands, particularly with the danger of losing a finger when the paddle straightened into the lock position with a thud. However, using my boot somehow I got it to lock. (My leg went into the water up to my calf but no water found its way to the inside of my boot. I'm very satisfied with my wet weather gear.) Back at the wheel I still had trouble getting Jeff to steer. Looking back I noticed that the water paddle was swinging with full travel in one direction but very little in the other, even if I tried to force it the other way manually. Back over the rail I went again, being extra careful because we were now under sail making over 4 knots. The quadrant was OK and none of the welds or metal supporting it had failed. Whatever may be wrong would have to be in one of the hidden parts of the mechanism that I didn't fully understand. I returned to the wheel and worked more with Jeff and when I looked back I was happy to see full travel by the water paddle. This had been a case of lack of confidence causing me to scare myself. Later I realized that the night before for the first time during this voyage I unclipped the steering lines from the wheel hub. That may have been a mistake because it removed a restraint on the movement of the paddle during the gale.

It all took an hour but by 7.30 PM we were on the move to the SE doing over 4 knots. The wind was expected to back taking me more to the east and following the edge of the continental shelf. There would be a point when the wind would veer slightly an if at that point I could lay the Horn I would steer onto the continental shelf directly for the Horn. This would take me near Isla Diego Ramirez. The latest spot report for 56S, 072W predicted westerly winds for the next 4 days, and at only one time over 30 knots (30.2 knots). Let's hope that this transpires. I knew from the experience of the last 2 days that once I got to the Horn I would be sheltered from those gales winds sweeping down the west coast. The conditions in this area are counter intuitive. The further south one goes the weaker the NW winds because they spread out to the east once they clear Tierra del Fuego. Similarly all the data that I've been seeing in the last week indicates that conditions are much gentler at the Horn than here in what I call Gale Alley.

I was thinking last night that the better play to have made would have been to sail in the gale in a broad reach directly for the Horn. Conditions would have steadily improved as we got under the lee of Tierra del Fuego. That would have saved probably 3 days of sailing. The problem is that it would have required many hours of hand steering and I would not have wanted to risk exhaustion in close waters with the strong current in rough conditions. (I have twice hand steered solo a boat to the point of hallucination and it is neither pleasant nor safe.) This is a case where a crew of two would have been able to make much better progress. Having said that, the 4 hours of hand steering that I did do paid off big dividends. It got me 12 miles farther south and put me far enough off the continental shelf that I could allow the boat to heave to pointing toward the east, gaining me 2.5 miles every hour.

Incidentally, yesterday's position report which I posted shortly after my 4 hours at the helm was not accepted, and rightly so. I filed it for the 15th instead of the 16th as it should have been. This is the kind of mistake made that one makes when tired.

At 10 AM the wind unexpectedly strengthened to 25 kt and veered to put me on a heading of 170T. I figured that if I gybed I'd have a good chance at laying the Horn so that's what I did. My new course was 180T which was just about the rhumb line for the Horn 137 miles away. My turning point was at latitude 56S26 which if fortune went my way would represent my deepest incursion into the high latitudes.

I visited the side decks and took inventory of the fuel on deck. I was very relieved to find that the 83 liters that I had estimated just two days earlier were still on deck. Nevertheless I regretted losing any container because they would all be useful to me in the final leg between Cape Town and Fremantle. This had been a salutary warning and I would visit the deck this day with extra lines and make sure that the fuel containers, in particular the full ones, were very securely lashed. The Zodiac was still well secured and with so many independent lines crisscrossing it I didn't expect it to get loose. Even though it was a bright and sunny day the sea was still too rough for me to attempt a fuel transfer, but I was certainly awaiting the first opportunity.

At noon our position was 56S24, 070W56, giving us a n-n run of 59 miles which was amazing given that we were hove to under trysail most of that time. Happily, the movement had been in the right direction and we were now approximately 125 miles for the Horn. We were just beginning to cross over start of the rise of the continental shelf and were making more or less directly for the Horn in front of a fair wind. It was a bright, crisp, clear sunny day and my spirits were high. I was starting to get excited.

After the noon report I spent an hour on deck attending to the fuel containers. I must admit that the two little 10 liter ones were in peril and would have been the next to go over the side (empty).

I had a big spaghetti meal then lay down for almost 2 hours for a refreshing nap. At 4 PM I was up to find the boat ambling along at about 4 knots on the same course of 085T, perfect for threading our way between Isla Diego Ramirez 60 miles to the right and Cape Horn 110 miles to the left. We had left the 4,000 meter depths and were approaching the 1000 meter contour. Not far beyond that would be the 200 meter contour. The Horn was inside the 100 meter contour. I was wondering what the set and strength of the current would be on the shelf. One component of the current was sweeping down the coast from the north to join the main body set to the east. I would keep a close eye on our position in relation to Diego Ramirez.

Now the ST60 depth display is giving trouble. I tried to turn it on thinking that it my be a good idea to have depth readings in these waters and the display part would not function. I could tell from the beeps I was hearing at power up and when changing the background light intensity that the logic is working - it just can't show anything. I probably got a dose of salt water during the recent bout of high winds. If so it was an aberration because the instruments are made to survive out in the weather. The wind instrument next to it is OK and the autopilot display/control survives OK on the very exposed binnacle. It may dry out and come good. In any event, it is not a vital instrument for the deep waters that I am plying. I have excellent electronic charts of South Africa so I should have no trouble in getting into the marina.

Then at the nav station I sat on part of the shower curtain and ripped out a ring hole at the top. I punched a new hole with a Phillips screw driver and reversed the curtain. But that was the third such repair and I was sick of tippy toeing around the curtain all of the time so I got a pair of scissors and did what I should have done on day one: cut the bottom off so that it hangs to just above seat level. That means that I can no longer walk or sit on it. I've learned not to waste anything that might be useful so I used the offcut to make a plastic cover for the laptop to replace the garbage bag and yield a very tasteful matched set.

At 7 PM we were still moving along nicely and the Horn was less than 100 miles away. The forecast predicted this kind of wind for days so I was cautiously optimistic about sailing within sight of the Horn then proceeding on to Staten Island without any wind dramas.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 82 - More Gale Winds

2012-01-16T18:13:00.000-07:00

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.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 81 - Below Horn and Rounding Plan

2012-01-15T18:26:00.000-07:00

Over coffee at 6.30 AM I saw that we were at latitude 56W00.07, placing us farther south than the Horn.

The latest spot reports (i.e. wind and other prediction data on any lat and long of my choosing, covering the next 4 days) predicted no gale winds for the next 4 days, through 19 January - the only wind speed over 30 knots was a 6-hour period of 33 knots on the 17th. This was very, very good news because it should see me through the final dash past the Horn.

If I could have counted on N-NW winds for long enough I would have changed course immediately and made directly for the Horn across the shallows, but the prevailing winds were to be from the west meaning that I would have to gybe my way past the Horn. I decided to stick to the plan and make for the corner of the shallows south of Diego Ramirez Island more than a degree south of the Horn at lat 57S18. Once I rounded that corner I could easily lay the the east side of Staten Island, which was the same line as the edge of the shallows. But that turn was still 300 miles away. I would actually cross the meridian of the Horn still headed SW just before making that turn. Once I made the turn I would have a straightforward and safe (in navigation terms) leg of approximately 200 miles to the east end of Staten Island. Looking at the distance of the various segments on the laptop system I estimated that taking the "safe" rather than direct route would cost me 80 miles in distance, not a high price to pay in light of the benefits. ... And when I think about it, I would have lost much of that 80 mile advantage in gybing my way past the Horn rather than doing it in one big gybe around the shallows.

With the strong and reliable winds in this area I estimated that I'd reach that turning point early on the 18th of January. At that time I would have formally transited the Horn, though I would not consider it a complete rounding. One definition of rounding is "doubling the Horn" - passing from 55S on one side to 55S on the other side. By the time I got to Staten Island I would have doubled the Horn, but for me it would not really be over until I'd gotten past the Falkland Islands.

So all going well I hope to cross the meridian of the Horn on 18 January and reach the east end of Staten Island for a complete rounding on 20 January.

----

We had a fairly rough night. I got the latest grib file at 9.30 PM which confirmed that the winds were stronger than had been predicted, 30 knots. Knowing that 30 knots can mean surges of over 35 knots, at 10 PM I went out and rolled in a bit more headsail even though in the light I could see that it was coping OK. And there was light. Even though it was the middle of the short night I could see the glow of the sun to the SW. In spite of running with short sail we were making good time, undoubtedly helped by the huge following seas and the current, which should be getting stronger until we cleared Staten Island.

I could tell that the gas cylinder was on its last legs. With the flip of a lever I would be able to swap over to the other cylinder, which was about 1/3 the size of the large one. The large one had carried me through 80 days of the passage so I knew that the smaller one would easily support me past the Falklands. I could not complain about the 80 life span of the cylinder because there had been many many hot coffees, soups, cocoas, rolled oats, bread baking, not to mention the meals. Waiting on the stern rail was the large cylinder that Rick had given to me in La Paz (Thanks Rick!!!). On the first calm and non-crisis day I would swap in that full cylinder which should support me to Cape Town.

At 8 AM I went topside. It was a sunny, partly cloudy day with a definite nip in the air - probably in the low 40's F. The sea was still roiled but the wind had dropped to around 20 knots and was predicted to fall further. I rolled out more headsail. Jeff had done a sterling job of steering the boat and did not even require tightening of the control lines. I looked forward and everything seemed in order. I was anxious to do a fuel transfer as soon as possible to minimize the risk of losing overboard any of the vital diesel fuel.

I did a bit more work on the autopilot/Seatalk problem. Rather than open up the instrument panel above the companionway I isolated the Seatalk connection of both the wind and depth instruments from the rest of the network. There was no change. Specifically, the chart plotter could still not see heading information nor did the autopilot control panel stop displaying the "Seatalk Failure" message. At that point I had to conclude that neither of those instruments was putting noise into the Seatalk network. I wanted to isolate the autopilot by simply turning it off at the control panel, but it cannot be turned off at the panel - it is hardwired to the same breaker as the chart plotter. I'll look at that later. There is a Raymarine junction box with 5 Seatalk cables going into it. One is from the daisy chained wind and depth instruments. One is from the GPS antenna at the stern. One is connected to the autopilot computer. The other two go forward, one of which must go to the chart plotter. The fluxgate compass is connected directly to the autopilot computer. I will open up this junction box to see if I can find anything interesting - but not today. I'll also review the information on the problem that Stephen sent me earlier.

Just before noon I gybed the boat in anticipation of a veering of the wind to the NNW which had already begun. In light of the wind prediction I expected to stay on this tack for at least 24 hours. I was looking to the full range of heading options once the wind settled to NNW. During that time I could head directly for the Horn or more southerly toward the turning point at the corner of the shallows. Either way I expected to get much closer to the continental shelf (i.e. shallows).

At noon our position was 56S15, 075W06, giving us a n-n distance of 104 miles in the direction 119T. We were 270 miles west of the Horn which was on the bearing of 087T.

I checked up on the fuel situation and came up with the estimates of 91 liters of diesel in the main tanks and 83 liters on deck, giving me a total of 174 liters. Much as I'd like to do a fuel transfer the conditions are too rough and I know now that I have enough fuel in the tanks to get me well beyond the Falklands. Assuming I don't lose any fuel overboard I should have plenty to get me to Cape Town. Incidentally, I work on a conservative estimate of 1.5 liters of fuel consumed per hour during the battery charging runs.

As the evening approached we were on a beam reach off a 20 knot wind heading east, toward the Horn. I had been very tempted to raise the mainsail for the many expected hours of NNW winds but then I saw winds of 28 to 31 knots in our future and kept the trysail up.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 80 - Steady Downwind Progress

2012-01-14T20:14:00.000-07:00

At the 2 AM weather fax session I could see that dawn was breaking. At Longitude 078 I was too far east to keep using the La Paz time zone much longer. Anyway, the sun was too far to the right and a visit to the compass confirmed that we were headed NE. This was good. While the fax was being download I gybed the boat which put us on good track of about 120T. The wind was down to a pleasant and manageable 18 knots and the sea was calmer. I hoped it would all last for a while.

I woke up at 8 AM to find that the wind had veered slightly and strengthened to 25 knots. The sun was shining and there were heavy rain clouds to the west, all suggesting that another cold front had passed over the boat. I looked at the sails and they were handling it fine. Our course was to the SSE and our boat speed was within my acceptable limits of 4-5.5 knots. Jeff had steered the boat all night flawlessly.

Running downwind with the trysail and a bit of jib is probably unorthodox and has the big disadvantage of allowing us to run no closer than 30 degrees off the wind. However, I like the advantages first of having the trysail up and ready all of the time because of the frequency of high winds in this area, often with little warning. Second, it is flexible. The trysail works in winds of 10 to 40 knots and more, and I have such little jib working that it would probably handle a 28 knot wind. And third, of course, is that it puts much less load on the headsail. When I was frantically working on the control lines while trying to steer in rough weather I must have accidentally gybed the boat a dozen times, but when we crossed the wind the jib would go over first, and very gently because it was being blanketed by the trysail. It was the trysail that made the loud snap when it went over, which was painful enough to my ears, but at least I knew that it had been built to take it.

At 10.30 I suited up and visited the mast for the first time in 2 days. Everything appeared to be in order. The Zodiac was till firmly tied to the platform, the fuel containers were all in place and looked secure, the mainsail was still firmly tied to the boom. Best of all, that once-repaired backup headsail that had so magnificently brought me this far looked comfortable as it did its work in the 23 knot wind. From the good perspective of the shroud it appeared to have the same area as the trysail, about 42 sq ft. Back in the cockpit I tightened one of Jeff's control lines slightly and I saw another hint of oil glistening on the floor. The bubble in the compass did not look noticeably bigger, but I was convinced that it was leaking its oil during huge rolls in heavy weather.

Just before noon I gybed the boat for the second time in the morning. I was trying to play the wind shifts to get as good a lay on our destination as possible.

At noon our position was 55S23, 077W46, giving us a n-n distance of 86 miles in the direction 103T. We were 375 miles from the Horn which was on bearing 096T. My actual target was Isla Diego Ramirez, 330 miles away on bearing 104T.

At 6 PM I detected the wind shift that I had waiting for, from the west. This improved our heading by 20 degrees and I was looking forward to good progress overnight. The sea was very rough and we were frequently hit by squalls but thanks to the conservative sail plan we got through them OK and Jeff always managed to recover the course.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 79 - Monitor Steering Control Line Problems

2012-01-13T20:29:00.000-07:00

At the 2.30 AM weather fax session I noticed that the wind had dropped to the mid 20's and was no longer hissing and howling. After the download was completed I went topside to see about getting the boat sailing again. Even though it was 3 AM it was full daylight. The boat was already hove to on my tack of choice, starboard, so all I had to do was to adjust the trysail sheets, roll out a bit of jib, and steer the boat downwind. There was a slight delay while I reset and tightened Jeff's control lines which had become loose. I noticed almost immediately that the Raymarine wind instrument was telling lies about the direction of the wind as though it needed recalibration. I judged the wind direction the old fashioned way by feeling the wind on my face and occasionally looking up at the Windex mechanical wind indicator that I had installed shortly before leaving Fremantle. (Recalibration requires a calm sea where I can do two full circles with the boat.) I also noticed that the light that I had replaced in the compass was out, though its companion was still working. At least the bubble of air had not gotten any bigger. At 3.30 AM I was having a hot cocoa while I watched the boat heading SE at 4 knots. While looking at our position on the laptop the coach roof was struck by big wave that sent water gushing through the spray dodger and over the closed sliding hatch. From there a bucket full of water raced across the ceiling and began to shower the nav station. Fortunately I was able to react quickly and protect the computer. I had learned another lesson, that the computer needed protection even if the sliding hatch was buttoned up.

I woke up at 6 AM to the sound of the headsail luffing a little too often. I got dressed and went topside to find the boat steering itself to the wind. Jeff the Monitor wind steering's control lines were loose and I soon discovered that one of the lines had parted at the base of the pendelum just above the waterline. It had to be fixed immediately. I rolled in the headsail and let the boat on its own to forereach with the trysail then got on with the job, which turned out to be neither easy or pleasant because much of the work required me to go over the back rail and crouch on the slippery Monitor frame tubing as best I could and work at the waterline. With the big swell the back of the boat was hobby horsing constantly so that much of the time my arms and lower legs were in water. I would have been safe had I fallen overboard because I was clipped to a safety line and the boat was not moving fast. I retrieved the broken section of the line and saw that it was about to break in a second place, next to the knot. Anyway, I managed to pull the line out, reverse it, and thread it back down the tube and tie the knot at the pendulum then saw that there was just enough length in the line to reuse it. After I set this line up I reversed the other line and found that it was in better shape. The work took over 2 hours but in the end the self steering was working again and we were headed SE at 4 knots of a wind in the low 20's.

It was after leaving La Paz that I realized my mistake in forgetting to bring spare line for the Monitor, which must be of a specific diameter. (Too thin and it is too weak, too thick and it won't pass through.) I also thought then that I should have reversed the control lines while still in La Paz in the tranquility of the marina. These were lost opportunities and now I was paying the price. At least I had the presence of mind to measure the longer of the two control lines (12' 2", or 3.7 meters) and will go through my rope bags to see if I have suitable replacement rope. Failing that I can use the traveler lines that are of the right diameter, plenty long enough, and are in top condition because they've had an easy life since installed in Port Townsend. And if it comes to that I could probably sacrifice one of those wonderful spinnaker sheets that I brought back from Seattle. One of those sheets would yield enough spare control line for years.

After a second coffee I was feeling better about the whole thing. I now had more insight into the Monitor system and was confident that I could deal with any future control line problems. My "night off" had done me good (Great movie, "The Next Three Days" with Russell Crowe.) and today I had fresh resolve to get around the Horn without delay. I was determined to keep the boat moving, no matter how much zig zagging I had to do.

At noon our position was 55S03, 080W13, giving a n-n distance of 54 miles in the direction of 128T. We were 465 miles from the Horn and south of Ushuaia, Argentina, in the Beagle Channel. We were only one degree north of the Horn and would have to start heading east soon, even if it meant some northing with it. At this point I was planning to take the "safe" route and pass the horn 80 miles to the south in deeper water. This meant clearing Isla Diego Ramirez bearing 105T.

In the afternoon I spent two very difficult hours in the cockpit making adjustments to the Monitor control lines. I had waken up from a short nap to find the boat in a hove to position. From the cabin I could see that the Monitor control lines were loose. When I got to the unit I found that no lines had broken but something had loosened the lines. I sat with the unit for close to an hour trying to get it to hold a course but each time I thought that we had success it would fail - not because it didn't know where the wind was but rather that it just couldn't bring the boat around with a full lock on the wheel. Meanwhile I had been looking at the unit in action and I wasn't happy with the control line lengths. It's all to do with setting up the lines so that the hub has the same travel in each direction and the lines have full movement between the hub and the turning block. This was the sort of work to be done on a calm day and the conditions were horrendous but I had little choice. I had to undo old knots that had been under strain in the weather for months while at the same time trying to steer the boat. Anyway, I managed to reroute one line that was crossed and adjust the various lines to where I was satisfied that everything had enough travel. If the unit got through the night without failure I'd know that I'd be out of the woods with that problem because the conditions were testing the Monitor to the limit. Huge swells would pick up the stern of the boat and throw it to the side forcing the Monitor to throw the wheel on full lock to regain control. The wheel was jerking left and right constantly. The wind had been blowing in the mid 20's range but was predicted to begin to calm down and reach 11-16 knots in a few hours. I could hardly wait for the reprieve. In the meantime, we were headed due east at about 5 knots.

At 6.30 PM the wind was down to 19 knots. The monitor had worked flawlessly for hours in those rough conditions, giving me confidence that it would be OK. Now that things had settled down I had the engine on to charge the batteries for an hour and warm up the cabin. It had been a tough day but I was feeling better.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 78 - 500 To Go but Hove To

2012-01-12T20:59:00.000-07:00

At 9 PM I gybed the boat, putting her on a port tack and heading E and NNE. The wind was supposed to veer 10 degrees during the night which would put the boat on a more favorable course.

The evening's grib file predicted winds in the direction that I wanted to go (105-110T) so either tack would give me the same angle from the target.

The 2.30 AM weather fax showed another low passing to the south of us with a cold front headed our way.

I woke up at 8 AM with the wind up to 24 knots and the headsail still out more than half way. I quickly dressed and went out to find a scene of white caps, a big swell form the south, and sunshine, meaning that the cold front had passed over us during the night. I managed to reel in most of the headsail without traumatizing it. Down below I looked at the situation over a cup of coffee and decided to gybe the boat.

Gybing the boat in high winds, i.e. crossing the wind with it coming from behind, can be destructive if done with the wrong kind of sails set the wrong way. The worst problem is with mainsails with their big areas - unless deeply reefed - and the boom. With Pachuca in this sail configuration the first thing I do is to completely wind in the headsail. I leave the trysail up with a sheet attached to each aft corner of the boat. Then I disconnect Jeff from the wheel and manually turn it hard so that slowly - very slowly at first - the boat responds and begins to cross the wind. As soon as that happens the trysail fills from the other side with a soft "snap" and the boat is on the other tack. Then it becomes a little interesting. There is no point in taking the time to re engage Jeff because the sail balance is all wrong - no headsail and backwinded mainsail. I simply let the wheel go free and attend to the sails, knowing that the boat will turn beam on to the sea - not particularly comfortable in a high wind but at least stable. The first thing I do is to ease the weather sheet of the trysail and then bring on the lee sheet by hand and cleat it off so that the sail is held in her new position firmly with both sheets. The boat now has some drive. Then I roll out 50 sq ft of headsail giving the boat some sail balance. I then go back to the wheel, take the boat off the beam reach and into a downwind run, then engage Jeff. After the gybe this morning I realized that I wanted to bring on the trysail lee sheet more to give the sail a better shape, but both port cockpit winches were loaded: the aft one with the all important roller furler line and the forward one with the jib sheet. I decided to try using the port cabin winch and that went very well. While the winch had the load on the line I managed to push the line into a jam cleat on the side of the coaming and that took all of the strain while I unloaded the winch and cleated the line. The keys to it all are the very tolerant trysail (have I mentioned how much I like it?) and the fact that the boat settles beam on to the wind while I attend to the sails.

That put us back on a course roughly parallel with the coast line, at course maybe 145T. It was far from an ideal direction but at least I wasn't closing in on the continent too fast. In prolonged winds like this I would have to zig zag my way down with gybes, greatly reducing my Distances Made Good and prolonging my sailing time to the Horn. But I reminded myself once again that we had the important things going for us: a fair wind, a (huge) following sea, and the current. It was all just a matter of time and all I had to do was to take care of the boat and savor the experience while it lasted because believe me, I didn't plan to do it again. (You do believe me, don't you?)

In case I haven't explicitly mentioned it, while the trysail is up the mainsail is firmly tied to the boom which is amidships, held firmly by a line on each side. The back of the boom has been slightly raised by the topping lift to prevent any chafing between the mainsail and the spray dodger. This has worked well, with a trysail sheets comfortably clearing the boom and topping left on both tacks. And it keeps the boom totally out of my way so that I have clear passage to either side of the deck. (I say that because on some boats the boom down and lashed to one of the side rails which seems to me would block access to the side deck and maybe a winch or two.)

At noon our position was 54S29, 081W27, giving us a n-n distance of 86 miles in the direction 105T, a surprisingly good result in both distance and direction. According to the chart we were only 510 miles from the Horn and 300 miles from the coast.

The day had started well, with sun and blue skies. I figured that we'd be in for at least 12 hours of good weather, but in the afternoon the sky became overcast and the wind piped up big time. We spent the afternoon running before a near gale. I must admit that the grib file had predicted 28 knot winds but the import just didn't sink into my head. Reality hit me literally in the face when I was topside gybing the boat. The boat went broadside to the wind and while I was busy cranking a winch I got hit big time by buckets of flying water. Fortunately I'm wearing good foul weather gear and there was no damage other than a bit of cold water trickling down my neck. But the warning had been served and I didn't roll out much headsail after the gybe. Later the wind strengthened to the point where Jeff could not cope and we wound up hurling through the water on a beam reach. I managed to reduce the headsail to just a few square feet and set Jeff back up.

In those boisterous conditions I had a go at getting the autopilot working again with no success. I went in heavy, with the sandpaper, terminal cleaner, and a determination to get it right the first time. But when I reconnected the pair of wires that I was sure were for signal the problem remained. So I worked on the heavier pair of wires, which I'm pretty sure are for power to the linear drive. I wasn't happy with the terminal block so I replaced it with a new one. Still there was no improvement. Then I did everything again, this time cutting back most of the wires to produce fresh wiring and carefully reconnecting them. Before reconnecting the lighter wires I joined them with my fingers to see if the chart plotter would begin to see the heading information, but there was no improvement. The autopilot display was still reporting "seatalk failure". After probably 3 hours of work in that area I closed it back up convinced that the problem did not lay in those connections after all. I then went to the communications closet and jiggled the connections as before but still there was no improvement. The only step from my initial success that I did not retrace was to remove the instrument panel above the companionway and jiggle the connections. The conditions were much too rough for that and in any case my recollection was that the heavy rubber connection plugs behind the depth and wind instruments were rock solid.

That left the chart plotter with no heading information and no wind information. I decided to give it a rest for a few days while I thought about the problem and waited for better conditions. When I resume work on the problem I'll probably trace the Seatalk cable of the daisy chained wind and depth instruments. I'm fairly sure that they wind up at the back of the autopilot black box computer. One serious handicap in the effort is the fact that I cannot get full access to the autopilot computer because in New Zealand I got a great price on a Mastervolt 60 amp hardwired battery charger that I mounted in the communications closet, and to get complete access to black box I must first remove the Mastervolt. I can do it, but certainly not in the current sea conditions. So at present I can see the black box at an angle and can see the labels on the many connectors. (I got the year old Mastervolt for $250 because the owner was so impressed with it that he had ordered 2 larger ones for his luxury power boat.)

While writing the above paragraph I had a busy 40 minute interruption. I'd been running the engine for 45 minutes and either because of that or probably the strong wind Jeff lost control and the boat had gybed. Had there been much headsail showing it could have torn it to shreds. I put on my waterproof jacket and went outside to find some pretty wild conditions. The wind speed was only 28 knots but there is something about this area that seems to magnify sea conditions all out of proportion. I suspect that the problem was that the 28 knot wind was building on top of an already huge swell. I'd had enough. I rolled in the headsail, left the boat on the new tack, and helmed it for another 20 minutes to make sure that the batteries were well charge for the night. It was exciting to say the least, with huge swells coming from the starboard quarter and the boat managing to rise just in time then drop on the back side of the waves. I was all eyes and hands trying to hold the heading when from the corner of my eye I saw a dolphin of all things. I hadn't seen a dolphin since the Sea of Cortez and here was one crossing the bow of the boat at this unbelievable time. When the engine time was up I waited to what I though might be a lull in the waves, shut the engine down and quickly shut off the exhaust valve, then threw the wheel hard to bring the boat into the wind to heave to. With no headsail or staysail in front of the mast and just the trysail exerting its force behind the mast the boat still insisted on laying squarely beam on to the sea. I lashed the wheel to weather hoping that that would produce some angle into the wind but it had no effect. Beam to the seas it might be, but down below in the cabin it was amazingly quiet, with a wave slapping the hull occasionally. Once, during a gale off the Oregon coast, I was able to get this boat to heave to properly, using the mainsail with its second reef, the staysail backwinded, and the wheel lashed to weather. Brenda agreed that the boat was noticeably quieter. However, in my opinion the large mainsail with only 2 reefs presents much too much sail area for stormy conditions. And besides, staysail is not an option for me these days.

As I've said, I'd had enough of the rough sailing and worrying about the headsail and decided to heave to for the night and relax. Hours of doing electrical work in the bowels of the boat in these conditions had taken it out of me. Battle fatigue. A good meal, a good movie (even a bad one), and a drink out of the 3rd and last bottle of booze on the boat (Appleton Jamaica Rum) followed by a good night's sleep should do the trick. (I lament not having brought more liquor for this trip. Yes, it is unwise to drink while solo sailing, but I forgot about times of heaving to, when the boat is tranquil and needs to attention and it's time to zonk out.)

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 77 - Sliding Hatch Fixed And 600 To Go

2012-01-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

The expected wind change started at about 9 PM. The wind began to veer to the NW, Pachuca's heading veered toward the south, and it was time to gybe, particularly because the light was fading. The wind must have kept veering during the gybe because when the boat settled down on her new course we were headed to 110T, exactly where I wanted to go. With the weather on the port side the companionway was now getting protection from the good side of the spray dodger and the nav station was now sheltered from any spray that might enter the cabin. In anticipation of the 30 knot winds I rolled the headsail right in to 50 or 60 sq ft and between it and the trysail we were still making 4 knots. I like to wind the headsail in well ahead of time. Waiting until being forced to by the wind is hard on the sail, hard on the hands, and hard on the nerves. The problem is that the enormous pressure of the wind on the sail makes it impossible to wind it in without loosening the sheet at the risk of the sail flogging violently. With only 50 sq ft of sail out I am confident of being able to wind it in without much trouble even if I wake up with the wind at 38 or 40 knots.

I finally got smart with the cabin Dorade vents. For weeks I've been putting up with an annoying drip from the starboard Dorade. Today I noticed that the intakes were pointed aft from when we were doing a lot of beating to weather. But here and now it is mostly downwind running with the weather coming from aft. I spun the intakes to point forward. Duh!

I woke up at 2 AM expecting the boat to be tracking close to S but I was pleasantly surprised to see our course of 125, only 10 degrees from the ideal. The trysail was carrying most of the load because just before retiring I had reduced the headsail to the size of a large beach towel, and the effect was superb with the boat moving remarkably comfortably at 5 knots in a wind in the low 30's as predicted. The storm trysail had become the star performer in these waters, a sail that I had not used in a live situation before departing La Paz. In 3 hours the wind would begin to back from the NNW to the W so I saw no need to suit up and go into the howling wind and rain to tweak Jeff's course. I had expected to be up much of the night tending to the boat but it looked like luck was with me on this night.

The 2.30 AM weather fax confirmed what I had figured out from the grib file. A low of 983 hPa that I had seen on the previous night's weather fax was moving to the east on a path just south of us. Soon its center would be directly south and we would get the west winds of its northern quadrant. There was nothing to be done other than returning to my warm bunk until the 4.30 AM radio session with Jim in Fremantle. It's just as well that I had to get up then because the wind had shifted and I made a 30 degree adjustment to our course. The wind kept backing and not long afterwards I gybed the boat, putting us back on a port tack.

During the engine run I cleaned out the refrigerator, throwing out the last 2 packets of turkey sandwich meat that I had recently discovered in the freezer compartment. The only things remaining in the refrigerator are butter, yeast, cheese, and sprouts when I've made a batch. The refrigerator is of course switched off.

Then I started to think about a problem that had become a crisis in the last 24 hours. It was the sliding hatch, which had been giving me trouble for weeks, becoming harder and harder to slide. For weeks I had been sailing with a gap of several inches in the closed hatch so that I could use both hands to slide the it open with great difficulty. Last night the slide was so stiff that I had to leave an 18" wide open gap and throughout the night the light rain came into the cabin, getting the companionway landing and galley wet. This morning the only way I could open it was to stick my torso out through the front of the hatch then use my back to force the it open. This situation was untenable. If I couldn't slide that hatch I'd have big problems. My initial diagnosis had been that the problem was inside the "garage" or "turtle" which would have to be taken apart when I got into port. However, I had noticed another possibility. Imagine standing in the cockpit watching the hatch slide back and forth. It slides under a fiberglass facing designed to keep the water out of the cabin. The right side of that facing looked like it was making contact with the top of the hatch, particularly toward the end of the travel of the hatch. I couldn't be sure because the gelcoat on the hatch was not scuffed up in that area. This morning I revisited the area and decided that it was worth a try to make a visible gap all the way across the top of the hatch. But how, without doing too much damaged to the system? I got a brand new hacksaw blade, slid it into the gap in the middle of the hatch and with the blade flat on the hatch I started sawing my way over to the corner. It worked. I managed to neatly create a visible gap all the way across and found that it had freed up the hatch. The last 2 inches of travel were still stiff and on inspection I could see that the left corner was binding, so I gave that side the same hacksaw blade treatment. The result is that I can now use the hatch properly. Even as I write this the hatch is in the fully closed position for the first time in weeks. The stainless steel fitting that I recently put on the underside of the hatch has been very useful. To slide the hatch back from the inside I put a loop of rope around it which creates a nice handle. Before, there was nothing to grasp for sliding the hatch back and I had to bang it while using the friction of my hand to force it back. I do not know why after these years of sailing the boat this problem has just developed. I have difficulty simply blaming the cold and damp because this boat went through similar conditions on the passage to New Zealand. ... Come to think of it, Jak and I did take that section apart when we were searching for leaks in La Paz. (By the way, that Dorade vent did not leak last night.)

At 9 AM we were sailing nicely downwind with trysail and a bit of jib on course 115T at about 4.5 knots. The boat was going through periodic bouts of rolling from the residual swell but the wind had died down to less than 20 knots and I was anticipating a relatively comfortable sail for the rest of the day.

At noon our position was 54S05, 083W47, giving us a n-n distance of 98 miles in the direction 115T. According to the paper chart we were 600 miles from the Horn (which surprised me but I double checked the plot and the distance). The electronic charts gave the distances as 574 and 569. I had fared better than expected in the winds of the night.

I had a bad afternoon with that ailing headsail. The sail tape effort was a failure primarily because the tape was not sticking well enough - not even to itself. I went to great effort to do the taping over the flat surface of the table and firmly bed down the tape with no wrinkles using my hand and the back of a tablespoon. After doing one of the sewing runs I realized that I was wasting my time and gave up. I don't know what the problem was. Maybe the sail is too damp. Maybe the surface should be prepared with a solvent like acetone. Maybe the tape is bad. I don't have enough information on the matter. The second failure was in the attempt to neatly fold the sail. I tried different approaches for over an hour and couldn't do it. The sail was simply too large and stiff for folding in the cabin. I then spent a lot of time tying the sail into a sausage-like bundle so that it would fit through the passage way to the forecastle. That turned out to be a shambles and I wound up pulling and pushing the sail any way I could. One I got it into the forecastle I put my back to the bulkhead and used my legs to compact the sail at the front end of the area. I've done the best I can for that sail and I hope that I don't have to touch it again until I load it in the sail maker's van in Cape Town. However, I did get one small reward for my efforts - I've got the cabin all to myself again.

While I was in the forecastle pulling in the sail the Raymarine chart plotter began to alarm. I was sure it was warning me of an approaching ship but instead it was to advise me that it had lost compass heading. It wasn't displaying wind information. The autopilot control at the binnacle was also alarming and its message was "no Seatalk". Sound familiar? Tomorrow I'll go into the under cockpit area and properly service the connections that I think are the problem. Instead of just reseating the wires I'll pull them out give them a light sanding, then treat the connection with terminal cleaner. Let's hope that does the trick.

During the afternoon the boat settled into "ambling" mode. Light winds were expected until the morning and the boat was meandering along at about 3.5 knots. I decided to leave the trysail up and rolled in much of the headsail so that it would not thrash as hard when a heavy roll caused both sails to flog.

At 8 PM little had changed. We were were moving more to the south than I would have liked but there was little that I could do about it given the wind direction.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 76 - Steady Progress

2012-01-10T19:25:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 1.30 AM during another squall flurry and suited up to roll in some more headsail. The sky was still partly cloudy but not overcast and to my amazement I saw dawn breaking on the horizon. Since we have light until 11 PM I would say that we are getting less than 3 hours of total darkness at night. I reduced the headsail to less than the area of the trysail and we were still doing 4.5 knots.

Mark in Port Townsend had alerted me to the presence of a comet that can be viewed over southern Chile just before dawn. I looked to port to the NE over Chile and there it was. It looked larger than the largest planet but was more fuzzy and reddish in color. I wasn't completely sure that it was the comet until I returned to the cockpit with my long distance glasses and had a careful look. I could see the glow of its tail. It looked pretty spectacular in the wild setting of the ocean and weather, and I could well understand early peoples freaking out at these events and inventing explanations of their meaning.

Throughout the morning the wind continued to be fair off the stbd quarter and we made good progress in the direction of the Horn. The day was similar to the previous one, with large sections of blue sky and bright sun as well as scattered clouds and the occasional squall. The cabin temperature at noon was 53F and outside it was probably in the mid 40's. Given my position on the ocean I could not complain.

At noon we were at position 53S23, 086W17, giving us a n-n distance of 104 miles. Better yet, the wind had allowed me to steer the boat 113T, directly for my turning point for the Horn. We were 720 miles from the Horn and were now south of Punta Arenas, Argentina, in the Strait of Magellan. During the next 24 hours I expected the wind to swing W, then NW, the N where it would reach 30 knots. Then it would swing back down to the SW and weaken. This meant that it would be unlikely that I would be able to maintain the boat speed or steady direction of the last 24 hours.

I put in several hours sewing the headsail and at 3.30 PM I went topside for a break. Absorbing the entire scene I realized that it really wasn't a bad day for sailing. The sun was out, the wind was fair, the huge swell was off the quarter pushing the boat along, and the unseen current was giving its assistance. The wind was down to 12 or 13 knots and the boat was effortlessly making 4 knots right down the rhumb line.

I did as much as I'm going to in stitching the UV cover of the headsail. The UV cover is a piece of UV resistent material about 18" wide that is sewn on two edges of the sail so that when the sail is rolled up only that material is exposed to the sun. A section of several feet had become unstitched and I thought that I'd tidy it up while I had the sail down. A simple line of stitching was just too difficult to do so I sewed spots along the material about 6" apart. It is not a structural problem so I didn't think that a heroic repair effort was warranted. I stopped work there and will put the sail repair tape on tomorrow when I'm fresher.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 75 - Good Winds

2012-01-09T20:16:00.000-07:00

The wind was quite moderate throughout the night and we sailed SSE. At 3 AM the wind backed 20 degrees and strengthened to the mid 20's. We were approaching 6 knots of speed on a beam reach and a reasonably calm sea but as usual I got worried about the headsail and wound it back to reduce our speed to 4.5 knots. Nevertheless the wind prospects were very good for the coming day and I expected to make good progress. There was quite a bit of blue sky showing.

I went through the radio schedule with Jim where we 6 different frequencies at 2 minute intervals. Unfortunately I heard nothing from him. As I mentioned in a message to him, for the last week I'd had poor radio reception of the ABC and NZ radio services. The weather faxes had been legible but not nearly as clear as before. So there could be atmospherics at play.

I woke up at 9 AM to find the sailing going very well. After a bowl of how oatmeal I let out a bit of headsail to keep us in the 4-5 kt range of speed. I tweaked Jeff to take us a little more downwind. The night's weather fax showed us to be in SW winds from a low to the south.

At noon our position was 52S40, 88W55, giving us a n-n distance of 92 miles in the direction 122T. We were 830 miles from the Horn and 500 miles off the coast of Chile.

It was a very good afternoon of sailing. We ran downwind all day with the wind off the starboard quarter. We were able to sail far enough off teh wind to keep both sails filled, and from time to time I would adjust Jeff to keep us pointed toward the Horn. There was a huge following swell. It was a mixed day weather wise, with plenty of bright sun and plenty of scattered showers. At 7 PM I was in the cockpit adjusting Jeff and we got pelted with hail, fortunately the size of peas. This was part of a squall that took the wind speed up from below 20 to over 30 knots in seconds, heeling us over and pushing our speed to well over 6 knots. Incidents like this are a reminder of why I am conservative with the sails. Later while I was out I saw my first rainbow of this cruise off to the NW.

I spent the afternoon sewing and after 4 hours of work completed the second long sewing run. This one was only 8 ft long. I averaged about 6 stitches per inch, which means that over the 19 ft of sewing I made an estimated 1,368 stitches each requiring the forcing of the needle through with the palm and dragging through two threads. Afterwards I tidied up the ends of both the runs and I must say that I was not happy with the state of the part of the sail where I began the sewing. There seem to be loose threads everywhere and the material looks pretty beat up in places. However, I am in no position to do major re stitching. Tomorrow I will stitch an 8-ft run where the UV tape has come loose and then I'll start seeing what I can do with the sail repair tape, which I have never worked with before. It will be the outcome of the repair tape effort which will determine how much confidence I have in the repaired sail. (Keeping the sail in the cabin was a smarter move than I thought. It's presence in the cabin spurred me to get on with the job and finish it so that I can get it out of my space.)

I visited the foredeck to make sure that everything was in order for the night. While I was there I looked at the spare headsail that has carried us so far and I had to admit that it looked pretty good. All the seams and the UV tape looked very good. I was looking at the right side of the sail where no repairs were made. But even the left side looks good, with the sail repair tape neatly in place where the patching was done. It certainly looks a lot better than the sail that I'm working on now. The sail is probably stronger than I think but I will keep fussing over it because the price if it fails could be high. On the way back I checked on Jeff's control lines and just as well. One had come loose probably would have led to steering failure during the night.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 74 - Through a Gale

2012-01-08T20:27:00.000-07:00

It was a rough night, with winds reaching gale force (upper 30's) for several hours.

I got a fright before midnight when I hear a new and frantic sound coming from the cockpit. I figured that something had parted. I jumped out of bed and slid back the hatch to have a look. It was only one end of the tarp covering the hole in the spray dodger that had come loose. I secured it under ropes but had to leave the companionway exposed to any water flying through that hole, which was the weather side. I went to bed feeling confident that the trysail would hold up well (after all, it isn't called a storm trysail for nothing) and the rigging would not be unduly stressed. I had done my best to prepare the deck cargo for the blow (e.g. extra lashing on the whisker pole) and felt that I was best off getting rest and leaving the boat to its fate. A lot of waves slammed into the hull and a lot of water washed over the deck. I had seen the hull being pounded so many times before that the noise and impact of the waves no longer bothered me. The deck awash was leading to a lot of dripping from the cabin hatch onto the port settee, and once in a while a drop of water would hit me as I slept on the starboard side. Soon after returning to bed after the 2.30 AM weather fax session we were hit extra hard by a well placed wave and water came gushing through the 2" gap in the companionway hatch. The shower curtain took the brunt of the water and the plastic bag over the computer handled the rest. Those two items without a doubt had saved the computer.

The weather fax showed that the center of a 972 hPa low was passing right over the boat. The doctrine is to run from bad weather if possible, but that isn't practical in a small boat. First of all, one would need state of the art weather reporting (or a weather routing service) to see one coming well ahead of time and next one would need the correct wind direction boat speed to effect a retreat.

I got out of bed at 6 AM and looked around. The boat was still sailing to the ESE at 1.5-2.0 knots. Peering trough the hatches and windows I could see that the trysail was fine and the fuel containers were still on the rails. I could not see the Zodiac but I was confident that it was OK because it was strapped 2 ft off the deck on the platform. The floor in the aft section of the cabin (galley and nav station) was fairly wet, and the bilge needed pumping.

Moving around the cabin in these rough conditions is very dangerous and should not be taken lightly because one tiny misstep can result your flying across the cabin causing personal injury or damage to equipment. I move around in a slow, measured, deliberate pace that is almost theatrical. Think of a rock wall climber gingerly working his way up the face of the cliff. I don't mind the theatrics given that I am the only audience. The important thing is to not get hurt.

By 7 AM the wind was down to the high 20's. According to the grib file it would continue weakening and veering, getting down to 17 knots at around midnight, then backing and rising again to the low 20's. I had requested a spot report for 52S, 90W and it predicted excellent sailing winds from the west for the following 4 days.

I figured that we might get hammered by one more gale before making the rounding, but we just might get lucky.

At 10.30 things had calmed down enough for me to venture topside. The wind was in the high teen and we were only rarely being slammed by big waves. Looking forward everything on the deck looked fine. The fuel containers on the starboard side had taken the brunt of the weather but they were still in place. However, most of the remaining starboard spray dodger window had been torn out. A new spray dodger was now on the agenda for South Africa.

I rolled out some jib then started the engine for a much welcome 2 hours of heat in the cabin. (It's amazing how well that heater dries out the cabin, and probably goes a long way to explaining the lack of mold in the boat.) Down below I saw that we were now making about 4 knots and we had lost much of our leeway and were now making directly to the Horn again. In the last 24 hours we had moved more east than I would have liked and when the wind veered I would follow it around to head more south.

At noon our position was 51S50, 091W01, giving us a n-n distance of 57 miles in the direction 098T. The barometer was up to 1011 hPa and there were patches of blue sky beginning to appear. We were slightly less than 900 miles from the Horn. The wind predictions had given me confidence that we would be making better progress in the next few days.

I woke up at 3 PM after a long nap and with the prospects of calmer weather I decided to spend a couple of hours sewing the headsail. In fact, I was at it for over four hours and to my amazement finished the first long run of sewing, which I carefully measured to be 11 ft long. The work was actually very relaxing (though hard on the hands) and for some reason warming to the point where I had to remove my jacket. The big problem is still getting the sail in and out of the forecastle. The sail is laminated with an internal webbing of some sort. This makes it very stiff and difficult to work with. It is unlikely that I would ever get this type of sail again. So today I worked on the lower part of the sail in the cabin with the rest of it snaking forward up to the forecastle. I'm going to try to figure out a way to keep the working end of the sail in the cabin by moving it from side to side depending on which bunk I am using. Once the repair is finished I will put in a lot of time to try to fold it neatly and perhaps even bag it. I do not expect that task to be easy.

The wind speed was supposed to bottom out at 17 knots and in fact dropped to half that speed, making the sails fret a bit, though we managed to keep moving, though sometimes as slow as 2.5 knots. However, the wind direction was good enough to give us a reasonable course to the SE. In the evening I was expecting the wind to back and strengthen to the low 20's.

I was looking forward to another radio session with my friend Jim on his boat in Fremantle. The session would begin at 4 AM boat time so I would simply stay up after the 2.30 AM weather fax session to eliminate any risk of oversleeping. I was now using the chart plotter's alarm system and it was very good.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 73 - Under 1000 miles

2012-01-07T20:14:00.000-07:00

We had a good night of sailing. The wind was supposed to strengthened to the mid 30's so I wound the headsail right back to 50 or 60 sq ft. This kept our speed down to less than 5 knots but our direction was excellent. The evening grib file predicted that the wind would back to the SW and strengthen to the high 30's (which makes it a gale, come to think of it) so I expected to put up the trysail during the day and will probably be forced to heave to because I certainly do not want to be sailing beam to a huge sea. I missed the 2.30 AM weather fax because once more the alarm clock ran slow. I am now using the chart plotter's alarm and have also set my watch alarm which I will keep just above the bunk.

I think that I figured out the discrepancies in distance and bearing between the electronic charts and the paper chart. I stumbled onto it when I used the "ruler" function of the chart plotter to get the distance and bearing of the Horn. It gave me a "great circle" curved line with an initial bearing to correspond to the start of the great circle. The chart plotter "great circle" data corresponded with the data presented by the Dave's laptop software. The paper chart of course deals solely with straight rhumb lines. Having said that, I notice that the discrepancies are diminishing as I close in on the Horn.

I'm now having to run the engine 2 hours per day because the wind charger is not working and the solar panels are not able to help without sunshine.

I had a busy early morning. One and a half hours into the engine run I decided to take advantage of the lull in the wind to put up the trysail. It would be handy to do it while the engine was running in case I needed to use it. I wondered if I could put up the trysail on the run, with the apparent wind coming from behind us at 15 knots. The wind would be pushing the sail forward as I tried to raise it, possibly binding the slides so that they would not move. But it was worth a try because this would save the trouble and unpleasantness of exposing the beam of the boat to the heavy swell during the turn into the wind and relying on the engine and Vistar the autopilot to keep the boat into the wind.

I am always apprehensive about doing things for the first time because it is so easy to fall into a trap but the plan worked out OK. The heavy rolling was a problem and I realized that if while working on the hoist I missed the shroud with my back on one of the rolls I would go over the side (held by my lifeline). I took up Jim Putts's idea taking a second safety line and looping it around my back and to the mast (gooseneck actually) and this held me close to the mast splendidly. I managed to get the sail up and when the sheets were set up I brought them on and the sail came back and filled beautifully. We were now running downwind with trysail and headsail, each with similar area. By then the wind had backed a bit more so I gybed the boat and put us on a COG of about 125T. In time the wind would back to the SW and strengthen to gale force. While doing the gybe I had to go to the foredeck to free a snagged jib sheet and while there I shook the jury rig forestay and noted with great pleasure that it was nice and firm. At the end of all this it was only 8 AM. I made a hot cocoa pleased that the boat was set up for the coming winds.

I'll now give the obvious advice to anyone planning a long passage to take spare wire and bulldog clamps. In Fremantle I foolishly allowed the rigger to talk me out of taking the old rigging as spares, much to my regret. If you can take one of each stay, great. If not, at least take a coil of wire the thickness of your rigging. And always take plenty of bulldog clamps.

At noon our position was 51S42, 092W32, giving us a n-n distance of 93 miles in the direction 102T. In 24 hours the barometer had fallen 21 points to 993 hPa. The sky was overcast and drizzly. According to the paper chart we were 940 miles from the Horn.

The wind was late in coming. We ran before a 10-12 kt breeze just barely able to keep the sails happy. At 3 PM I woke up from a nap and found that the wind had backed 20 degrees, so I was able to ease off the wind, roll out a generous amount of headsail, taking our speed from 2 kt to over 4 kt. I sat at the companionway sheltered behind the spray dodger keeping an eye on things, because I knew that change was coming. At 5 PM the wind was up to 17 and 18 knots so I rolled in more sail, keeping our speed at about 4.5 kts. We were laying the turning point to Cape Horn nicely. The plan was simple: keep rolling in headsail as the wind built up then go only with the trysail. I was wondering how long we'd be able to sail beam on to the wind before being forced to heave to. I noticed on the chart plotter Isla Wellington and Arch de la Reina Adelaida. The British had been here.

At 8 PM the wind was approaching 30 kt so I rolled in the rest of the headsail. I was anxious to see how the boat would behave and if Jeff would need readjustment to cope with the new sail plan. Jeff dealt with it fine, though we were now slightly into the wind rather than abeam, but that was good because it improved our direction. I flattened the trysail slightly using both sheets. The heading was excellent but the boat speed had dropped to 2 knots due to the loss of drive from the headsail. This accentuated the lee effect of the wind and waves pushing us to the side, so that we were laying a course to Tierra del Fuego rather than the Horn. I didn't mind. At least we were moving and in sort of the right direction. The important thing was that both the boat and her skipper were comfortable.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 72 - On the Move

2012-01-06T19:30:00.000-07:00

The boat sailed to the SE all night and I managed to spend over 10 hours in the cot. I felt that I needed rest so all I had was a cup of cocoa for dinner and went straight to bed at about 9 PM. Before retiring I rolled in a little more of the headsail out of concern for an unexpectred wind change during the night, yet the boat still moved satisfactorily at over 3 knots. The evening grib file indicated that the wind would veer toward the north and strengthen through the day, reaching a hefty 28 knots. It would be all downwind work using the headsail. I would drop the whisker pole at about noon in anticipation of the strengthening wind. The 2.30 AM weather fax showed a more conventional picture of a big high to the north and a low to the west, working together to provide the westerly winds for us.

During the evening's Sailmail session I got the great news that Matt had made it around the Horn, along with a copy of his blog entry of the achievement. Learning that he made the rounding lifted my spirits, for his sake and also probably because it was a very encouraging reminder that it is there, it is real, it is close, and it can be done. What a tough and proficient sailor he is. What attitude. Anybody sailor who thinks that gales in a 27 ft boat can be fun is very special indeed.

But on a sadder note this is part of a message that I received from friends in San Diego: "Just saw in Lectronic Latitude that the Westsail 32 "TLC" with the 84 year old gentlemen headed for the Horn was dismasted about 500 miles from Easter Island ...not sure which direction. He is fine but help is headed his way." It looks like he will be OK, which is the most important thing. I wondered how he got out his distress message without a mast to support his HF antenna. Maybe he used his EPIRB to attract attention. The "Lectronic Latitude" is I think the internet version of the publication "Latitude 38" for anyone who wants to look up the story.

At 9 AM I went topside to fire up the engine and have a look around. The headsail was happily pulling the boat along and everything else looked OK. In contrast with the previous day of more relaxed and carefree sailing under sunny, dry, and gentle conditions, this day had reverted to the usual overcast and drizzle. I was back to the wet weather regime: hatches down and locked, companionway closed when not in use, nav station shower curtain back up, and full wet weather gear when going on deck. There would be no refueling operation today but I planned to bake bread. I was now wearing two sets of track suit bottoms over the Icebraker body stocking and would add the heavy navy wool sweater over my chest if I got chilly.

After shutting down the engine I visited the foredeck with two large adjustable wrenches. As I expected the jury rig forestay was loose. I gave it 6 turns of the screw. Both parts of the stay had been coiled and bent so I figured that it would take a few days to straighten out the kinks. There was still 1" of adjustment in the bottle screw.

Just before the noon report I decided that it was time to gybe the boat. Our heading was 160T though our COG was better at about 145T. That meant dropping the whisker pole. I eased the jib sheet then at the mast used the cord to open the latch at the outer end of the pole, but try as I may I could not get the pole off the sheet. I went back to the cockpit to try an idea from Bob Carrol and rolled in the headsail completely. This took the end of the pole forward toward the headstay, so I eased the jib sheet and "klunk", the pole dropped onto the deck. Easy. I freed everything up, lashed the pole, and returned to the cockpit pleased that without sail we had kept making way and Jeff had continued to steer us. I took over, gybed the boat then set it up on its new heading, and when I made it to the chart plotter I saw that we were on a very good course of 100T, good enough to lay Tierra del Fuego if not quite the Horn. However, the wind was forecast to veer toward the NW and strengthen, so eventually I would have to actually ease off the wind in order to lay the Horn. With only 1/3 of the headsail rolled out and running before a moderate wind of 15 knots we were making 4.5 knots, no doubt aided by the current. I'd like to have been more aggressive about our boat speed but I did not want to risk damaging the headsail.

At noon our position was 51S22, 094W58, giving us a n-n distance of 67 miles. The direction had been very good at 136T, almost exactly SE. The barometer was at 1014 hPa and falling. According to the paper chart we were 1075 miles from the Horn. The chart plotter and laptop software put us at less that 1020 miles from the Horn. Either way, we were approaching a milestone.

It turned out to be a superb afternoon of sailing. The wind direction held steadier than I had expected and until 8 PM we were averaging about 4.5 knots on a course within 10 degrees of the Horn. According the the previous night's grib file the wind party would be over at about midnight. However, I was looking forward to this night's grib file which I would download at about 9 PM.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 71 - Autopilot Working, Inner Forestay in Place

2012-01-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

The evening grib file predicted weak southerly winds throughout the coming day veering to a weak WNW at the following midnight that would gradually strengthen to 13 knots on midday of day 72. At 10 PM I used the remaining light of the day to drop the mainsail and bind it up firmly around the boom. Lying ahull presented no rolling problems in the calm sea.

So this was going to be another day of no progress. The low pressure area to our north that had caused these adverse wind conditions had not moved but rather almost dissipated in situ, now having a pressure of l009 hPa. The low seemed to have been formed, lived, and died wedged in the band of high's stretching across lat 40S. I had learned a hard lesson on the weather patterns in this part of the world.

But the sea was calm and the sky clear enough to promise a bright and sunny day. Over coffee I decided to make the best of the calm conditions. I opened both hatches for the first time in weeks in order to air and dry out the boat. During the day I would put out damp items for drying in the sun. (Surprisingly, there is no visible mold anywhere inside the cabin.) I would have loved to do some clothes washing but couldn't spare the water. Much as I wanted to continue with the sewing, I thought that I could make better use of the conditions.

The first thing that I would do would be to clear the passage area between the quarter berths of the empty water containers. This would give me access to the space under the cockpit to see if there may happen to be a loose wire to the autopilot's linear drive. It was a long shot but a comment in some material that Stephen had sent me on the problem mentioned a lose connection in that area. If I got lucky then I was fairly sure that the problem of the wind data not displaying on the chart plotter would also be resolved.

Next would be the wind data problem. The previous evening I had loosened the instrument panel above the companionway and found that both the wind and depth instruments were working fine and the sturdy cable that daisy chained them to the Seatalk network were firmly in place. This day I would track the Seatalk link through the closet behind the nav station. I was fairly sure that the culprit was the autopilot computer because I recalled how it had knocked out the entire Seatalk network for a while. If it came to that I would try to bypass the autopilot altogether, but I had to be careful because the chart plotter's GPS data passed through the autopilot computer.

After that I would explore an idea I had about reinstating an inner forestay to support the mast.

Sometime in the afternoon I would do a fuel transfer. As I had explained before, the fuel is safer in the main tanks than on the deck, and there are fewer moisture problems with full fuel tanks. And then there was the next loaf of bread to be baked. If there was time I would do some more sewing.

I would try to get an early night in order to be prepared for downwind sailing using the whisker pole at around midnight.

I performed the first task in the plan and GOT THE AUTOPILOT WORKING. YIPPPPPPEEEEEE! I went into the below cockpit section and had a look and pull at the connections and nothing seemed amiss. I removed the cover of the connection block for the power and ground of the linear drive then decided to first shut down the chart plotter and throw the breakers of it and the autopilot. That's when I got the first scent of success. The chart plotter was down to its last seconds of countdown before shutdown and I caught a glimpse of wind data being displayed in the corner of the screen. I went back below and reseated the power and earth wires then reseated a pair of thin wires in another connection block. I powered up the chart plotter and saw the rede line of the boat's heading being displayed for the first time in weeks. That meant that the chart plotter was getting data from the flux gate compass, which passed through the autopilot computer. I went to the binnacle and saw that the autopilot was in "standby" mode, not error mode. I engaged it and could see the wheel being moved in small steps by the linear drive. At this point everything was back to normal: the autopilot was working, the chart plotter could see the boat heading, and the wind data was being displayed. I realized afterwards that those two small wires that I had reseated went back to the autopilot display/control at the binnacle, and I suspect that these connections were the culprit.

This came out of one comment in lots of information that Stephen, Brenda's son, had sent to me from research into my problem that he had done on the internet. My thanks go to Stephen and I hope that he gets a buzz from knowing the significant help he's given to this lone sailor in one of the most remote parts of the ocean.

I the had a look at the inner forestay problem. Often it takes a while for memories to bubble up to the surfacer of my mindf. I remembered on two occasions sailors describing how they did emergency rigging repairs using spare wire and bulldog clamps. In the hold I had two D1 stays which were in good condition but changed on the advice of the rigger in Hawaii. The were completely intact, including bottle screws for adjusting the tightness. The damaged forestay was still hanging from the tang above the first crosstree. As far as I knew, the upper end of the stay was in good condition because the loadings on it had been much less harsh than on the lower end. So the plan was to see if I could cut off the lower, damaged part of the stay, cut a section of the lower end of one of the spare D1 stays, and marry them up using bulldog clamps.

The first task was to find the bulldog clamps. I have to credit myself with the prescience of purchasing a good supply of bulldog clamps in La Paz, and I found 10 of them in my stores in two different sizes. I'd have to do some wire cutting so next I found the new hacksaw blades which I had also purchased in La Paz and put one on the hacksaw. Then I dug out the spare D1's from storage and at this point I had the main ingredients for doing the job. I went to the mast to free the damaged stay, mark it for cutting, and measuring the resultant gap between the cut and the deck fitting. I had to be careful because the stay was bristling with broken wires and one false move and it could spring or swing and slice my face open like a sharp knife. I wore gloves and safety glasses. I marked the stay for cutting, established that the gap to the deck fitting was 40". I figured that a 2' overlap of the wires would be sufficient which meant that I would mark the D1 for cutting off the bottom 64". I put bulldog clamps at the point of the cuts. This provided a guide for the hacksaw, a better place for me to hold the wire during the cut, and prevented the cut wires from splaying out. I made the cuts, wound back the bottle screw as much as I dared, then joined the wires to yield a total length just long enough to reach the deck fitting. I used 5 bulldog clamps over the 2' span of the join. I placed the outer ones as close to the ends of the cut off wires as possible in order to prevent the headsail from being damaged as it swept across the stay during tacks. For good measure I put another clamp adjacent to each end one, just outside the overlap, to eliminate any possibility of the sail coming into contact with the end of the cut wires. I then tightened the bulldog clamps several times to make sure that they were very tight. I connected the stay to the deck fitting using the same shackle that I had used before, tightened the bottle screw until the tension on the mast was as I wanted it, and I could see that I still had about 1.5 inches of adjustment left in the bottle screw. Then I checked the bulldog clamps yet again for tightness. Finally I moused the lower shackle and that was it. I was pretty sure that the composite stay would successfully play its role of giving support to the mast. I gave a prayer of thanks for the success of the morning's endeavors then put everything away and cleaned the cabin. At 1 PM I was eating lunch and thinking of a nap.

While I was eating lunch I thought of how this enforced time out that the winds had bestowed on me had led me to address three of the major equipment problems of the boat: the autopilot, the inner forestay, and the damaged headsail which I had started to sew. You never know, maybe it was all meant to be.

At noon our position was 50S33, 096Wl2, giving us a n-n distance of 18 miles in the direction 063T.

At 2 PM the nap had to be postponed because I noticed a weak but steady wind from the WSW. With the sea so calm I figured that we could carry sail with the 7 or 8 knot breeze. I put up the trysail, rolled out some headsail, and soon we were making 2 knots on course 135T. This was the first time we had sailed toward the SE since before the gale.

I rose from the cot at 5 PM and made a cup of tea in preparation for the whisker pole operation. I started off by lubricating the latch at one end and piston at the other with WD40. I then raised the mast ring 6 inches. I then took up Bob Carroll's suggestion and tied a long cord to the release mechanism of the latch, which would be at the sheet end of the pole. The following wind was light so I managed to set up the pole without dramas. We were still running too far off the wind and I realized that I would need to drop the trysail in order to be able to run more downwind. But first I needed to run the engine because I had been too busy in the morning to do it. Jeff had trouble steering the boat with the light following wind and the propeller boosting us along so I engaged Vistar the autopilot then went down below. 30 minutes later I noticed that we were off course and sure enough Vistar had disengaged without any alarm that I had heard. (A tiny beep can be heard at the autopilot control at the binnacle, but you've got to be there to hear it.) Like any old friend Vistar still had his faults but I was nevertheless happy to have him back as crew rather than passenger.

The engine run would finish after 7 PM, it had been a productive but hard day and I felt a bit washed out, so I decided to postpone the refueling operation to the following day. The bread making would wait too. Fortunately I had just enough bread remaining for breakfast.

After the engine run I dropped the trysail and packed it away.

I solved the mystery of why we were headed more east than our actual COG, as though a current was pushing us to the west rather than the east. The chart plotter was set up with a compass variation of 12W. In this part of the ocean the variation is a whopping 28E. I made the change and the the display made sense. We were being pushed about 15 degrees to the east by the current. I did not roll out any headsail after dropping the trysail to minimize the stress on the sail in the event of an unintended gybe. Besides, the wind was supposed to pick up during the night. It took a bit of effort but finally I set Jeff up to steer us close enough to the wind so that we went into the night on a course of 110T, directly for the Horn, at 3.5 knots.

This day had changed my prospects beyond all expectations.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 70 - Sewing While Waiting

2012-01-04T19:41:00.000-07:00

The situation yesterday evening was exactly the same at that of the previous evening: a SE wind that rendered beating to weather pretty much a waste of time. I would be pounding the boat for an extra 2 knots a good 60 degrees off target. I simply rolled in the headsail and let the boat creep along quietly at less than 1.5 kt and pointed to the NE. This rendered the boat very comfortable throughout the night. It rock and rolled gently with the occasional sound of swishing water as the bow came down, and the light hum of the 20 kt wind through the rigging. I had a couple of drinks, had a great spaghetti dinner, watched a movie I hadn't seen before, "The 13th Warrier" with Antonio Banderas, which in enjoyed very much, then had another great night in the cot.

Last night's grib file indicated another day of SE winds that would die to nothing in the middle of the following night. The 2.30 AM weather fax showed the high still to our NNW. It had moved about 10 degrees of longitude to the east in the previous 24 hours, but that still left it above us. In the morning I saw for the third day the same wind situation and saw no justification for either tacking or beating to weather. It was all disappointing but I was calm and complacent to the point where some might judge me derelict. But ranting and raving and railing against the weather gods would do no good and the best thing to do, in my opinion, was to take care of the boat and make myself as comfortable as possible. The weather in this part of the world was so dynamic and unstable that there had to come a change sooner rather than later.

It was another grey day and the temperature in the cabin at 7 AM was 48F.

At noon our position was 50S41, 096W37, for a n-n distance of 37 miles 057T. We were 20 miles further north and 24 hours ago. The wind was still from the SE.

I decided to do something useful and dragged out the headsail to be repaired. I got out the sail repair kit and rummaged at the back until I found the little book "Sailmaking" which has a small section on repairs and stitching. I started work at the leech and found that part of the sail in worse shape than I had expected. The material itself had degenerated and torn, and there was some delamination. Nevertheless I persevered and by the end of the day I hoped to have that section sewn. Ahead would be two sewing runs of 13 ft each. However, the material along those runs was in good shape it would easier to line it up for sewing. Also there is a run of several feet where the UV cover has separated from the leech. However, I had to look at this as a project, where I would do a bit of repair here and there whenever I got the chance. If I managed to put enough stitching in the sail to think that it would have a chance I'd put repair tape over the runs. In the meantime I'd have to figure out how to get the sail in and out of the V berth area quickly. The sail is heavy, huge, and seems to fill the entire cabin.

I really got into the sewing and put in about 6 hours. I got in trouble with the first of those long runs because I had trouble keeping the two overlapping sides lined up. The sail is very stiff, with an internal layer of some sort of matting which gives its strength but makes it very difficult to work with. The project was in jeopardy until I changed the method of stitching. I had been trying to duplicate the zig zag stitching of two layers overlapping by about 1/2". I switched to what the book calls "round seam stitch" where I put the material side by side with their edges together. I then round and round the edges. I don't know if this is structurally as sound as overlapping but it presented some significant advantages. To start with I was able to achieve beautiful alignment. Also, I could put in a lot more stitches per inch. I'm also putting on double stitches. I was having trouble with a single thread because I had trouble keeping the thread in the needle. What I did was to pass a thread and cut it so that it was the same length on each side of the eye then tie the ends in a knot, making a loop with the knot at the bottom. This helped me to get the initial thread well anchored, eliminated problems with losing the thread, and allowed me to sew a double thread with each pass. I'm working at the rate of about a foot per hour on those long runs, which means that I've got about 30 hours of sewing ahead of me.

And will it all work? I can't be sure because I don't have any guide posts by which to judge what I'm doing. My plan is to keep stitching and stitching and stitching and if the time comes to put the sail up I'll be psychologically ready for anything from sail self destruction in 20 minutes to exemplary duty for the rest of the voyage. ... The work is very hard on the hands and Captain Morgan is helping to soothe the pain.

In the early afternoon the sky cleared and the bright sun emerged. There were clouds but they were the big puffy friendly white variety. The sea was blue and relatively calm. The barometer was up to 1013 hPa. The conditions would have suited a weekend fun sail off Fremantle, Port Townsend, San Francisco, San Diego, or wherever. I took a break and enjoyed the sunshine over a cup of tea and muesli bar but otherwise eschewed the delights of the afternoon in order to attend to the sail.

The wind had died down to 10 knots but was still stubbornly from the SE. Then I noticed that the wind information was not appearing on the chart plotter. The display over the companionway entrance was working fine. I restarted the chart plotter and the ST60 wind instrument but that did not help. It looked like a Seatalk connection problem that would have to wait until tomorrow.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 69 - Stalled

2012-01-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

The 2.30 AM weather fax confirmed my suspicion. A low had formed and strengthened to the north of us and we had been caught in the easterly winds of it clockwise rotation. The grib file showed the center of the low passing directly over Pachuca during the coming day, with the winds at 50S from the NW and at 52S from the SE. Grib files cannot be that accurate which meant that I could expect anything from the wind. To me it looked like a messy weather situation that may not resolve itself for days.

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.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 68 - Dismal Progress

2012-01-02T16:07:00.000-07:00

We spent a quiet night bobbing around like a cork in the lumpy sea. At 6 AM boat time the wind was less than 6 knots. The latest weather fax showed that there were two small lows in my area, and it looked like they would pass over me one after the other.
Before nightfall I removed the trysail from the boom and bagged it up. The idea was to save time in the morning when it was time to put up the mainsail.
\
With some precise times and locations that I had recorded I used the chart plotter in the morning to establish that the boat had drifted 3.79 miles in the direction 107T over the period of 13 hours. The direction was good, toward the Horn, but the rate of drift was a disappointing 0.29 knots.

If the grib file was to be believed, I would get head winds (from the east) in several hours, and this wind would slowly back to the NE, N, NW over the subsequent 24 hours. This meant that I could expect to raise a sail on the mast for the first time in days. I preferred raising the storm trysail but the grib file indicated that we would pass through rain and I decided to give myself the opportunity of collecting rain water by raising the mainsail to one reef. Hours after the rain I would probably have to put in the second reef, which should be sufficient in winds not expected to top 26 knots. However, grib files had gotten it wrong before and if the wind approached 30 kts I was prepared to drop the mainsail altogether and run with jib only.

What not raising the trysail would rob me of was the opportunity of attempting to heave to properly if the wind exceeded 30 knots. I remembered that we had heaved to very well using the staysail during a gale off the Oregon coast, but it was working with the double reefed mainsail. The other day when the staysail was paired with the much smaller trysail the results had been dismal, with the boat riding almost beam to the wind. I was hoping that the trysail alone would be sufficient for heaving to when the need arrived.

It would have been good to have taken the opportunity of doing some chores during the becalming, but there was still too much rolling going on for going up the mast to drop that damaged forestay, and it was too damp to attempt a refueling operation.

At 7.30 AM the wind came, a bit earlier than I had expected but I was not complaining. At 8 AM I went on deck and after freeing up the mainsail, halyard, and boom I started the engine to help me point the boat into the wind while I raised the mainsail. By using the wheel behind me to keep the boat into the wind I raised the sail to its first reef with surprising ease. I then set up Jeff to do the steering, rolled out a bit of headsail, and watched the boat settle down on a course of 180T. We were hard to the wind on a port tack but I expected the boat to alter heading to port and hence toward the Horn as the wind backed. Our speed wasn't great, at less than 4 kt even with engine support, but the wind wasn't yet very strong. It was a start. I would run the engine for 1.5 hours to charge up the batteries a bit extra. At the prime space in front of the heater I placed all of the damp ropes that had restrained the mainsail and boom.

Three hours later and the wind was still coming from the direction of Cape Horn, but it had strengthened to over 15 knots and the seas were building up. I wasn't interested in beating the boat hard to weather in order to go south a little bit faster so I shortened sail to the second reef and rolled in some headsail. Our speed went down from 4 kt to 3 kt but the boat was riding better. I was anxiously looking for the predicted wind shift because up to now we had not been closing the distance to the Horn.

At noon our position was 50S52, 097W36, giving us a n-n distance of 21 miles in the direction 145. Very discouraging, but I had no other choice than to persevere.

At 2 PM the wind still had not backed. My track since the start of sailing in the morning was 185T against a persistent SE wind that I considered unusual at this latitude. I figured that I would not be much worse off by tacking so I wore ship and put us on a starboard track. We were now on course 070, representing a terrible 115 degree spread. Not that it mattered a lot. The boat was moving very comfortable but making only 2 knots. Nevertheless the change cheered me up a bit and besides, I didn't want to go further south at this point.

At 4 PM I was feeling pretty low. I had experienced a horrible night running to the south before a gale only to fall into two wasted days of either becalming or highly unusual winds right on the nose from the SE. I called a Time Out and hove to, sort of. I couldn't see the point in pounding 60 degrees off my destination and I didn't like the way the headsail would luff every few minutes, no matter how reasonably far I went off the wind. So I rolled in the headsail, left the double reefed mainsail up, and left Jeff engaged to see what would happen. The boat got into a sort of crawling heave to situation, still creeping in the same NE direction but at only 1.3 knots. The boat was 60 degrees off the wind, quiet, steady, with a happy mainsail.

I would try go put aside my frustration and have a quiet and restful night to be ready for the next sailing opportunity.

Grrrrr!

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 67 - New Years Day 2012

2012-01-01T15:34:00.000-07:00

It was a rough night. The wind stayed at Force 7 (up to 33 knots)until well past dawn, and we were copping a huge swell from the south, where no doubt the wind was stronger. I manage to capture the first weather fax in two days and sure enough there was a deep low of 965 hPa less than 5 degrees (300 miles) to the south. During that fax session we got hit by a wave and got the worst invasion of spray into the cabin that I had seen so far, possibly because I had removed the tarp from the spray dodger. The shower curtain saved the day, but water then began to drip from the corner of the ceiling onto the navigation desk. A few drops of water hit the mouse pad area of the keyboard before I managed to cover the laptop with the plastic garbage bag. There was no damage other than to my nerves, but it was a strong reminder that I must keep the laptop protected especially when taking rough weather off the starboard quarter. The evening grib file had predicted that the wind would start veering toward the north then die down at about 6 PM of this day and enter a period of confusion, becoming a weak easterly after midnight. Yuk! However, the weather fax gave me a sliver of hope that as the low moved to the SE I would come under the westerly sector of its winds. So far I had seen no evidence of the wind veering. Rather, it had backed a bit putting me on a course averaging about 155T.

The Horn was 120T from my position and we had sailed all night at 160T, 40 degrees off the ideal. The problem was that I could not sail too close to the wind behind me because at, say, 20 degrees off the wind one of those big waves would soon corkscrew the boat, back winding the sail, and heaving us to beam on to the wind until I could free Jeff. Forty degrees off the wind was the best I could do and with a tacking spread of 80 degrees a gybe would have put us on course 80-90T. Yes, that would be no farther off target than the present course - maybe even slightly closer - but comforting as it would feel to get closer to the continent I felt that I would be better off continuing down into the 50's latitudes where the current would be stronger and would branch to the south instead of the north as we approached the continent. Besides, Ocean Passages stated that this was the way to go.

At times like this one has to look at the positives and I must say that the boat had taken care of itself admirably throughout the night. Jeff manage to always return to course during the violent gyrations and the headsail held up superbly. Through the windows and hatches I could see nothing out of place and I would confirm this with a visit to the deck later in the day when things were expected to be calmer. Having said that, Knox-Johnson was right in his observation that this is a God-awful part of the ocean to be got past as soon as possible.

This morning illustrates the routine that I have adopted in these high latitudes.

The first thing I did when after getting up in the morning was to look at our course on the chart plotter to make sure that there were no surprises. I then had 3 coffees in quick succession while I sat at the nav table studying the situation on the chart plotter, ie position, boat course and speed, wind speed, and most important when running downwind, the boat's angle on the wind. (The angle on the wind let's me know what scope there may be for adjusting our course.)

Then I had my single daily squat over the grey bucket, which was resting on a non skid pad at the entrance to the quarter berth area hemmed in aft and on each side by bulkheads and the engine cover. (So what? Most of the world squats.) Then I suited up right over the clothes that I wear day in and day out. I put on the wet weather trousers, with its suspenders and high bib. Then the sea boots went on, carefully strapping the trouser hems tightly around the boots. Then on went the wet weather jacket, hood up, zipped right up to the chin, and tight around the wrists. Finally, the safety harness.

Then I got on my knees on the engine cover and slid back the hatch and removed the vertical panel. Next I put the waste bucket very carefully on a non skid pad on the engine cover, resting against the side rail. Then I got the bucket out and threw its contents overboard.

That done I proceeded to what has become my favorite part of the day: running the engine. I started off by checking the decks and water to make sure that there was no line overboard. Then I activated the control panel and moved the lever from reverse to neutral so that I could start the engine immediately after opening the exhaust valve. I opened the exhaust valve in two stages: (1) moved the lever (2) had a second independent look and told an imaginary person "Yes, I am looking at the lever and it is in the open position." (That may seem like a silly thing to do but I have had cases where I blindly flipped a ball cock lever thinking that I had opened it when in fact I had closed it because I had forgotten to close it the previous time. The important thing is the engine's welfare and I don't care what silly mind games I must play to achieve it.)

Before leaving the cockpit I had a look forward and everything seemed in order. Down below I set the timer for 1 hour because these days I enjoy the warmth of the heater so much that I am prone to conveniently forget to turn off the engine. Then I switched on the heater, draped the wet weather jacket over the end of the cabin table to capture some of the heat, put on the kettle for another cup of coffee, then kneeled in front of the heater warming up my icy hands. An hour later the timer went off, I went up and saw that it had started drizzling again, but at least the swell had dropped a but. I turned off the engine, deactivated the control panel, and shut off the all important exhaust valve. I then put the lever into reverse (so that the propeller shaft does not turn while making way) and tied the reminder cord between the lever and the control panel cover. I then returned to the cabin to enjoy the remaining heat while folding up the bedding in the starboard bunk and placing it in the forward half, away from the occasional drips at the aft end.

Then I saw that the wind had dropped below 20 knots our boat speed was down to 2.7 knots. Time to roll out more sail. After doing that I returned to the cabin for breakfast of hot buttered toast. (Yum!)

Before noon I went out and rolled out more sail. Our course was now 145T and we were making about 3 knots in a weakening wind which was now below 15 knots. I visited the mast and found that the Zodiac was still secure as were all of the fuel containers on the weather side that had taken the beating over night. Nothing else appeared to be amiss. I watched the sea birds flying around and doing their thing. They are almost constant companions now, and appear to be the same type as I've been seeing since the equator. I find it settling to watch them flying around in gales with no concern whatsoever about the weather. On the way back to the cockpit I put more lashings around the storm trysail, which is tied to the boom. Back at the cockpit I reinstated the spray dodger tarp which I should not have removed in the first place.

At noon our position was 50S35, 097W55, giving us a n-n distance of 85 miles in the direction 160T. The paper chart had me 1170 miles from the Horn. The paper chart had me 1170 miles from the Horn. The chart plotter and laptop software had me closer: 1125 and 1134 miles respectively. I had crossed the path of Matt, who was more than 6 days ahead of me and headed more to the east. The last 24 hours had been useful in improving my position further to the south, but I was now looking forward to making progress directly toward the Horn to close in on it more rapidly.

As if the divas had heard my wish, 30 minutes later I detected a subtle wind shift that had us heading directly south. I decided that a gybe would be worth a try because in the light wind it was easy enough to do. I gybed the boat, put Jeff in control of the rudder, then came down and got a very pleasant surprise from the chart plotter. We were on a course actually south of the Horn. I must have been sailing closer the wind than I had thought. I could afford to adjust Jeff to put us a little bit more off the wind, then I rolled out a bit more sail. That put us on a course almost directly to Cape Horn making 3.5 knots. That bolstered my spirits, even though I knew that it probably wouldn't last. At 3 PM the wind had weakened and the sail was fretting. It was the same old problem of a weak wind on a rolling sea. I countered by going 10 more degrees off the wind and rolling in sail. This put us on a course slightly north of the Horn with a dismal speed of 2.2 knots. If the grib file was correct I would be spending the night becalmed then putting up the trysail in the morning for some beating and reaching. Grrr! Time for cup of tea.

At 4 PM I rolled in what little sail was out and we lay ahull. We were in fog with visibility of about 2 miles. Even without sail we were drifting toward the southern end of the continent at about 0.8 knots. The grib file showed us at the center of a low of 998 hPa at midnight. I didn't know if the previous night's low had overtaken us or this was a very local phenomenon. I may as well make the best of it and have a relaxing and restful night to be ready for the next series of winds.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 66 - New Years Eve Gale

2011-12-31T19:49:00.000-07:00

I got lucky with the wind last night. At 11 PM I was all prepared for bed and did one final check of the situation to find the boat pointing north and on the wrong tack. I suited up and went to the cockpit and found that the wind had died and Jeff had lost steerage. I managed to get the boat moving again but could not go to sleep until the wind decided what to do. After 30 minutes of watching over a cup of cocoa I was still seeing wind speeds of 8 and 7 knots so went up to roll in the sail and lay ahull so that I could get some sleep while the wind made up its mind. Fortunately I had held off long enough to see a flicker of life in the wind when I got topside. Soon the wind was up to 11 and 12 knots, I rolled out a bit of sail, and set a course of SE. The wind was supposed to veer back to the NW during the night but at 2.30 AM we were still on the same course. I woke up at 6.30 AM expecting to find us headed the wrong way but to my surprise the wind had remained steady and we had been making 3 knots roughly toward the Horn all night. The day's n-n number would not be as bad as I had expected it to be

Just before noon the wind strengthened to gusts of over 30 knots so I rolled in half of the sail and would have gotten a heavy drenching had I not been fully suited up, including hood. This left us doing 5 knots on course SSE. At this point I could have gybed and headed east but my preference was bias to the south until we reached 52-53S.

At noon our position was 49S16, 98W42, giving us a n-n distance 77 miles in the direction 122T. We were 1260 miles from the Horn.

At 3 PM I went to the cockpit because Jeff was slowly giving ground and putting us on a beam reach. The wind was up in the high 30's classifying it as a Force 8 gale, complete with huge seas breaking here and there. There hadn't been much headsail showing but I managed to wind in even more, leaving about 40 sq ft. Then I noticed a bow in the leech of the sail and saw that the sheet car was positioned all of the way aft on the track. Somehow I managed to kick the car half way up the track, which wasn't easy because I was on the leeward side of the deck and the car was under load. It was a needless drama that could have been avoided had I thought ahead. I immediately went to the starboard side and positioned that car properly for when I gybed the boat. With the shortened sail the boat rode easier - as easy as could be expected under the circumstances. We were essentially running before the gale, taking the sea on the starboard quarter on course 160T. According to the grib file, which had not predicted the intensity of the wind, I could not expect relief for another 12 hours.

Undoubtedly there was a low south of us, but unfortunately I did not have the latest weather fax because the radio reception on the previous night had been the worst for weeks. I hadn't even been able to get good voice reception from Australia or New Zealand.

I removed the tarp over the broken spray dodger window. The wind had pushed part of it through the hole in the window and I was afraid that the stress would enlarge the hole. There had been no danger of losing the tarp because I had a difficult time in removing it from around the frame of the dodger.

Mercifully relief came before 12 hours. The wind began to abate almost imperceptibly in the late afternoon, and at 8 PM it was down to the high 20's which seemed downright calm after the earlier winds. It had not changed direction and we went into the night on course 160T at 3 knots. I was hoping for a quiet and uneventful night.

New Years Day would see me still 1200 miles from the Horn but I didn't mind the longer than expected passage, as long as we got there.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 65 - Oblique Sailing, Oblique Estimate

2011-12-30T19:56:00.000-07:00

It was a rough but OK night. The wind was stronger than I had expected, with bouts in the high 20's. I had a bit more headsail than I would have liked, but I never saw the boat speed exceed 6 knots and the sail looked OK when I checked it through the cabin hatch using a spotlight. (The deck light is on the fritz.) But all night (and so far this morning) we were in huge seas and under a constant barrage of big waves slamming into the starboard side of the boat.

The cabin is getting damper every day. Whenever a big volume of water sweeps over the hatches they both drip - not a lot, just a few drips, but it adds up over time. The forward hatch is an otherwise excellent Maxwell with four clamps instead of the usual two that Arnold and I installed in New Zealand. But even as we were installing it I noticed that the rubber seal was not molded for the hatch but appeared to be a straight one that had been bent around the corners, where there were wrinkles. The main hatch is the original Lewmar. It drips only in very heavy weather and I don't think that it is worth replacing - and as I learned from the Maxwell, even a new hatch can drip.

There is dripping into the middle of the cabin from the two Dorade vents that are normally excellent but give problems in very heavy weather. Some of this moisture seems to work its way along the ceiling causing a bit of dripping from the corners above the windows and onto the aft half of the bunks.

Water works its way from the companionway along the ceiling and drips occasionally on the nav table.

Some of the dripping could be from condensation from my breathing and the 8 or 10 kettles of water that I boil a day, not to mention the meals that I prepare.

I've noticed a bit of moisture along the side of the starboard quarter berth section. It could be coming in from the "seabird" vent that I blocked up with plastic in tape. It does not appear to be serious and has not affected the cargo.

Then there is the water that I bring in with my wet clothes.

Overall it isn't as big a problem as it may sound. After all, my food stores are dry, most of my clothes are dry, my vital electronic and electrical equipment is intact, and I sleep in warm and dry bedding. I am not particularly upset because this boat has been under huge assaults from the sea.

I had noticed at 2.30 AM that the boat was headed a bit more south than I would have liked. This morning I had a close look at the wind numbers on the chart plotter and could see that there was room for sailing more downwind. I suited up and went into the cockpit to (1) adjust Jeff to run more downwind (2) roll in a little bit of headsail (3) start the engine. When I got a good look at the sail from the cockpit I could see that there really wasn't that much sail out and as usual I had magnified the danger in my head during the night. Nevertheless I decide to roll in a bit of sail and instead of rounding up to the wind to luff the sail, thereby exposing the boat to broadsides from the big swells, I made the adjustment to Jeff to run close to the wind and coordinated the pulls on the roller line with the boat rolls and slight fluttering of the leech of the sail. This worked fine.

Then I started the engine. It would be a 2-hour run because for 2 days there had been no sunlight on the solar panels and the wind charger was out of action. Of course I welcomed the heat in the cabin.

It looked like another front had passed over us. The sky was clearing and the air crisp. It had been a rough night but the n-n number was going to be pretty good.

At mid morning I baked my first loaf of bread in 5 or 6 days. I really didn't feel like kneading the dough in the rough conditions but I did have a craving for buttered bread.

At noon we were at position 48S34, 100W21, giving us a n-n distance of 102 miles in the direction of 117T. We were 1320 miles from the Horn and 40 miles NE of Matt's position 6 days earlier.

At 1 PM I went to the mast to have a look around. Everything seemed to be in order, including the broken forestay that I had tied to the mast. The Zodiac was firmly in place and so were the diesel containers, most of which were empty. The boat had been hit by many braking waves but most if not all must be impacting the hull rather than the deck.

At 2 PM I gybed. The wind had veered and strengthened. Jeff was having trouble steering on the new tack and I felt that I had too much sail out anyway so I rolled in to leave maybe 50 sq ft of headsail. A small amount of sail seems sufficient with this boat when running before a strong wind and a heavy following sea. The boat was averaging 5 knots, aided no doubt by the current. The wind was supposed to be all over the place this night and I expected to do several gybes before dawn.

Dawn, by the way is early. Last night when I put my head down at 3 AM I noticed through the hatch that the sky was beginning to lighten. Last light is after 9.30 PM, so roughly speaking we're experiencing 6 hours of darkness and 18 hours of light.

While setting the new course I looked at the compass and had one of those Oh Oh moments. In the morning I had noticed spot of oily glister on the cockpit floor. Compass oil crossed my mind but I made the easier but reasonable conclusion that some of the diesel oil that I had spilled during the last fuel transfer hand become dislodged. Wrong. On top of the compass there was now a bubble about an inch in diameter. It was possible that the compass was now slowly losing its oil but I wouldn't know what to do about it. Time would tell.

Later in the afternoon I did some "What If" thinking and one useful outcome was that I now store both of my backup computers in individual clothes drawers. If, heaven forbid, we suffer a serious knockdown or rollover it is doubtful that the primary Toshiba laptop on the navigation table would survive, but the two backups would, and they contain copies of Airmail3 (Sailmail), C-Map, and other vital software. The chart plotter, HF radio, Pactor modem, and spare GPS's are securely mounted and should survive. Of course if I become aware of a dangerous storm approaching I'll put the navigation computer safely away and take other precautions.

This will be a day of zig zag sailing due to the changing wind. At the moment we are headed east. Later we'll gybe and head SSE. I'll probably sail over 100 miles but the Distance Made Good will not be near that - 80 miles if I'm lucky. If I stick my neck out and assume that I close in on the Horn at the rate of 80 miles per day that would put me round the Horn in 16 days, or January 15.

HAPPY NEW YEAR to all my friends in Canada, USA, and La Paz.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 64 - Moving Along and Happy New Year to Oz

2011-12-29T19:41:00.000-07:00

We had a reasonable night. The 9 PM grib file indicated that the wind was as high as it was going to get so I left out the modest amount of headsail for the night. The boat sailed itself all night at over 4 knots and I expected a good n-n number. Movement had been predominantly to the east but I expected to have to tack at midday putting us on a more southerly heading for a while. We were at 47.5S degrees of latitude and I wanted to work our way to 50S to join the main stream of the strong current. The rolling had subsided but was still a problem and my project for the day was to stop the racket of sliding pots, pans, dishes, glasses, cutlery, jars, etc coming from the galley. During spasms of heavy rolling some of this movement was quite violent and threatening a breakage. I would do it by raiding my store of clothes using them to stuff the cupboards up so that nothing moved. (Anyone planning a passage like this would be advised to invest the time and effort to deal with this problem before departure. It cannot be completely eliminated but can be greatly reduced by good design of storage, particularly in the galley. Putting items in plastic baskets and simply cramming the pots and pans into a cupboard hoping for the best isn't good enough.)

For the last few days I had been tempting fate by engaging in some detailed planning of the actual rounding of the Horn. On the chart I saw a tiny dot by looking at the C-Map chart I saw that it was Isla Diego Ramirez at approximately 56S31, 68W43, 35 miles out to sea and smack in the middle of the approach to the Horn. (It has a light).

My preference is to sail close enough to see (and video) the Horn and Tierra del Fuego. This would involve traversing relatively shallow waters and exposing myself to rogue waves. (It was there where Dieter's boat got hit by one, severely knocking it down and fracturing its deck, forcing him to turn around.) I would do this only if I happened to arrive at a time when conditions and prospects look good. Assuming that I did this, I would then pass by the Horn and make for the channel "Estrecho de le Maire", between the mainland and Isla de los Estados (which I think is also known as "Staten Island"). From there I would turn north to pass west of the Falklands. Rightly or wrongly I see advantages to passing west of the Falklands. First it gets me into relatively sheltered waters more quickly, with the S.A. land mass and Isla de Los Estados giving me some protection from the prevailing west winds, the swell, and rogue waves. I am aware of several boats that have been hit hard near the Falklands after having safely rounded the Horn, including "Pink Lady" with young Jessica Watson on board, and it seems to me that passing to the east of the Falklands leaves the boat more exposed to these dangers. Another reason, probably not quite so important in this age of global warming, is the advice by Ocean Passages to pass either west of the Falklands or as close on the east as possible to avoid ice, even in summer. With this route the question of sleep is an issue. The distance between the beginning of the shallows and the far end of the Estrecho de le Maire is about 200 miles. However, on either side of the Horn there are sections where I would be at least 25 miles from land and I should be able to get an hour or two of sleep (keeping in mind the strong current!)

The safer and recommended way is to remain in deep water and stand off 80 miles south of the Horn. (Dieter took this route on his second rounding with no problem.) In that case I would pass to the east of Isla de los Estados and probably east of the Falklands too.

I visited the cockpit at 9AM to start the engine for its daily 1 hour run and to look around. It was a cold, grey, drizzly and misty day. I looked ahead and everything seemed to be in order. Down blow I used the heater to dry and warm my socks and my feet before putting on the sea boots for the day. Then it was the turn of my slippers and beanie, with my wet weather jacket draped over the end of the table to get some of the benefit.

I finally remembered to turn on the carbon monoxide detector, which will remain on until Cape Town.

After going back out to shut down the engine I visited the foredeck for a look around and on close inspection found that the inner forestay was kaput. Most of its remaining wires had broken and it was hanging on by only 5 or 6 wires. I removed the toggle then secured it by passing it down through the two pole rings at the front of the mast, then back up and lashing the two sections of wire together as sort of a cord bulldog clamp. I would have to put up with the clanking until I got a chance to go up the mast and release the top end. This was not the day for that because between everything being wet with the drizzle and the periodic bouts of heavy rolling it was simply too risky to go up the mast. (Thank goodness I had had a guard made for the radar dome.) I would now have to vigilant with the mast. At the first sign of mast pumping (which I haven't noticed on this boat) I would have to shorten sail. However, I was confident that we would be OK because I recalled that Arnold and I sailed much of the passage from Tahiti to Hilo without an inner forestay. (That year-old stay corroded at the base I think because the support wire under the deck was in contact with the electric windlass motor.) Also, the running backstays would give some support.

When I got back into the cabin I saw that the wind had backed and eased as the grib file had predicted. I was expecting the wind to keep backing with me gybing the boat.

At noon our position was 47S31, 102W21, giving us a n-n distance of 100 miles in the direction 100T. We were 1400 miles from the Horn.

At 12.30 I gybed the boat which put us on a nice heading of 110T. The operation was made easier by the fact that there was no longer an inner forestay to get in the way, which reminded me that when I had purchased the boat it didn't have an inner forestay. It's owners had removed it to make tacking easier. I expected the wind to keep backing, which would give me good control over the course. Our speed was 3.7 kt but I'd wait to see where the wind settled before deciding on whether or not to roll out more sail. The weather was now off our starboard quarter and I had make sure that the shower curtain was always in place and the computer protected. The grib files, incidentally, had been extremely accurate in this part of the world.

At mid afternoon I climbed up the mast with a bag of tools to see if I could free the damaged stay, but the roll was too much. However I went back up with a piece of cord and lashed the stay half way up to a mast step. That eliminated the majority of gyrations of the wire.

I let myself get caught by the wind. I dozed off running downwind before a 15 kt breeze with a sizable amount of headsail. A change woke me up and I saw that we were beam to a wind in the high 20's. Half asleep I got into a frantic effort to roll in some sail and there was way too much flogging and snapping of the precious headsail. Fortunately there was no apparent damage and I mentally kicked myself for being so careless, because the grib file had told me to expect a stronger wind. We were then running nicely on course 120T at 4.5 knots.

Australia will be waking up to New Years Eve. I'm presently having a drink wishing all of my friends in Oz a happy new year.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 63 - Moving Well

2011-12-28T19:39:00.000-07:00

The strong winds came as predicted. At very last light I rolled in more headsail to leave it with about the same area as that of the trysail, 80 sq ft. For much of the night we had Force 7 winds (30 knots) from the NNW off the port quarter, putting us on an excellent course for the Horn. At the 2.30 AM the wind was up to 30 knots but everything looked fine, with the sail giving a steady pull and the hull moving well through the water. At 6.30 AM I woke, looked through the hatch and saw that the sail was OK, so I went back to sleep for another hour.

My first MLSP weather fax in two days showed the situation. We are far enough south now to be in the squeeze zones between highs to the north and lows to the south. The winds are to the east and curve toward the south when they encounter the South American continent. The winds from the latest low are to last another 24 hours. From looking at the fax it appeared to me that winds would actually be lighter further south (say around 60S) closer to the low and away from the accelerating winds of the high. Not that I was complaining. I felt confident that the path to the Horn was now open and reliable. All I had to do was to keep things together.

Of the things that could go wrong the headsail was still no. 1 on my list. It performed very well throughout the night, giving us an average speed of about 5.5 knots, going to 6 knots at times. However, at 8.30 AM I went out and rolled in even more headsail. Happily, the loss of speed is not proportional to the reduction in sail area, at least when going downwind in a favorable current. After the sail reduction we were still doing 4.1-4.5 knots, and this was during a "lull". In a few hours the wind was supposed to pick up again. We were not going to set any speed records for the Horn but by then I had lost my anxieties about being becalmed and I no longer felt compelled to get everything possible out of every wind that came along, and was happy to move at a slower but safer and more comfortable pace. While in the cockpit I looked forward and the Zodiac and diesel containers were all in place. Even the plastic tarp that I had put behind the broken dodger window was still in place.

The sticky sliding hatch was becoming a bigger problem. In order to be able to reach around the end with my fingers so that I could force the hatch open with growing difficulty I would have to leave a 3" gap through which rain and spray from big waves would enter the cabin. The problem began after I removed the lazy jacks and began to put my weight on the hatch's "garage" or "turtle" cover while I tied down the mainsail to the boom. I planned to lift the garage on a calm day to see what was going on.

I then spent time digging through my warm weather clothes. The prize was the set of New Zealand made "Icebraker" skin fitting body stockings made of fine merino wool. I also put aside several track suit bottoms, a pair of arctic socks, and several towels. Fortunately everything but one set of pants was dry. I then put on the Icebrakers. I ended up with 5 layers on top: the icebraker, a thick T-shirt, a wool sweater, and two cotton tops. Below I had underpants, the Icebraker, and my trademark dark track suit pants. In the wings I have a seriously heavy US Navy sweater if it gets very cold. I wore the Icebrakers continuously for 3 or 4 weeks when we crossed the Tasman Sea, and I probably would have fought to the death anyone who tried to get them off me. I suspect that it will be a similar story this time. I put the other items in a plastic bag and stowed them in the head, which had moved from being one of the wettest part of the boat to the driest. ... It was a long, long way from warm and sunny La Paz (sob!).

While making a cup of Hershey's cocoa (great stuff!) I remembered that I had fitted at least one in-line fuse when I installed the Rutland wind charger. A fuse could easily have blown during those wind surges. Another fair weather job.

I decided to shut the refrigerator down, probably until Cape Town. The butter and cheese would probably be OK. There was still quite a bit of turkey sandwich meat which should be OK but whenever it did not pass the sniff test out it would go.

At noon our position was 47S12, 104W46, giving us a n-n distance of 95 miles in the direction 110T. We were a shade under 1500 miles from the Horn.

The wind sagged and backed during the afternoon and I countered by letting out more sail. It was a day of big waves and heavy rolling on the boat where nothing, including myself, seemed to be able to stay in one place. As night approached the wind strengthened and veered, putting me once again on a nice course of ESE. The evening grib file would tell me more.

That reminds me to comment on the outstanding Sailmail service I've been getting out of Chile. With the Chile station I always transmit at more than 2,000 characters a minute. Reception is a bit slower but never less than 1,000 characters a minute. Last night I transmitted at a scorching 4,400 characters a minute and received at over 3,000 characters per minute. Contrast this with the rock bottom 200 characters a minute that I've been forced to endure at times. So my earlier anxieties about the reliability of my Sailmail connections have disappeared. The Sailmail system is not concerned with the total number of characters transmitted. However, it is concerned with airtime and there is an informal weekly quota of airtime, so the faster the transmissions the better for everyone concerned.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 62 - Forestay Back Up

2011-12-27T20:06:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 6AM just in time to catch the BBC news. Fortunately I've managed to keep the bunks dry and I had a deep and restful sleep in the warm, dry, and cosy bed. But fatigue, a belly full of hot food (spaghetti in this case) and a comfortable bed aren't sufficient for a good night's sleep: the boat is a major ingredient, and last night the boat had been good. I expected a fair wind until morning and after setting her up for the night I went to sleep without worrying about her. The cabin temperature this morning was a crisp 54F and I had trouble forcing myself out of bed, but at least the sun was shining outside and all of the flooring in the cabin was dry. I went to the drawers and pulled out fresh pairs of socks, fluffy slippers, and track shoes. For the first time in days I was not walking either barefoot or in soggy shoes. Over coffee I realized what a horrid 24 hours in had been, with the gale, the gear failure, and the rolling. The rolling deserves special mention. There is the normal rhythmic and predictable rolling under sail and then there is the incessant 30 and 40 degree rolls and periodic clobbering by waves where everything wants to slide or fall over and there is a constant exertion in everything that you do, including just trying to sit still still and enjoy a hot drink. Deck work becomes particularly challenging. It's probably a survival thing but at the time you don't seem to know that it's happening - you just accept what is and do what has to be done. But now that it was over, comfortable in my warm fluffy slippers and enjoying my third cup of coffee, I felt like I had been put through a cement mixer.

I've been too miserly with my clothes. I've relied on only 4 or 5 sets of underclothes since I left La Paz and have been using the one pair shoes that were falling apart before my departure. I must have 30 sets of fresh underclothes, plenty of arctic socks, 4 or 5 sets of fresh footware - including brand new slippers and sports shoes - and plenty of sweaters. I've tried to managed with little, being very careful to keep my top clothes dry and washing underclothes whenever I can because I know that to raise the standard too much would mean going through set after set of clothes and winding up with a big damp bundle to deal with later. Having said that, if I can't pull out my arctic socks in the Roaring Forties when will I use them? With them I'll have start using my sea boots.

At 7.30 AM the boat was doing 3 knots on a course of 140T. It was time to roll out some more sail.

If sailing conditions got no worse I would move out of the reactive posture and think about doing things like baking my first loaf of bread in days. I also wanted to reinstall the inner forestay as soon as possible. I was still resisting the repair of the headsail not out of laziness but because I didn't want to risk buggering it up before the sailmaker could attend to it.

I suited up including with socks and sea boots and gave both sides of the deck a thorough inspection. Everything looked OK. The shrouds seemed nice and tight and I wondered if the cold weather had caused a slight contraction in the wires. I did notice the mast moving a bit where it passes through the cabin. I had never noticed the movement before but then again perhaps I was being a bit sensitive about the mast following the forestay problem, because I was sure that some movement is normal. Nevertheless it spurred me to get that stay up immediately so I spent the bulk of the morning doing the job. The deck fitting, which is an inverted stainless steel U-bolt with diameter of 1/4" at the thread, had sheared off at the top of the nuts, not below the nuts as the earlier one. The stay had a kink at the lower end and had two broken wires, possibly caused by the shock when the fitting gave way. I had a close look at the broken wires and there was no sign of corrosion: the strands of wire had broken due to stress. The fix may be as simple as replacing that 1/4" U-bolt with something heftier - 3/8" or maybe even 1/2". In the meantime, I got the stay up and under tension to help support the mast. Hopefully it will go the distance because it's under tension only along its length. I decided to leave the running backstays up also to give some support to the mast.

At noon we were position 46S39, 106W57, giving us a n-n distance of 85 miles in the direction 132. The paper chart and the navigation software were in agreement that I was 1560 miles from the Horn. The barometer had risen 9 points in the last 24 hours to 1018. We were headed at 170T so it was well past the time to gybe to the east, but I had been anxious to get that forestay up. I wore ship and went a little bit off the wind because it had lightened to about 10 knots which put us on a course of 105T doing about 3.5 knots. I had been expecting a 19 knot wind but that certainly wasn't happening.

I'm having wind charger problems similar to what Matt described in his Christmas message. During the gale the unit began to free wheel and made a lot of noise for the duration of the blow. I'd seen this before and it was normal. According to the owners' manual a thermostat will disengage the electrics when the temperature inside the unit reaches a certain level, which will happen in high winds. Normally the unit begins to function after it cools off but this hasn't happened so far. As Matt had to do, I climbed up and tied down the blades because 28 knot winds are predicted for tonight. When things are quieter I'll have another try with the unit. If it still fails there are a series of static and running tests described in the owners' manual. Beyond checking the connections and voltage regulator the only thing practical that I can do with the unit is to check its brushes, which Arnold and I did in the first wind charger (that was replaced under warranty). I'll certainly miss its gentle hum.

At 5 PM he boat was ambling along at just over 4 knots under headsail along on a beautiful heading of 115T. I had spent the entire day in my foul weather gear to avoid the hassle of suiting up every time I wanted to go topside. This was probably how it would be for the next couple of months, and why not, it helped keep me warm.

We went into the night with the wind starting to increase and veer toward the north. The wind was still less than 20 knots and our speed was only 4.5 knots but I reduced the headsail to avoid stressing it, particularly later when I would be reducing it again as the wind speed approached the predicted 28 knots. It would be a northerly at that point and we should have an easy lay to the SE. Later in the night the wind would be backing to the NW and weakening, and I was quite relaxed about that.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 61 - Gale, and No Staysail

2011-12-26T20:16:00.000-07:00

The weather that night was worse than the grib file had predicted and turned out to be full blown gale.

I wasn't to know this going into the night and I made a valiant effort to sail through the entire event. At 11.30 PM when the wind was supposed to be decreasing it seemed to be getting worse. I went turned on the deck light and checked the sails, and even with the wind approaching 40 knots they were coping well. I knew that the rigging would be OK with that amount of sail area, and the hull was moving remarkably well through the water, given that we were running downwind with the heavy sea coming from the port quarter. What stopped me was something that I had not anticipated: excessive weather helm. For about an hour I had been witnessing a cycle where every 4 or 5 minutes the boat would round up into the wind and the staysail would begin to luff with a terrible racket, then slowly fall off the wind and back to a broad reach. I was too worried about sail or gear damage to allow this to go on, so I suited up and went topside to have a look.

Conditions topside were wild, with huge seas threatening to invade the cockpit. The rolling was so bad that I had to keep low, hang on tight, and keep changing tethers as I moved around the cockpit. I was so thankful for that engine exhaust valve that was guaranteeing that no water would work its way into the engine cylinders. I got behind the wheel, disengaged Jeff, and took the helm myself. No wonder Jeff had been having problems. There were all sorts of dynamics going on. When the wind surged the boat would speed up to more than 7 knots, causing a huge weather helm where I had to use a lot of force to put the wheel on full lock to slowly go back off the wind. When the wind sagged he boat speed would drop to 5 knots and most of the weather helm would disappear. Then there were the waves. Huge waves would pass under the boat causing a violent corkscrew action and occasionally a wave would slam into the stern of the boast causing it to yaw to windward. It wasn't tenable.

Just before midnight I hove to. I tried tacking the boat in order to backwind the staysail but we didn't get even close to crossing the wind, so I gybed. The sails took that gybe remarkably well and soon we were hove to in the classical fashion, with foresail back winded and the helm tied with two lines to weather. This quieted the boat somewhat and with or speed reduced to 2 knots. However, I was disappointed to see that the boat was basically beam on to the seas. I wanted it to be 45 degrees off the wind. Even 60 degrees would have been an improvement. But that was OK because I had learned something important, and in these winds the boat would cope.

I went down below and after watching things for a while I took to the bunk. I was 45 minutes late in responding to the alarm and missed the weather fax. I reset the alarm for 6AM and at 5.45 I responded to the daylight and woke up.

I had coffee at the nav station looking at the numbers and trying to get a feel of the situation. The wind had backed to the SW as predicted, meaning that the front had passed. The wind speed appeared to be in the high 20's. The barometer was at 1006. It had dropped 17 points in less than 24 hours. (More, really because when I tapped the glass the needle went up.) I decided that it was worth having a go at sailing. I suited up, putting on an extra jacket and a wool beanie under the hood. No gloves. Outside I had a quick look around. The main anchor point for the spray dodger on the port side had broken (made of plastic, would you believe) and I tied the strap around a cleat. Otherwise everything appeared to be in order. I saw a patch of blue sky in the horizon. Resuming sail was relatively easy because the boat was already hove to pointing SE. All I had to do was to ease the staysail weather sheet and bring on its lee sheet. The trysail was symmetrical with its two sheets and needed no attention. We took off at 4.5 knots but after 15 minutes of battling the wheel I accepted that there was still too much of a helm problem. What to do? The simple step would have been to simply heave to again, but I wanted to use this opportunity to learn more about the boat, so I decided to drop the staysail and see how she would handle with trysail only. I had never dropped the staysail in these conditions and it wasn't exactly a picnic. I prepared the halyard so that it would pay out without snagging when I made the drop. I then turned the boat into the wind until the staysail was flogging like mad then let fly the halyard. The big flaw to a hanked sail is the need to visit the foredeck. I got to the mast in a crouch then crawled to the inner forestay and pulled down the sail while coping with the heavy rolls. I knew that I had gone forward without any sail tie lines because I had not wanted to take the time to open the companionway and go down to fetch them. Fortunately I had forgotten to remove the peak tie down cord from the bollard so soon the peak of the sail was being held down nicely. I rolled the body of the sail around itself and laid it along the netting. I looked around and noted that the Zodiac inflatable was still securely strapped above the life raft.

Then there was a 20 minute session back at the wheel to see how the boat handled under trysail only. I concluded that sailing was feasible and it took a half dozen attempts before Jeff was set up well enough to take over the steering. While dividing my time between the compass heading at the front and Jeff's airvane at the back I gybed the boat a half dozen times which the trysail took very well. After watching things for 10 minutes I went down below figuring that the worst that could happen would be the boat heaving itself to. However, Jeff was able to hold course and we were moving SE and a modest 2 knots. Down below the cabin seemed very quiet after the turmoil topside. We were really in sort of a moving hove to position, if that makes any sense.

Back at the nav station I drew back the shower curtain and started the laptop computer which I had shut down and left with cover down and plastic sheet over it to protect it from the occasional drips of water onto the nav table. A shaft of strong sunlight came into the cabin through the hatch and I began updating this blog.

I will risk boring experienced sailors with my list of lessons learned:

1. Self steering is not tenable with winds over 30 knots with huge seas.
2. The boat does not heave to properly with the staysail up and backwinded. (Use trysail only next time.)
3. If expecting a blow, drop the staysail when the wind is in the mid-20s.
4. The boat can take it. I have no doubt that if that mythical crew of young guns had taken tricks at the wheel we could have sailed all night at over 6.5 knots.

Just before noon I decided that it was time to try bringing up the staysail. The sea was quite rough but the wind had dropped to the low 20's with gusts into the high 20's. I got the sail up without too much drama and was pleased to see that it looked none the worse for wear after the night's ordeal. This got us moving from 2 knots to 4.5 knots and more at times.

At noon our position was 45S42,108W28, giving us a n-n distance of 85 miles in the direction 127T. The barometer had risen 3 hPa in 5 hours to 1009. The sky had cleared and was blue, but the sea still looked angry and grey. The gale was over. ... Did I really say "bring it on" in my last blog? Never again!

At 2 PM it was time to change the sails for running downwind. The wind had started to veer on its way from SW to W to NW. I decided to drop the trysail, then the staysail, then roll out the headsail. I let the boat to go upwind eased the trysail sheets, then brought it down at the mast. Before I had a chance to secure it I heard a bang and off went the staysail hanging from its halyard along the side of the boat. The deck fitting had failed again. It got a bit messy. Without a sail to steady the boat it began to roll wildly because it was beam on to the sea, the trysail was loose, fretting, and threatening to go back up the mast, and I had to deal with the staysail which was not a simple matter. I had to ease the halyard to put about half of the sail into the water. I then rushed forward and brought the bottom of the sail sail on board then eased more halyard to get the top of the sail onto the deck. While I unhanked it I noticed a broken strand of wire at the base of the stay. It had happened either overnight or from the shock of the parting deck fitting. Once I had the staysail down the hatch and the loose stay secured I tied down the trysail.

There must be a design or materials problem with the staysail setup. It should be stronger than that. It had bothered me before that the first fitting sheared off cleanly with no evidence of corrosion. I'll need expert advice with this. In the meantime, my plan to use the staysail to take some load off the headsail have evaporated. I'm now running a pure sloop and I'll definitely need to rely on a headsail. I take some comfort in the knowledge that we got from Australia through NZ, Tahiti, Hawaii, the Pacific Northwest and down the West Coast to La Paz without ever using the staysail, to my recollection. When things quiet down I'll probably put the damaged stay back up with my last U-bolt and use it only to support the mast. I've avoided getting depressed about this latest setback but it has been a big disappointment, though I'm grateful that it happened today and not last night during the gale. I've just lost one level of redundancy and I have a long way to go. I'm already thinking about getting out the sewing kit and begin repairs on the prime headsail.

While doing an engine run I got out the parallel rulers and did some work with the paper chart and the results startled me. The software that I've been using gives the bearing of the Horn as 128T. According to the chart the Horn is at 110T. The paper chart will be correct and I assume that the software has problems with the map projection that increase with distance. This changes my strategy a considerably. If I head east, 090T I am 20 degrees north of the mark. If I head south, 180T I am a whopping 70 degrees off the mark. I can head ENE at 60T and be no worse off that heading SSE at 160T. I expect to do a lot more easting in the next few days even if the heading includes a northern component. I am far enough south now that winds is no longer an issue.

At 6.30 PM the wind had moderated to the low 20's and we were moving at 4.5-5.0 knots on course 120T. However, the swell was still huge with waves crashing into the hull with monotonous regularity. I had formulated the policy before I left La Paz that in these situations of huge swells I would minimize my time on deck in case one of those occasional waves of 2 or 3 times normal size (aka rogue waves) slam into the boat and try to knock it down. The wind was supposed to veer during the night and with my new insight regarding my position I would be gybing when our course reached 160T.

-------------------- THANK YOU -------------------

Finally, I'd like to put my problems aside and thank everyone for the Christmas greetings they sent me through the blog. Brenda forwarded them all to me and I enjoyed reading every one of them. You can imagine how much they meant to someone in my situation. Love and best wishes to all.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 60 - On the Move and Preparing for a Blow

2011-12-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

The night's grib file gave me a big, big jolt. It predicted a steadily strengthening and veering wind throughout the day. At 6 PM the following day it would be from the north at 25 knots and at 9 PM it would hit 33 knots. The 2.30 AM weather fax showed the high to the north, the low to the south, with us in the squeeze zone with a cold front headed our way. From this I would not have been able to interpret 33 knot winds but I had to defer to the weather models. I would have to prepare the boat for a blow. Night had set in and I wanted to avoid bringing in the whisker pole in the dark, particularly since I had practically no experience with it. I figure that I could wait until morning and deal with the pole in 16 and 17 knot winds.

I was up at 6 AM and saw that as expected the wind had veered and we were on a beautiful heading, 120T, doing close to 5 knots with a wind that had strengthened to maybe 17 knots. Over coffee I kept thinking about how I would bring in the whisker pole. A regular spinnaker pole has a cable running along its full length by which one can "fire" (release) the latch at a far end of the pole by pulling on the cable at any convenient place along the pole. However I could not set this up on the whisker pole because of its variable length. I would have to fire the latch by pulling at the loop of cord right at the end. Therein lay the problem: how to get the pole off the halyard. I went on deck with a series of fallback plans. I needed to avoid a mistake lest I wind up with a mano a mano struggle with the sheet under load for the pole, a struggle that I would not win and possibly wind up with a broken nose, black eye, or worse. The first plan one was to reach the firing loop with the boat hook, pull back to open the latch, then lift the pole off the sheet. I pulled hard enough to fire the latch but I could not lift the end of the pole off the sheet. Then I went to the cockpit, eased the sheet, and started rolling some headsail. The plan was to lower the stakes by reducing the pressure on the sail. I managed to do this but it was not pleasant watching the headstay jerking violently and the headsail snapping at its leech during the operation. Then I disconnected Jeff and let the boat steer itself into the wind. I let out a bit more sheet and back on the foredeck managed bring in the sheet and lift the pole off quite easily because the latch had indeed been opened.

The next phase was to set up the sail configuration for heavy weather which not surprisingly meant putting up the trysail and staysail. I wasn't being rushed so I did this slowly and deliberately, making a few improvements as I went along.

One of the improvements was in response to a valuable tip from Jim Putt, which was to use both sheets on the trysail. The weather sheet could be use to control the distance of the back of the sail from the centre of the boat, which would be too great using the lee sheet alone. This involved some minor rerouting of the weather sheet, which must deal with the wind steering control lines in its path.

I had expected trouble in raising the trysail because the track was on the weather side of the mast with the wind pushing the sail into the boom. Fortunately it proved to be amazingly docile, even when it cleared the boom and the wind caught it. So far it has been a very easy sail to manage.

I then spent 20 minutes tidying up the cockpit lines. I wind all lines in loose loops around winches. If one of the loaded winches has to be used to adjust the line tension I throw to loops of rope off the winch and get to work. At the mast I use the spinnaker rings, bollards, and mast steps as belaying pins. The "granny bars" at the mast are the shrouds which are athwartships and close to the mast, as well as the safety rope that I have described before. Today I simply pressed my back to the shroud while I hoisted the trysail throughout the heavy rolling.

Managing the cockpit lines has become more complicated with the advent of the trysail and staysail. The big issue is that there are not enough winches and bollards (cleats) to permanently assign on a one-to-one basis. On the current port tack, for example, there are three sheets under tension but only two winches. I had to carefully unload the headsail sheet and put it onto a cleat which it is sharing with another line. On a starboard tack it is worse because in addition to the three sheets there is also the roller furler line under tension, so it must be carefully transferred to a bollard. (This boat had no bollards on the outside of the coaming when I purchased it and I don't know how they managed to sail it. I've put two on each side and could use a third because frequently I have to double up on a bollard.) The manipulation of these lines invariably results in crossed lines when they are required, so every tack, gybe, and sail changed must be carefully planned ahead of time to make sure that the required lines, winches, and bollards are free and available.

This work took two hours and I thought it might be a good time to run the engine and heat the cabin before the wind picked up. While waiting for the kettle to boil for a cup of hot chocolate I squatted in front of the heater warming my feet and tingling hands. This engine, with its reliability as a source of electric power and cabin heat with thate great little Red Dot heater have been one of the joys of this cruise. Great investment.

Considering that we are at lat 45S I must confess that the weather has been milder than I had expected. I am seeing cabin temperatures in the low 50's. Crossing the Tasman Sea in winter was much worse, with temperatures consistently near freezing (or worse, for all I know). We had no heater, unreliable and grainy weather faxes, no self steering, totally inadequate battery capacity, very limited communication, and a well meaning but inexperienced captain. (In Fremantle I might have a medal struck: The Pachuca Order of Valor to present to the crew, Brenda and Arnold, who endured these conditions.) Improvement in equipment aside, I remember saying twice when we were at Eden in Australia that I was more afraid of the Tasman in winter than the Horn in summer. So far - and that is a very important caveat - so far that observation has been correct.

At noon we were at 44S50, 110W04, giving us a n-n distance of 95 miles in direction 110T. The Christmas wishes of friends for good winds had come true. We were just a shade over 1700 miles from the Horn and just east of the longitude of La Paz which was 4000 miles directly north. The wind was about 15 knots from the north and we were making about 4.5 knots on course 125T which exactly what I had been wishing for. The boat was ready for any gale that came along, which was possible because the barometer had dropped 10 hPa in 24 hours. All I needed to do was to roll in the rest of the headsail and rely on the trysail and staysail. The pressure cooker dish of kidney beans, lentils, and corn had been very successful (for those who like rice 'n beans) and I heated some more for lunch. The rest I would put away for another day.

At 2.30 PM I had a look at the situation. The wind had veered more to the north and picked up speed to about 22 knots. The boat was regularly exceeding 6 knots and was handling it well, with no wave slamming because we were running diagonally to the wind and seas. However, I was concerned about the headsail as usual and decided to roll what little there was of it in to avoid having to do it later when the wind hit 30 knots. Winding the sail in was easier than I had expected which suggested that there had not been very much pressure on it. This slowed the boat down by almost a knot but I had no regrets because I very much wanted to have this sail see me to South Africa. I visited the foredeck to make sure that the staysail lines were ready for a gybe that would have to be done in the middle of the night when the high winds would clock back to the NW the W then SW. While I was up there I stood up holding on the a shroud and watched the long procession of big grey waves making their way to the boat. The scene looked pretty wild, with drizzle blowing sideways and big rain clouds on the horizon. I savored the moment and would try to keep it in my memory. The grib file took me to noon the following day and even then the SW wind would be at over 20 knots. I was comfortable with the sail plan of the boat and as far as I was concerned Bring It On because I was enjoying the good progress that we had been making. We had coped through two heavy gales in the Tasman lying ahull and side on to the weather. In one of our brief forays to the cockpit I had then noticed the wind speed at 55 knots. I figured that properly hove to with the current sail plan Pachuca would be able to weather 60 knot winds in relative comfort.

At 6 PM the wind speed was varying. At one point it was well above 25 knots and the boat was moving at 6.2 knots. A few minutes later the wind dropped and the boat speed fell back to 5 knots. Regardless, the boat was moving amazingly smoothly through the water, with no sign of undue agitation or stress, though once in a while the hull would be clobbered by a well targeted wave and water would sweep the deck. Our course was averaging a very good 125T.

At 9 PM we were getting 30 knot winds as predicted. Things got rough out there and the boat got knocked around a bit but nothing serious. The wind charger had overheated and was free wheeling to protect itself. At times I saw boat speeds in excess of 7 knots. According to the grib file we were at the peak of the wind and it would shortly moderate somewhat.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 59 - Heading East with Whisker Pole

2011-12-24T19:47:00.000-07:00

At 9 PM I received my daily grib file covering the following two days. It predicted that the wind would veer toward the north throughout the night. The boat was already headed SSW and I wouldn't countenance heading even further to the west throughout the night. To tack would have put me heading east or maybe ENE. So at the very last light I dropped the mainsail and the staysail and headed downwind with just a bit of jib. As I knew expected our speed was cut in half and we began to experience regular bouts of heavy rolling, but at least we had gained 40 degrees on the wind and were headed SSE. There would be a point before midday when I would put the boat on port tack as the wind veered to the north. When it veered enough I would bring up either the mainsail or the trysail. At least I could go to sleep knowing that we were making some easting.

I was up at 7.30AM to find a disappointing situation. The wind had not veered, still coming from the ENE, nor had it strengthened as predicted. After breakfast I gybed the boat which was easy to do since I had only a small bit of headsail out, and managed to establish a course of 0100, about 30 degrees off the wind coming from the aft port side. If I tried to steer any closer to the wind the big swell would overcome the sail.

I had not run the engine the previous day to see if the generous sunlight would be enough to tide the batteries over night, and I learned that the answer was no. At 2AM the house bank was down to 11.9V and I had to use the crossover switch to transfer power from the starter bank to the house bank. I started the engine in the morning soon after the gybe, with the batteries again down to 11.9V. The drive of the engine even at a low 1100 rpm was enough to reduce the apparent wind sufficiently to collapse the headsail so I motored with bare poles directly downwind on course 110T. I was forced to keep the rpm and speed down lest the apparent wind drop to the point where Jeff could not continue steering the boat as he was amazingly doing down wind, with an apparent wind of less than 10 knots, and under engine. The plan was to motor for 2 hours which would charge up the battery, warm the cabin, get me another 7 miles downwind, and buy time to give the wind a chance to veer and strengthen - maybe.

Sailing downwind is not my strongest point of sail as a sailmaster. I don't like running with the mainsail out. I've never tried poling out the headsail but it seemed to me that with the rolling and light winds more stress would be put on the sail since it would be slatting back and forth hard instead of collapsing. Nevertheless I might be forced to try it. I considered the asymmetric cruising spinnaker. It would take a full hour of hard work to clear out the V berth area, pull the chute out of the sail locker, then try to cram the damaged headsail into the sail locker because there would be no room above the sail locker for both sails. At best it would be a daytime sail, and on this day I was particularly reluctant because it was overcast with rain clouds on the horizon. I had never considered using a spinnaker in the Roaring Forties but pushed to desperation I would do it. That left me hoping for a stronger wind. I can run downwind fairly well with a strong wind.

Some minor equipment issues. My head torch collapsed last night for the last time and I've brought a spare one into use. Also, I noticed that one of the two lights that illuminate the compass card has gone out. I have spares and will await a calm clear day to make the replacement because it is a tricky procedure. Those lights do not last very long. It is an old compass and undoubtedly uses incandescent globes instead of LEDs.

Conditions in the cockpit didn't look too bad so I decided to do something constructive during the engine run and replace that blown compass light. The time passed quickly, but I must have spent over 2 hours on the job because after putting away the tools I shut down the engine and saw that I had run it 4 hours. That was by far the longest engine run since La Paz but it was well justified given the condition of the batteries, the wind, etc. After shutting down the engine I rolled out half of the headsail and put us on a port broad reach. The wind had veered 10 or 15 degrees and had strengthened by a knot or two and the sail was able to cope with the rolls. We were making 2.5 knots to the east and I was hoping that the wind would keep veering. The gloomy overcast of the early morning had been replaced by brilliant blue sky and I was feeling a bit better about things.

Our noon position was 44S18, 112W10, giving us a n-n distance of 65 miles to the SSE.

An hour later the house bank had stabilized to a satisfactory 12.8V. The wind had strengthened a bit and I responded by letting out more headsail and our average speed went up to 3.3 knots still to the east. During lunch it occurred to me that I should be able to find two small LED lights for the compass. Wiring them in and fixing them to the inside of the dome would be little problem. I had one spare compass light remaining and I hoped that it would see me through to Australia.

At 5 PM I visited the foredeck for a good look around. I sat comfortably astride the soft Zodiac as though it were a saddle and enjoyed watching the bow cutting through the water. Then my eye caught sight of the whisker pole, the one that I had purchased almost at the last moment in Berkovich's boat yard, La Paz. I told myself that I'd have to try it out one day. Without any particular intentions I freed the lower mast ring of some lines then pushed it up to the next ring up. Then I freed the whisker pole from the deck and started fooling around with it - checking the action of the locks at the ends, how to line up the extension buttons, that sort of thing. Then I had a go at it. I foolishly extended the pole almost full length, forgetting that the headsail was only 2/3 rolled out. I hooked the outer end on the jib sheet but no matter how much I tried I could not push the pole out far enough to lock the inboard end into the mast ring. I decided to go to the cockpit to ease the sheet. The outer beak of the pole seemed secure on the jib sheet but I wasn't sure that the latch was closed. As a precaution I tied a few loops around the middle of the pole using the end of a spinnaker halyard. I went back to the cockpit, eased the sheet, the headsail started flogging, the end of the pole jumped off the sheet, and the pole slid along the opposite rail and into the water. I was now deep in Keystone Kops territory. The pole was now astern of the boat following like a big metallic fish and the only thing between it and Davey Jones' locker was my hastily tied loops of halyard. I started hauling fast. Soon the end of the pole appeared out of the water and I pulled it aboard. I told myself that I shouldn't quit and had to get something up, just some little baby step of success to get me started on this road of whisker poles. I collapsed the pole almost to the minimum length and clipped the outer end to the jib sheet, which wasn't too difficult to do, and making sure that the latch of the beak was closed. Then after a lot of pushing and fighting with the jib sheet I managed to get the inboard end of the pole latched onto the mast ring. At the cockpit I hauled in the jib sheet and the result looked pretty credible. The mast ring could have been higher, but the pole length was about right and the sail was being held out and billowing beautifully. I began to see boat speeds of over 4 knots instead of just over 3 knots. I also found that I could go off the wind another precious 5 to 10 degrees. I had been fretting about our downwind performance and maybe I had had the solution all along, thanks to Bob Carrol's suggestion about a whisker pole back in La Paz. But there had to be an easier way to put up the pole and I was sure that I'd get better at it in time.

I had been planning to have a tequila sundowner as a Christmas toast to my Australian friends on the other side of the international date line, where it was Christmas Day. This whisker pole baby step added a nice edge to the occasion. Tomorrow would be Christmas on this side of the date line and of course I would have another sundowner to the great people that I've met in that triangle from Hawaii to the Pacific Northwest (including Vancouver), down the west coast of the USA, to La Paz.

At 7 PM the pressure cooker was working on a mixture of kidney beans, lentils, corn, and a flavour cube. I was feeling pretty mellow and amiable with the tequila sundowner under my belt. The boat was still moving at 4.5 knots on a heading of 105T. The wind had not veered as predicted but at least I was headed south of east. Given the synoptic situation, where I was in the westerly flow of winds between a high to the north and a low to the south, I was expecting the wind to last throughout the night. The 9 PM grib file would tell me more.

Hic!

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 58 - MERRY CHRISTMAS HO HO HO!

2011-12-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

I know that there are regular readers of this blog in just about every continent of the world, and unfortunately I will never get to meet and know most of them. To each of you out there I wish a MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR! Never give up on your dreams and imagination.

---------------------------
My decision to put up the mainsail late yesterday turned out to be a very good call, but it was a near thing. At 2 AM I woke up to the occasional sound of the boom banging with the roll of the boat, which meant a weak wind. I got out of bed resigned to dropping the mainsail and putting the trysail back up in the hopes of eking out a knot or two of speed. When I got to the nav station I saw that instead of a 6 kt wind as I had expected it was closer to 9 knots. During the hour that I was up to receive the weather fax and listen to the news I watched the situation and decided to leave the sail up. The grib file indicated a slight strengthening of the wind coming soon (We're only talking about one knot more.) which gave me some hope.

I woke up at 7 AM to the sound of water rushing past the hull and the gentle hum of the wind charger. At the nav station I saw that the wind speed was up to 11 and 12 knots and we were making over 4 knots. We were headed south and with the stronger wind I was able to broaden our reach and at 9 AM I was having coffee as I watched with great pleasure the wind speed numbers jumping between 5.0 and 5.2 knots on a course of 150T. (I knew that this surge probably wouldn't last, but what a great start to the day!) My little mainsail gamble hand paid off and the trysail was still happily secured on the deck waiting for its next call.

The grib file frame for this time showed an interesting picture: the winds were all from the west and steadily increasing in speed moving from north to south. One degree to my north - 60 miles away - the speed was 8.7 kt. At my position the speed was 11.2 kt and 52 miles to the south it was 13.9 knots. Yes, one cannot take grib files that literally, but the principle was there: the farther south the better the winds. I had not planned to cross latitude 50S into what is known as the "Furious Fifties" until I was closer to the Horn in order to minimize our exposure to strong winds, but I was ready to go there now. I knew that I would be hammered by 2 or 3 gales or worse, but I figured that simply hove to I would still be making a good 2 knots in the strong current and wind.

It was a bright, clear, and crisp winter-like day (a cold front had passed over), and quite chilly by my standards. At 9 AM the cabin temperature was 57F (brrrr!)

At 10AM the sails started to fret. A big swell had started arriving from the south, no doubt from that low. I put the boat on a beam reach, increasing our apparent wind and more importantly meeting the swell more head on. That quieted things nicely. Fortunately we were still headed slightly east of south, at 165T.

I harvested my second batch of mung beans after two days of soaking. It was quite good, though not as sweet as my first batch. The next time I'll give the germination a boost by soaking the container in warm water after 6 hours.

Just before noon I put a lb of red kidney beans in the pressure cooker to soak over night. Success would mean variety and another source of protein.

At noon our position was 43S16, 112W37, giving us a n-n distance of 90 miles in the direction of 146T. We were now less than 1900 miles from the Horn. In the last 24 hours the barometer had risen 6 hPa to 1020. This was my third day of plotting on the next chart that was to a larger scale than the previous one of the SW Pacific, and covering the entire west coast of South America including Drake Passage. (Do not set off on a W-E rounding of the Horn without this chart!!! Not negotiable.)

I decided to take advantage of the good weather to top up the diesel tanks. It wasn't the ideal day in that the heavy swell from the south was causing a lot of roll. But the air was dry and there was no spray reaching the cockpit. It is best for the diesel to keep the tanks full, and besides, I wasn't sure of when I'd get my next opportunity to refuel. I brought a 28 liter (6 gal) container from the rail, put 75 ml of additive into the tank even though I knew that the diesel in the container had been treated, then started transferring fuel using a scrupulously bucket. I had put on 16.3 engine hours since the last tank fill so I expected the refill to require about 30 liters. The tank overflowed well before I emptied the container. I waited a few minutes to give the two fuel tanks a chance to equalize then put in another liter or two and once more the tank overflowed. My most pessimistic estimate is that it took 20 liters to fill the tank, yielding a consumption rate of only 1.23 liters per hour. Is is not far out of line from my previous calculation of 1.37 liters per hour. Most of the running of these latest 16.3 hours had been at only 1100 rpm. I should have about 90 liters of fuel remaining on deck, giving me about 73 engine hours for recharging the batteries @ 1100 rpm.

Afterwards I had a cockpit salt water bath from the neck down. Very bracing. I get the salt water by reaching over the side and waiting for a roll of the boat to fill the bucket. It is a safe procedure. Most of my weight remains in the boat and I keep a shoulder firmly into one of the 2" diameter legs of the cockpit frame. The bucket would not last long were I to throw it over the side with a lanyard attached to its handle.

As the afternoon progressed the wind veered and we began to head 190T, west of south. I considered dropping the mainsail and running more downwind with just the jib but the wind was so light - less than 10 knots - that I figured that the change would result in greatly reduced speed and lots of rolling. I could afford to run south a bit more and wait for a better opportunity to head east.

At 9PM we were still moving south, 197T at 3.7 knots.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 57 - Langsam Langsam Aber Weiter

2011-12-22T20:05:00.000-07:00

I had the last onion with my evening meal. I wound up throwing away a lot of bad onions but I had expected this because I had left La Paz with LOTS of onions, which I ate almost every day. After throwing out the last of the slimey and smelly onions I thoroughly cleaned out the ice box and plastic trays with a bleach solution. There was now a lot of good storage space available in that ice box

The evening grib file predicted that the wind would clock back throughout the night from NW to W to SW. This meant a gybe at around dawn and I hoped to delay it until daylight.

The 2.30 AM weather fax showed the benevolent low at 991 hPa directly south at about lat 50S. A cold front would pass over me during the night and it looked like the backing of the wind predicted by the grib file was the result of the low moving to the east. The wind had backed somewhat but our heading was still to the south of east, at about 105T. I set the alarm for 5.30 AM which would put me in daylight after I suited up for the gybe.

But at 4.30 AM I was up again and saw that we were heading due east. I wasn't going to get any more sleep until this gybe had been executed so I decided to do it then, in the dark. When I emerged on deck at 4.45 AM (La Paz time) I was surprise to find enough weak light in the sky to see reasonably well, though I still needed the head torch and deck light. It turned out to be first light and by the time I had completed the gybe dawn was firmly established. The weather was still overcast and drizzly. The wind had weakened to perhaps 12 knots and we were now headed on course 170 at only 3.0-3.3 knots. The important question was how long the wind would last, weak or otherwise. I expected our heading to change toward the east as the wind backed. We were now east of long 114W and closing in on lat 42S.

Matt, the intrepid sailor rounding the Horn in his small boat, had taken off like a jack rabbit while I was hove to during those days of my wind problems and had sailed right off my chart, putting him over 500 miles away. I wished him Godspeed and was interested in following his progress but otherwise had no concern whatsoever about the increasing gap between us. I was too busy dealing with my own priority, which was to get this boat around the Horn safely. That night Victor had sent me a comforting message from Fremantle: "Langsam langsam aber weiter" which I think was translated in his subject line, "Slowly slowly catchee monkey".

At 11 AM I was woken from my nap by a dose of sunlight passing through the hatch. Thirty minutes later I went topside to find that 2/3 of the sky had cleared to the north and above were cirrus and cirrostratus clouds. I saws two birds prowling the waves on the port side of the boat. After a worrying sag in the wind it had picked up as the grib file had predicted and we were making over 4 knots on course 135T from a 14 knot wind. I checked the meter and the battery bank was netting a positive 1-5.5 amps depending on the status of the refrigerator in its cycle. The solar panels were delivering 7.5 amps and the wind charger was averaging about 1 amp.

Our noon position was 42S01, 113W45, giving us a n-n distance of 77 miles in the direction 125T. We had managed to make some tangible progress throughout the past difficult days of becalming's and disappointing winds. We were now south of Puerto Montt, Chile 1800 miles to the east, and less than 2000 miles from the Horn. After the noon report I went topside to enjoy the warmth of the sun.

Afterwards I had a look at the sprouts (needed more time) and the yogurt. For the second consecutive time the yogurt was a disappointment. I wound up with slightly sour milk rather than yogurt. Brenda had warned me that the strain would weaken over time, and I figured that is what had happened. It was a great run while it lasted and I had many great deserts of cold yogurt with raisins.

As night approached I decided to put up the mainsail. I was betting that the SW/S winds would last the night and would gradually die down. The prospects of reaching all night in a moderating wind warranted the trouble of raising the mainsail. Not unusually, I didn't miss the opportunity to give myself a hard learned lesson. The track of the trysail is on the port side of the mast, to leeward of the mainsail track because we were on a starboard tack. I decided to get clever and raise the mainsail while the trysail was up. The hoist went fine, The trysail helped drive the boat as I hoisted, then the mainsail peeled right past it with no problem. I wound up with the mainsail drawing and working with the trysail snuggled behind it doing nothing. I didn't think it a good idea to leave the two sails up together because it might lead to chafing, so I went forward to drop the trysail. It would not come down because the battens and slides of the mainsail were to leeward and crowding the trysail track. I tried brute force, pulling on the trysail from part way up the mast, luffing the mainsail, etc but nothing worked and in the end I had to tack the boat which back winded all of the sails as well as almost stopping the boat. Then I could work in peace and bring the trysail down and secure it on the deck. I then gybed the boat to get back on the starboard tack. So next time, trysail down before mainsail up.

At 9 PM boat time it was still daylight and we were moving at 4.5 knots with a 12 knot wind on the starboard beam, heading 135T. It had been a splendid day of sailing, with a good strong wind of over 15 knots all afternoon giving us a speed averaging about 5 knots using just the trysail, staysail, and a bit of headsail.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Day 56

2011-12-21T20:13:00.000-07:00

The evening MSLP weather chart showed a low moving across to the south. A cold front had passed over our position, explaining the inclement weather and drop of 6 hPa in pressure over 6 hours. The grib file indicated a marginal wind at 6 AM that would steadily strengthen to 18 knots from the NW by midnight. I could not see beyond that but it looked like the good winds would last for many hours. Time would tell.

At 1035 GMT I began a prearranged radio schedule going through four different frequencies and failed to hear anything from Jim who was transmitting from the Fremantle Sailing Club facility. It was particularly disappointing because Jim had invited Brenda and Stephen to join him. I did notice that reception from Radio Australia at 9.580 MHz was less clear than usual.

At 9.30 AM I freed the wheel and started sailing. The trysail and headsail were already up and I rolled out a bit of headsail. In the feeble 7 kt WNW wind the best we could do was slightly aft of a beam reach putting us on course 210T at the speed of one knot. It was just a start, according to the grib file. The day was overcast with visibility to the horizon. There was weak sunlight getting through the thin cloud cover.

I took to opportunity to run the engine 1.3 hours while the wind was weak. I found that Jeff was able to steer the boat so I went below and spent an hour doing a little job that might save me grief later. The sliding hatch jams up when it is extended all of the way and twice when I had it in that position to keep the rain out I've had such a difficult time opening the hatch that I considered going out the cabin hatch so that I could push it in from outside. I treated it with WD40 which freed the action for all but the end of the travel of the hatch. During rains I've been forced to leave a 1 inch gap to allow me to the my fingers around the end of the hatch for a backward pull, but of course that has allowed some moisture to get into the cabin. Today I fixed a stainless steel fitting at the end of the hatch to which I can attach a line enabling me to pull back hard with one hand while banging it with the other. The system works well enough.

While doing this work I noticed that the sails had stopped fretting and when I shut the engine down I confirmed that the wind had strengthened to maybe 9 knots. I eased the heading a few more degrees which put us on a heading of 180T at speed 2.1 knots. (The "T" denoting a true heading is important because the compass variation in this part of the ocean is a whopping 20 degrees to the east and increasing fast as we move south. Thus 180T corresponds to 160M.)

At noon our position was 41S15, 115W09, giving us a dismal n-n distance of 19 miles.

Before the wind picked up I had a go at sewing the webbing of that slide on the mainsail, but I found that even when I put the boat on a beam reach there was too much rolling. I decided to do the job in either calmer conditions on a beam reach or perhaps in the cabin if I took the mainsail down. There are good reasons for removing the mainsail for heavy weather. Less windage is the obvious one, but another is that it would allow me to drop the storm trysail two feet down to just above the boom, and the lower the trysail the better because it reduces the turning moment on the mast. I used the thread picker from Brenda's sewing kit to free the webbing, which was hanging on literally by a thread. I wanted to reuse it because the spare webbing in the sewing kit was a little too wide for the slide.

I then prepared the mainsail for stronger winds by using a long line to better secure the mainsail with 11 loops of rope along the length of the boom.

The wind had picked up to perhaps 12 knots and we were on a heading of 190T. I figured that with the stronger wind I could gybe on an arc of 80 degrees or less. I was willing to go as far as due east because it was time that started to work my way eastward, but I was not willing to head north of east. Happily, the gybe found us on a broad port reach on course 125T, and we were making 3.0 knots. I only had a small of headsail out and I kept it so in case I needed to gybe later and besides, with the expected 18 kt wind I figured that the modest sail plan would give me all of the boat speed that I wanted.

I had lunch hopeful that the impending winds of that low to the south would give us good progress for the next two days. And speaking of food, I had eaten the last of the eggs the previous night, that of Day 55. Of those last 4 eggs one was bad. I had set out from La Paz with 4 dozen eggs and of those 48 eggs, 3 were accidentally cracked and 3 went bad. They spent the first 3 weeks or so in the ice box where they could get some of the coolness from the adjacent refrigerator, and during that time I rolled them over every day or two. When space became available I moved them into the refrigerator and ceased the practice of rolling the eggs over. Under those circumstances I would consider 50 days to be the outer limit for store bought eggs. I still had plenty of cheese and enough turkey sandwich meat for another two weeks or so.

For my nap I switched over to the starboard bunk, which was now to leeward. I was now sleeping with two blankets, one below, one above. Before lying down I poured some La Paz water from my reserve bottle into the kettle and boiled it. After my nap the water had cooled just enough for making the next batches of yogurt and mung bean sprouts. We had just crossed the meridian of 115W and were now on the east side of it for the first time since 16 Nov, when we had been 16 degrees north of the equator.

At 7 PM I went topside for a look around. We were in fog with visibility down to a mile, but I didn't care because we were still moving to the ESE at 3.8 knots and for once I was happy with the wind.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com