Day 52 - Dealing with a Weak Wind

I was up at 2 AM to capture the 2.30 AM weather fax. set the timer for 45 minutes, then overslept. At 5 AM I was roused by the hum of the Rutland wind charger saying "Wake up. Wake up Robert, there's wind!"

I put on a jacket, shoes, and my harness and went up to the cockpit to see first light on the horizon on what looked and felt like a crisp winter morning. Jeff had managed to keep the boat orientated properly (more credit due probably to the boat's tendency to ride beam on to the wind even in a weak wind), the staysail was already out and working, so all I had to do was to roll out some headsail. While doing that I looked up to the sail and noticed above and next to the mast the Southern Cross. It was the first time that I had seen it since before Hawaii in 2008. And it wasn't skimming the horizon playing peek a boo: it was high up, sassy as ever, as if to say "What kept you so long?" Of course it was high up: I was now 4 degrees below the latitude of Fremantle.

The wind was from the SE which gave us a good point of sail for the headsails and soon we were doing 3 knots to the SE. The night's grib file had predicted a stronger wind for the dawn, but it would weaken by a knot and remain marginal (9-10 kts) during the day.

The night's 7-day spot wind report for 40S, 114W from Buoyweather (a great service given by Brenda and Stephen to me as a Christmas gift, where I send a message requesting a 7 day wind/wave report for a lat and log to whole degrees and 15 minutes later it is ready to be downloaded by Sailmail) forecast appalling winds for the 19th and 20th, the nadir being an easterly wind at 1-2 knots on the 19th.

The night's weather fax showed a deep low way south of us at 60S. We were on the outer edge of its influence, on the margin with a high to the north, and that could not be expected to last too many hours as the low moved to the east.

I might be in the so-called westerlies but it wasn't good enough. I needed to be below 40S in the Roaring Forties more than 2 degrees away, so I was as hungry to get south as ever.

After a second cup of coffee I went topside and raised the mainsail. I timed it and the effort took 25 minutes. Strange as it may seem, articulating the process in the previous blog entry had been a big help. I worked methodically, efficiently, with no mistakes. The boat settled down to 3.5 knots on course 170. I could have gone off the wind more to head SE but my primary interest had once more become getting south as quickly as possible. At 6.45 I went below for my breakfast of toast.

Then I remembered to check on the mung beans. They had finally sprouted to a satisfactory state, but it had taken 36 hours instead of the 8 hours I would have expected in the warmth of La Paz. They tasted fine, with no hint of fermentation. After draining them and loosening them up with a fork I put them in the refrigerator to supplement my diet for the next few days.

At 10 AM I shook out the 2nd reef and went to the 1st. In marginal winds I tend to sail with a double reef to minimize the forces if the boom begins to bang side to side. However, I needed to wring as many miles of distance out of that wind while it lasted. I'm glad that I did because it showed me how easy it can be to go to that 1st reef. I didn't even need to alter heading to luff the sail. I would bring in a foot of halyard until the line was tight, wait a few seconds for the natural movement of the sail to allow the slides to creep up the track, then do it again. Even with the extra canvas we were still doing only 2.3 knots against 9 knot breeze that was getting perilously close to the boundary of utility. I made a cup of hot chocolate and hoped for the best.

At noon we were at 38S13, 115W53, giving us a n-n distance of 40 miles to the SSE. The boat was still sailing, barely. The reason was that with the west wind the boat was heading south and directly into the long swells from the south. That gave the boat a pitching more than a rolling motion, so the sails were more stable.

We had a fortunate afternoon. Not long after noon the wind picked up 3 or 4 knots contrary to what the grib file had predicted, and we were able to sail at 3.5 -4 knots until 5.30 PM, and time would tell if it would last into the night.

I had an active afternoon preparing the boat for rough weather. The first effort was to sew the sun screen onto the broken spray dodger window. I didn't mind the tedium of going back and forth as I stuck the needle on one side then drew it from the other to send it back through the fabric. I didn't mind the boat jumping around as I tried to position the needle for the next thread. I didn't mind swapping the palm between hands and pressing the needle blind knowing that one false move and I'd stick the back end of the needle into my hand. I didn't even mind the huge number of hours that it would take to do the job. What stopped me was the broken needle. The problem wasn't the double seam of the material that I had to stitch, it was the plastic-like window material that was like armour to penetrate. I had to push the needle very hard with the palm to get it through and I could see it flexing. The inevitable happened and I certainly wasn't willing to risk any of the three remaining sail repair needles. I gave up on the sewing and wound up by putting a plastic tarp inside of the dodger. It is held nicely at the top and side by being jammed between the frame and the canvas of the dodger. The bottom is wedged behind the instrument panel. It isn't pretty but it will prevent water from getting into the companionway as long as it is only spray and not the full brunt of a wave. If that doesn't work I'll just keep using the dodger as is with the broken window.

I had decided to round the Horn leaving the Zodiac strapped to the platform over the life raft. I just didn't want to clutter up the cockpit with the raft in front of the binnacle as I had carried it before. It was already well lashed down but I got some very suitable rope and put four more lashings, two diagonally and two across. I am aware that it will present windage and there is a risk of it being carried away by a monster wave, but it presents a smaller profile than the life raft which is also at risk of being carried away.

I had noticed a bit of chafing where the perimeter lifeline rope passes in front of the mast so I reversed it and re tied it. It is top quality rope that I had purchased as a halyard it I've got to be able to rely on it when I'm walking forward on the deck.

I decided to keep using the mainsail through the current bout of weak winds and would put up the trysail when I knew that strong winds were imminent.

After a sag in the late afternoon the wind rallied and a 9 PM we were at 38S45 and still moving south at 3.5 knots. I was pleased and relieved at how the day had unfolded.

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Day 51 - Becalmed Again

I woke for the 2.30 AM (0830 GMT/UTC) weather fax to find the boat headed east. This was so surprise since the grib file had predicted a wind shift. I suited up, flipped on the deck light, then went topside where I hardened the headsail and put the boat into the wind. I then crawled onto the foredeck and freed up the staysail then hauled it up with no problem. Once the staysail was up I sacrificed a knot in speed by rolling in half of the headsail mainly to protect it but also to give the boat an easier ride in what I knew would be a building sea. At 3 AM the boat had settled down on course 135T (SE) at 3.5 knots.

I woke up at 6 AM, saw that the boat was on the same course and went back to bed.

At 9 AM I was up to find the boat heading east again. I examined the grib file and faced the fact that putting up the mainsail was warranted. Only with it up could I point close enough to the wind to deal with what would likely be an entire day of SSE wind.

Putting up the mainsail may no longer be a drama, but it is still hard work. Anyone not interested in reefing should skip this paragraph. After breakfast I suited up and began the festivities by visiting the mid deck to remove the mainsail's halyard tie-down and two of the three ropes tying the sail to the boom. I also loosened the vang haul (which holds the boom down at its mid point). Then it was back to the cockpit to loosen the 3rd line around the sail at the rear of the boom as well as the secondary reefing line that is still at the second reefing point from before. Only when the boom work is finished do I remove the line tied to the frame that works with the mainsheet to prevent the boom from swinging. I then loosen the reefing and mainsail tack downhaul lines that pass through the starboard rope clutches. Then I begin cranking up the halyard using the port cabin winch. The halyard gives too much resistance too soon and I think I know what the problem is. I ease the halyard by a foot and go to the mast to find that the luff (front edge) of the sail has wrapped around a mast step. I free that and resume cranking. Then I look up and see that the lazy running backstay is threatening to bind up the end of the second sail baton, so I ease it by about 3 feet. I resume cranking and then the wind on the sail has become a problem, even though I have eased the mainsheet to allow the sail to better line up with the wind. I can't get full alignment with the wind because that would put the sail at too much of an angle with the sail track at the back of the mast, causing the slides to bind. With no autopilot it becomes a matter of manipulating the heading by hand to take the wind pressure off the sail. I disengage Jeff and with the left arm reach back and turn the wheel to put the boat into the wind. At 20 degrees off the wind the mainsail begins to luff so I simply let go of the wheel knowing that the boat will fall back to a beam reach, and I begin cranking in the halyard, which has become much easier. I might bring in another foot of halyard before the wind begins to press on the sail again. I repeat this process 5 or 6 times until the halyard is in to my mark. Then I've got to bring on the "primary" second reefing line which passes through an eye at the back of the sail. I ease the mainsheet then bring on the reefing line using the starboard cabin winch, watching the back of the boom rise up to meet the reefing point. (This was why I loosened the vang.) That being done I must put in the secondary reefing line. I've learned to do this because in the first few months of sailing I had several reefing lines part under the stress, causing a big problem while under sail and a lot of trouble to thread a new line through the boom later. I use a secondary line to share the load with the primary line and to set up a backup in case one of the lines part. To do this I bring the rear of the boom inboard using the mainsheet traveler then tighten the mainsheet. From the safety of the cockpit I then pass the secondary line through the eye and bring it on tight. I then ease off the primary reefing line to the point where both lines are sharing the load. Then I use the traveler to put the boom to leeward again, ease the mainsheet, and we are now sailing normally. After that I take the slack out of the leeward running backstay and visit the top of the cabin to bring on the boom vang. This process took the better part of an hour and left me wringing wet with sweat under my wet weather clothes.

Putting the mainsail into play gave us another 20 degrees into the wind, putting us on a tolerable course of 120T. Our speed picked up by 1.5 knots to 4 knots. I sat at the steering station cooling off and noticed a lot of sea birds. They all seemed to be the same as before: medium size, under wings grey with black tips, and skimming low above the water apparently hunting for food. And the swell was not quite as scary as on the previous day when we were sailing at a 45 degree angle to big swells coming up from the south. When the boat was on a trough I would look up at the crest of the next swell wondering if this low freeboard boat would rise above it all, but it always did. (Big knock on wood: through all of the gales and storms and mistakes of her captain, Pachuca has never had a sea board her cockpit.)

As I was raising the mainsail I noticed that one of the slides was missing because it looked like its webbing had parted. If a slide had to go, that would have been my preference because it was not at the end of a baton and was high up where to my mind there would be less stress on the sail. (So why did the webbing part?) As I sat in the cockpit I looked up at the sail thanking my lucky stars that Carol Hosse's sail loft team had paired a second slide at the peak of the sail and sewn on leather to protect the peak. I remembered that the sail kit contains webbing, no doubt for this very problem, but there were no spare slides. Then I realized that unless the slide had fractured and blown apart it must still be in the track. From the cockpit I thought that I could see the free slide sitting on top of the second baton slide, but I could not be absolutely sure.

Our noon position was 37S39, 116W19, giving us a n-n distance of 96 miles to the SE exactly. We had been making good progress but the grib files were predicting lighter winds for the next few days. The barometer had risen 3 points to 1019 hPa in the last 12 hours.

At 5.30 PM I was forced to drop sail. I tried to keep the boat sailing. At 3 PM Jeff stopped coping. Although the wind appeared to be 10 knots it wasn't enough to prevent the sails from being overpowered by the pitching and rolling of the boat in the big swell. The boat speed through the water dropped to the point where the water vane was getting stronger signals from the wallowing of the boat than its forward motion. I took over the steering and for an hour I kept the boat into the wind and kept the boat moving with minimal flogging of the sails. Then I ran the engine for an hour and found that Jeff could cope better with boat moving faster through the water, but he still had to be watched. During this engine run I turned on the heater and closed up the cabin and after the engine run I went into the cabin and found it to be warm as toast. I rolled out most of the headsail and kept steering by hand, prepared to steer well into the night if it was worth the effort; but eventually I concluded that it was a hopeless cause. On the plus side we would have kept making maybe 2 knots, probably less. On the negative side I would have gotten very tired (and I don't think that a lone sailor should get over tired if he can avoid it) and worse, the sails would have flogged incessantly which I always hate to see. Another negative is that I've got a comfortable boat and enjoy life in the cabin which I would have missed very much. At 5.30 PM I dropped the mainsail. After tying it down I saw that the headsail was flogging so I rolled it up. I left the staysail up to help steady the boat and to perhaps give us some drive. The boat settled down on a heading toward the SE quadrant doing about 0.7 knots. During those brief episodes of 10 seconds or so when the boat was still and the mast was not moving the instrument was reporting wind speeds of 6 and 7 knots.

While tidying up the mainsail I looked around and noticed that it really was a nice day. After the boat was securely hove to I sat behind the wheel and worked hard to put the disappointment of the slack wind behind me and start enjoying what was around me. (If you can't change your situation, change your thinking.) The sky had cleared and air was crisp with the bright sun reflecting on the ocean as it dropped to the horizon. It was like a clear and crisp day in early winter. Although there was a hefty swell running, there was no wind blown sea and the ocean looked reasonably calm. It looked so inviting that I had a true sundowner enjoying the ambience of my surroundings. Why not? The boat was hove to and secure, I didn't expect to do any sailing until morning, and there was a beautiful end of day unfolding. I had three bottles of booze on board, two of rum and one of tequila. I chose the tequila for old time's sake and poured myself 100 ml into a very clean glass. This was day 51 and it was my first alcohol since day 2 or 3, when I had discovered a can of Pacifico Clara beer in the refrigerator. How did it go? It was bloody marvelous! At the end of that nip I felt mellow and loved the whole world and everything in it. ... Talk about a two pot screamer.

The grib file had predicted a wind speed of 8 knots at this time, which would remain so until 6 AM when it would increase to 11 knots. That extra 3 knots should be enough to get me sailing again, particularly if the swell died down. While bringing down the mainsail I noticed that the detached slide was indeed in the track and I should be able to sew the replacement webbing in situ. This would be a project for tomorrow if I was still becalmed. Another project would be to sew the sun shade onto the spray dodger, something I could do even under sail if the winds were light. During this lull I would also put up the storm trysail before the next bout of heavy winds.

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Day 50 - Running Before A Westerly

The wind moderated during the night and I was fortunate to be able to keep the mainsail up all night. Normally a wind of 9-11 kts would have been enough to keep the boom quiet but it wasn't enough in the lumpy sea with its swell from the SW. I managed to keep things going by hardening into the wind and bringing on the mainsheet hard to restrain any sideways movement of the boom. This put us on a heading that was at times west of south, but that was a small price to pay.

For bed I slipped one of the wool blankets out of its plastic bag and found it to be dry, fluffy, and smelling sweet. Taking the trouble to wash and dry the blankets in La Paz was paying big dividends. I snuggled into the cosy bunk as contented as I would have been at the Waldorf Astoria. Thanks to Brenda Pachuca is equipped with four of these large and thick wool blankets.

At the 2 AM weather fax session I saw no reason to change the point of sail because the wind was still weak and we were moving at 3 kt or less.

I was up at 8 AM to find the wind a knot or two stronger with us headed S-SSW. It was an overcast day and the barometer was a steady 1018 hPa. The house battery bank was at a healthy 12.3 V. I had breakfast enjoying BBC News followed by a long report on the tragic introduction of cholera into Haiti by the UN. But the following story was on a more positive note, with an interview of the 92 year old man who developed Ibuprofen in the decade of 1953-1963. I had no idea of the significance of the drug. Until then the only treatments for rheumatoid arthritis, for example, had been the steroid cortisone or massive doses of aspirin which led to serious side effects on the stomach and kidneys. Ibuprofen changed all that. He had done his research working in an English town I had never heard of for a drug company I had never heard of, and he and his colleagues "rightly" got no personal reward for their discovery for which he expressed no regret whatsoever. And why would he, knowing that today his drug can be found in every part of the world and has helped untold millions. At 92 he had a sharp mind and exuded an infectious happiness even over the airwaves to this tiny point in the SE Pacific.

On that happy note I went to the cockpit and changed our course 20 degrees to 170T at varying speed depending on the wind, but at the time of this writing we were doing a satisfactory 5.5 knots.

Late in the morning I went topside for an hour of deck work. I made a valiant attempt to put the boat on a broad starboard reach to take us more downwind and toward the SE instead of the S. Unfortunately Jeff seemed to have trouble dealing with the enormous turning moments accompanying each surge of wind which made the boat want to round up into the wind. Slowly, inexorably, we would wind up on a beam reach. Perhaps I may have had success had I persisted by, say putting a bias on the wheel. Instead I went to the downwind configuration that I much prefer and works well with this boat. I first disengaged Jeff and allowed the boat to point upwind as she does naturally. Then I dropped the mainsail and tied it off while the boat steered itself reasonably well toward a broad reach with the two headsail at work. Then I dropped the staysail, which had been blanketing the headsail, rolled out more headsail, and soon Jeff was steering us SE at about 4 knots, which varied according to the strength of the wind. The boat was moving very comfortably with little weather helm and the headsail was happy, always full and not luffing or thrashing in any way. I tie down the peaks of both sails when they are down so that the sail won't ride up and I can put tension on the halyard to prevent it from swinging wildly and possibly get caught on something.

Our noon position was 36S30, 117W42, giving us a n-n distance of 75 miles to the SE.

Yesterday I brought out the muesli bars. There are 90 of them and eating 2 per day should see me well past the Falklands. The Milo is gone and I have started on the sachets of powdered chocolate, which is very good. I took my first one-a-day vitamin pill yesterday as a precaution. My nutrition is still good in my opinion, but I have run out of fresh fruit and vegetables. I get some vitamin C from the milk and raisins, and probably the sauces that I use, but why take a chance on a deficiency of this or any other vitamin or mineral? Also, I've started using that marvelous "Mountain" brand jacket that I purchased when Arnold and Sandra took me shopping in Seattle. If its Gortex-like material turns out to be as waterproof as it is supposed to be, it will be a great sailing jacket: roomy, velcro sealed cuffs, zippers and plenty of pockets all well protected, and hood.

At 3.30 PM it was time for a cup of tea and my first muesli bar. The apparent wind had increased to more than 15 knots and we were hiking along to the SE at 4-4.5 knots. The house battery bank was reading 4.6V and was charging well. The wind charger was contributing up to 4 amps but would have been averaging about 2 amps. The solar panels were contributing an amazing 4 amps from very weak sunlight. I turned on the refrigerator, which was a lot later than usual; but with the cabin temperature down to 63.5F in the middle of the day, so I figured that it was OK.

The talk of nutrition and vitamin pills reminded me that I've been meaning to have a go at sprouts. Brenda had encouraged me to do a test run in La Paz and in the warmth of that climate I had easily produced a very good batch, but this cooler climate might yield a different result. There was only one way to find out. I chose mung beans with my friend Jim Putt in mind (They're good for you, Jim!) and set them soaking for 8 hours, which would take it to about weather fax time at 2 AM.

At 9 PM I could look back on a splendid day of sailing. The entire day we had run downwind in front of a strong and steady westerly wind. Since mid morning the boat had sailed itself very comfortably pulled along by the headsail rolled out to a no. 2 and we had made good progress. I hoped, of course, that the conditions would continue throughout the night.

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Day 49 - The Westerlies and Doing It Rough

Just before 9 PM I took advantage of the last of the daylight to put in the second reef. Just as well because we had a rough night of winds over 20 knots and reaching 30 knots during squalls. The boat moved OK at 4-5 knots, and going to 5.5 knots during the surges of wind, but I've got to worry about something and last night it was for the mainsail and staysail under stress hour after hour. I looked at the sails in the morning light and they looked OK. I had been sailing within the guidelines which call for changing from the double reefed mainsail to the trysail at 30 knots and taking the staysail beyond 30 knots. It looked like I had found the westerlies given that I had crossed latitude 35S and was dealing with a howling west wind from a deep low further south. I was determined to put up the trysail at first opportunity and to get used to managing it and work out the procedure for alternating between it and the mainsail. I was taken by surprise by the strong wind. It wasn't until I got the latest grib file later in the evening that I saw the prediction of what to expect. According to the grib file the wind would abate somewhat during the afternoon and become moderate before dark.

The boat took a lot of water over the deck, resulting in nuisance drips from the two main Dorade vents and the cabin hatch. More serious water was entering through the main hatch. Whenever a big sheet of water passed through that hole in the spray dodger it would hit the sliding hatch from the side and the water would work its way into the sliding channel of the hatch and out the other side and into the companionway and cabin. There is nothing that I will ever be able to do about that because of the design of the hatch, which is pretty standard as far as I can tell. The real fix is to avoid sailing in heavy weather and of course to repair the spray dodger. This is where the shower curtain between the companionway and navigation table has come into its own, protecting the laptop and other important equipment from a salt water shower.

At noon our position was 35S26, 118W29, giving us a n-n distance of 97 miles to the SE. We had moved another 1.3 degrees to the south and seemed to be in the grip of the westerlies. We were now south of Buenos Aires, Argentina and Santiago de Chile. In fact we were now south of every South American country except Chile and Argentina. I made it to be about 2400 miles to the Horn. Cabo San Lucas, Mexico was 3500 miles to the NNE.

Now that we were in the latitudes of the westerlies there seemed no point in continuing the chronicle of our progress to the south. According to Ocean Passages the name of the game now was to make directly for the Horn. On the other hand, I've decided to begin to record the barometric pressure 4 times a day. Being caught by surprise by this latest low pressure event reminded me that I cannot rely solely on external weather reports and must monitor my own local conditions.

The grib file was spot on in its wind predictions. The wind began to die down slowly in the early afternoon and by 5.30 PM it had backed and decreased to 17 knots. Hardening of the sails put Pachuca on a course of 120T doing about 3 knots into a falling sea. The grib file prediction for the next 24 hours looked very good, with moderate winds veering back to the west, allowing me to sail more to the south. After a rough 24 hours of sailing I was looking for a quieter and more relaxing time. I had left La Paz thinking that my principal worries would be falling overboard and rogue waves. In fact my principal worry had become equipment failure. A night like the previous one with the wind howling, the boat plowing through the rough seas, and the rigging and sails under stress had me under stress all night.

My electrical power situation had improved. I had been noticing for several days that the refrigerator had become much less demanding, no doubt due to the cooler weather and maybe also because it was now only half full. Between the wind charger producing good power for the previous 24 hours in the hard wind and the day's partial sun the house bank voltage was at 12.4 in the afternoon and I really did not need to run the engine. However, I thought that this provided me with an opportunity to stop scraping the bottom with the battery voltage and to start keeping it up well above the minimum. Besides, it would be nice to run the heater and dry the cabin out a bit. Two hours after the engine run the house bank was at 12.6 V.

In 6 hours the barometer had gone up one HPa. (A HPa is very similar to a millibar.)

At 7 PM I rolled out some headsail and soon we were doing an easy 4-4.5 knots over a calmer sea. This was more my idea of sailing.

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Day 48 - Becalmed and Rig Maintenance

The 2.30 AM (0830 UTC) weather fax was a disappointment. A low pressure area had popped up to the east of me on this side of the receding front and was driving its clockwise winds to my position as a weak southerly. In spite of being in the theoretically ideal position, i.e. well west of the S.A. High and on the recommended sailing track for the Horn - I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The grib file did not indicate any sure relief until late in the coming day. The wind speed at that time was about 3 knots. It was all terribly disappointing but I had to accept it as a mature sailor and not cry about it. ... WHHAAA! Boo Hoo Hoo Hoo! Sob Sob! ...

In the morning I blew my nose and dried my eyes (just kidding) and took stock of the situation. There was a chance that just enough wind might develop during the day to allow me to start sailing, but in the meantime I might as well take advantage of the calm sea and good weather to do some deck work.

The first job on the agenda was to check the rigging which I will now describe. The mast is 50 ft long and known in Fremantle as a "lamp post" because of its large section and thick walls. It is a masthead rig, with the backstay attached at the top of the mast. The shrouds are all in line with the mast, each attached to one chainplate on each side of the mast, inboard from the gunwale. This layout of the shrouds is probably due to the S&S 39's design as an IOR ocean racer where the boom was to be able to be moved as far forward as possible. There are two sets of crosstrees with three shrouds on each side: D1, the lowers attached to the roots of the first set of crosstrees; D2, the intermediates attached to the roots of the second set of crosstrees; and D3, the cap shrouds, attached to the top of the mast. I measured the wire diameters and all of the wires except the D3's are of 10 mm diameter, or a shade over 3/8". The D1's are thinner, of 7 mm or 5/16" diameter. (I couldn't see the forestay wire but I'd be shocked if it wasn't 10 mm like the backstay.)

I had noticed that when going to windward the leeward D1's became slack. Some slackness is to be expected because as far as I can see the D1's have the hardest life of the lot. When beating to windward everything conspires to bend the mast at the middle to leeward: the heel of the boat, the transfer of stress from the D2 and cap shrouds to the mast through the crosstrees, and the compression load on the mast. And unfortunately the D1 offers the poorest angle of incidence to the mast. Having said all that, I thought that the D1's were becoming too slack. The conditions were perfect for this sort of work because the roll of the boat helped me to make a better assessment of the tensions. Not having to clip to a lifeline helped too because I was able to cross to each side of the deck without going through the cockpit and changing life lines. In the end I tightened the D1 turnbuckles 1.5 turns on each side. The tension on the D2's and D3's felt OK to me so I did not tighten them. (Incidentally, the D1's had been replaced in Hawaii on spec and I carry the original D1's as spares.)

Then I looked at the forestay. This is a difficult one because one must deal with the weight of the rolled up headsail when pushing on the forestay to try to sense the tension and see the amount of travel in the wire. Although I had witnessed no tell tale oscillations of the wire when under sail I made the judgment that some tightening would be prudent. Tensioning the forestay at the Profurl roller is a tricky business with the danger of dropping something overboard and I would not do it at sea unless I was forced to. Fortunately Dan at Port Townsend Rigging had suggested that I put a forward bias to the mast so that a certain amount of tensioning could be made at the backstay. I had sailed out of La Paz with a perpendicular mast and therefore had quite a bit of scope of tensioning the forestay via the backstay, which is a much easier and safer operation. I wound up giving the backstay turnbuckle 3 turns.

As I did this work I had a good look at the rest of the rigging and found everything to be in order. I then used a 13 mm spanner to check the tension on the top nuts of that U bolt deck fitting that I had installed a few days earlier and gave them each a half a turn. At the end of this work (end entry of this blog item) it was 11 AM and the wind was from the NW but still at less than 6 knots (sigh!)

I began work on the next project, which was to fit the sun shade over the starboard side of the spray dodger where 1/3 of the window had been bashed out by a flailing sheet. Mark had advised me to sew the shade on and not rely solely on the metal fasteners, and that made a lot of sense. Unfortunately it meant a sewing job for me. I had had a go with the ordinary sewing kit that had done me so well in repairing clothing, but had been forced to give up the effort because the thread kept breaking. This time I used the items in the sail repair kit and found that with the larger needle, stronger thread, and leather palm I could actually sew the material. The first task was to repair a tear in one corner of the spray dodger itself lest it run and get much bigger. Once that was done I would attend to sewing on the sun screen which would not be easy because I'd have to be working from both sides of the dodger. I could see no way other than to push the needle from one side then go to the other and push the needle back. This was going to take a long time but the effort would be well worth it.

Anyway, I was finishing off the first inch of threading when the wind came out almost exactly at noon. It was weak - about 8 knots - but was from the WNW, which would give us a good point of sail. I rolled out some headsail and got us moving at the glorious speed of 1.3 knots but it was just enough to allow Jeff to steer us. I then hoisted the staysail and with both sails drawing we were soon making 2 knots to the SSE. After 15.5 hours of lying ahull we were moving again.

Our noon position was 34S06, 119W36, giving us a risible n-n distance of 9.5 miles. That's right, LESS THAN TEN MILES IN ONE DAY.

I woke up at 2 PM after my post lunch nap to find the wind up to 12 knots from the W. I didn't waste much time in bringing up the mainsail with two reefs which took our speed from 2.5 kt to 4 kt and we were moving nicely to the SSE. It was a mostly clear and sunny day with a large swell coming from the SW. I went below to have a cup of tea and begin forgetting the previous 24 hours.

At 5 PM with the wind having remained steady at 11-12 kt from the west I shook out the second reef which left us on a beam reach with one reef in the mainsail, the staysail, and a bit of headsail, headed S-SSE. I had finished stitching that tear in the fabric of the spray dodger. It was a horrible looking job but I thought that it would hold. Stitching on the sun cover would have to wait for better conditions. There was too much wind about for sewing. (YES!!!) The latest 48 hour (H+48) MSLP weather fax showed a couple of lows at my latitude, but their pressures were so high (1013 and 1015 hPa) that they were lows only in relation to the two highs along this band of latitude, at 1022 and 1017 hPa. To me it looked like one very long ridge. What this meant for my winds in two days I could not say, but I was hoping that the deep lows further south would dominate with their west winds.

I seem to slow this boat down as often as I speed it up. At 8 PM the apparent wind was over 20 knots and we were hammering pretty hard at 5.5 knots into a rough sea. I bore 10 degrees of the wind and rolled in the headsail to put us at a more comfortable 4-4.5 knots. Our course was good at SE.

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Day 47 - Southerly Wind and Poor Progress

During the night the wind kept backing until at daylight we were dealing with a southerly wind which fortunately was moderately strong at about 17 knots. I hardened the sails several ties during the night to counter the wind shift and at 8 AM we were sailing close hauled doing 3.3 knots on Course 110T. I had moved to the port bunk in anticipation. At this point I had resolved two questions. First, the boat was pointing and moving well enough with just her two headsails. It seemed to me that raising the mainsail would increase our speed causing the hull to bash against the waves which would force me to reduce the headsails which would probably result in an increase of lee (sidewasys drift downwind) to the detriment of the heading. I could therefore not see a lot of up side to going to the trouble of raising the mainsail. The other question was whether to tack. A tack would have put me roughly on course 230T, tangential to the Horn, and not giving me much more southing than the present course. So port tack with two modest headsails it would remain unless there was a dramatic and unexpected veering of the wind. The night's MSLP weather fax showed that the front had passed over me. Unfortunately I was 10 degrees too far to the north to be able to exploit the excellent westerly winds of that low pressure area that was causing my wind problems. According to the grib file I could expect another 24 hours of this southerly. The weather was cloudy and drizzly. Gotta take the bad with the good.

At 6.05 AM boat time (12.05 GMT/UTC) I had my communication session with Jim in Western Australia. As before, I could hear him faintly and just well enough to recognize his voice, but could not quite copy him. Very frustrating. I'm pretty sure that he could hear me a bit better. At 12.10 by we followed the plan and switched from 12.353 MHz to 16.528 MHz and at first I thought that heard him more clearly, but thereafter I heard nothing. It is only a matter of time before we manage to establish a good session.

The days were getting longer - about 14.5 hours of daylight per day. And the southerly bluster had given me a taste of the chillier weather ahead. I had started wearing a wool sweater and when I visited the cockpit to start the engine I wore wet weather gear over my clothes (though I went barefooted). The boat heater had come into its own. In addition to its role as a clothes drier it now brought welcome warmth to the cabin, helping to keep it nice and dry.

Our noon position was 34S01, 119W45, giving us a n-n distnce of 71 miles. We had moved 1.1 degrees to the south. Our sailing performance was appalling. In the southerly wind we were on a COG between 090 and 080. I spent over 30 sweaty minutes putting the boat on the other tack only to find us headed west so I returned it back to the the starboard tack. Sheer desperation then drove me to putting up the mainsail. After 30 minutes of hard work the sail was up double reefed, we had gained at least 15 degrees on the wind, and I had learned another lesson about the boat. The boat speed had increased to 4 knots but the hull was not bashing. We were now headed slightly south of east instead of slightly north of east. It had galled me big time to make any movement to the north.

Within the hour the wind backed another 20 degrees and we were headed north of east again. I tacked and found us headed 235T, WSW, at 3 knots. The next day's n-n distance was going to be woeful, but I had come to see this day as one of minimizing damage rather than making serious progress. Never mind. A weak sun had come out and I could see patches of blue sky ahead. I felt better already. I went below for lunch and a nap, and when I returned topside at 4 PM the situation had vastly improved. The SSE wind had held and the boat was on a steady heading of SW at 3.3 knots. The sky had cleared much and now there was sunshine through a light overcast. The front was well past and this was the wind shift that had been expected.

To make a cup of tea I pumped the first water out of the starboard tank and it came out reddish with rust as it does from the bottom of the tank after a long period a long period without change. I used the water for tea and I will keep using it until it clears. If Brenda, Arnold, and I could survive for weeks on that chalky water that we got out of that tank in Raivavae I was sure that I would survive this.

At 5.30 PM the wind shifted and I tacked back, heading 100T.

At 8.30 PM I was forced to drop the mainsail due to the same old problem of the boom banging left and right in a dying wind. I rolled in the headsail and left the staysail up to steady the boat. I had not lost much by dropping sail. We had been creeping due east at 2.1 knots and I didn't want to go east anyway. With staysail alone we were doing 1 knot to the east anyway. Otherwise it was a pleasant evening with clear weather and a reasonably calm sea.

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Day 46 - Water Situation OK

Shortly before going to sleep I realized that I was paying too much of a penalty in speed by running downwind with both the staysail and the partially rolled out headsail. I dropped the staysail and rolled out the headsail to a no. 2 and we gained a knot of speed. I didn't like putting all of the load on the headsail, and it pained me to see it jerk whenever a severe boat roll took its wind out, but it was simply too useful in these downwind conditions. At the beginning of the 2 AM fax session the wind situation looked good because it had strengthened to 13 kts. However, during the next hour it dropped to the point where the headsail was starting to thrash. I went back to the dual configuration where each headsail took some of the load and the headsail would not flog as hard because of its reduced area. Nevertheless I had trouble getting to sleep, listening to the racket every time the boat went into one of the rolling spasms and the sails flogged, though I must admit that most of the sound was from the blocks jerking around above my head rather than from the sails themselves.

Then a new element arose, our heading which had backed to about 110T. I figured that my gybe angle was about 80 degrees which would put me at about 190T. This would actually take me farther away from the Horn but the name of the game was still to reach the westerlies, and 190T would move me south much faster than 110T. Besides, I didn't want to move any more to the east until we got below the centre of the South America high. So just before 5 AM, under the light of the near full moon, I checked that the sheets were clear at the foredeck (e.g. not wrapped around a bollard), loaded the winches, then gybed the boat. When it had settled down we were on a course of 190T, as I had calculated. While steering manually during the maneuver and I had difficulty with holding the boat on her new course in preparation for engaging Jeff because I kept over steering and yawing 20 degrees on each side of the heading. When Jeff took over those wild oscillations stopped and the heading was confined to a narrow band. The reason, of course, is that Jeff reacts quickly to nuances in the wind direction.

At 9 AM I was up to find that the wind had strengthened somewhat and we were doing 3.5-4 knots on course 190T, with very little flogging of sails. I was happy with my earlier decisions to go back to the twin headsails and to gybe. The mornings were getting cooler. The cabin temperature was 72.7F. The sun was out through a sheen of thin cloud cover.

All of the drizzle since the ITCZ had provided only 10 liters of water that I had used for washing, and I was very close to getting down to my last store of drinking water, a sealed 20 liter container of pure reverse osmosis water from La Paz. I decided to keep it in reserve and begin using water from my internal tanks. I thought it an appropriate time to audit the tanks so I got my plumb sticks ready and open the bung of each one. I did not need the measuring sticks because both tanks were so full that I had to prevent water from pouring out with the roll of the boat. So I was at a known point with my fresh water tanks: 140 liters in each one. At the rate at which I had been using water they should last about 70 days, though in an emergency I knew that I could stretch that 70 days by reducing my consumption from 4 liters a day to 1 without detriment to my health. This was all worst-case stuff because I was confident of an eventual downpour that would allow me to fill all water storage and have me dancing in the rain covered in goose pimples.

Our noon position was 32S55, 120W18, giving us a n-n distance of 65 miles. We had moved a shade more than 1 degree to the south. Given the circumstances I could not complain. I had expected difficulty in that gap between the trade winds and the westerlies. Noon found us moving on course 190T and 3.5 knots.

As the afternoon progressed the conditions became more gray then drizzly. The afternoon weather fax showed that the low that I had seen the day before had arced down to the SE and now there was a front passing over my area. This explained the abrupt wind changes predicted by the grib files for the next 18 hours. There is always a small at the top edge of the sealed companionway and a few drops of rain were making it almost to the nav station. It took me about 3 minutes to set up the shower curtain that protects the nav station and I found it very easy to live with. So it was an unpleasant afternoon of dismal weather and incessant rolling of the boat. However, the boat had continued south and 3.5 knots with little stress to the sails. I occupied my time with a double whammy of bread baking and yogurt making.

I hadn't been on the deck all day so at 6.45 PM before settling down for dinner and a movie I harnessed up and visited the foredeck. The headsail was doing fine. I told it Well Done and that I was doing everything I could to protect it then blew it a kiss. All else seemed to be in order. I surveyed the horizon and it was a nice scene. There was a certain wildness to it with the moderately high wind and strong following sea, and whitecaps as far as the eye could see, all crystal clear under a setting sun shining brightly through breaks in the clouds. I would have said that the front had passed, particularly since we had just sailed nicely through a squall that took the wind to over 25 knots, except that the wind had not yet veered to the west. Back at the cockpit I checked Jeff's steering lines and they were still taut. Somehow this unorthodox downwind configuration of staysail and headsail at less than the area of the staysail were powering us along at 5 knots in front of the 20 knot wind.

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