Day 112 - Motoring, Land Ho, Poised for Entry

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.

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Day 111 - Less Than 60 To Go

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.

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Day 110 - 125 to go and N of 40S

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.

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Day 109 - Wind and Under 200 Miles

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.

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Day 108 - Becalmed and Plenty of Fuel

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.

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Day 107 - Creeping Along in Light Winds

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.

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Day 106 - Under 300 Miles

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.

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