Day 35 - Grab Bag Check

At 1.30 AM I was awaken a rising wind and boat speed. When the hull slammed into a wave a second time I decided that it was time to get up and have a look. We were doing well over 6 kts and the wind was hitting 23 kts. I went out to roll in the headsail and found myself in drizzle. We were obviously passing through a squall but I couldn't see much because the new moon had disappeared over the horizon. Five minutes after I rolled in the sail the wind dropped right off and Jeff could not cope with the steering. I couldn't fault him because I could barely cope myself, frequently having to hold the wheel hard to port to slowly get the boat back on course. For 20 minutes I hand steered by compass and the feel of what wind there was on my cheek. The mainsail was flogging badly but I figured if I hung in there the wind would come back, and thankfully it did. I soon coaxed Jeff into taking over and things slowly got back to normal.

I wanted a hot drink but not coffee, and I had only a few bags of Twinning tea left, so it was time to dig out the hot chocolate. I found a 200g can of Milo chocolate drink, made in Australia, complete with instructions to use Sunshine milk. The can had probably been on board since 2008 but the contents were in top condition and I enjoyed it so much that I had a second cup. The Milo won't last long but I have plenty of Hershey chocolate syrup on board.

Twenty minutes later I was topside again, rolling in most of the headsail due to the increasing wind. Below I kept being bothered by the regular luffing (fluttering) of the staysail which transmitted a gentle rattle along the starboard side of the boat. I didn't like this because it represented needless subtle stress on the sail and stay. I had been accepting this for several reasons: the sail was tacked too far off the centreline of the boat, the rolling and yawing of the boat caused momentary over pointing into the wind, and there was a latency in responsiveness to the rudder as the boat yawed left and right. My response had been to fall off the wind until the luffing stopped. I went outside, looked up at the mechanical wind indicator, and saw that we were already almost on a beam reach. "This is bullshit" I told myself and did something that I should have done a week earlier. I turned on the deck light then went to the forward hatch to look at the sail from below. At that angle and with that lighting I could clearly see that the entire front half of the sail was luffing (collapsing) every few seconds. I could see that the sheeting angle was OK (i.e. sheet block not to far forward or aft) but there was plenty of scope for tightening the sail. I returned to the cockpit, brought the sail on harder with the winch, and like magic the luffing stopped. This event should be taken as a confession to the blog. It was a very fundamental problem and I should have gotten on to it much earlier. I had allowed myself to be distracted by the other factors that were degrading the performance of the sail.

In the morning we sailed under an overcast sky and somewhat weaker wind. Nevertheless we were making a half knot less in speed that I would have expected, and I attributed this to sailing closer to the wind. I didn't want to bear away off the wind because the Ducie-Henderson Island gap (which is 200 miles wide) was less than 350 miles away and I wanted to pass as close to the west side of Ducie Island as possible.

I consulted Bowditch about the effect of latitude on the length of a degree of longitude. The standard navigation chart is a Mercator projection of the world, where lines of latitude and longitude are at right angles and a rhumb line (i.e. straight line drawn on the chart) will always intersect lines of longitude at the same angle. But the reality is that whereas lines of latitude go around the world, are parallel, and are always evenly spaced, lines of longitude go from pole to pole. The effect is that whereas a degree of latitude always represents 60 nautical miles (let's forget the well known nuances), a degree of longitude represents 60 nm at the equator but less and less as it approaches the pole. This is why we use dividers to measure distances off the latitude scale of a chart. For example, at latitude 50S a degree of longitude represents only 38.7 nm, or 64% of its length at the equator. For my purposes, between the natural convergence of the lines of longitude and my slanting toward the east when I encounter the westeries at 30-40S I don't see a terribly big handicap in being this far west.

I also read an interesting section in Bowditch on the long term almanac. I was not able to get the latest almanac while I was in the USA because it was too early in the year, but that is not a problem. Applying adjustments to the 4-year cycle of the celestial numbers, the maximum altitude errors that I can get are 2.0 minutes for the sun and 1.3 minutes for stars. That translates to a position error of 2 miles or less. Also, my tables for solving the spherical triangle go only to latitude 45 degrees, and Drake Passage is at about 55 degrees. Bowditch specifies techniques for solving the spherical triangle by hand. None of this will be necessary as long as at least one of my 3 computers or one GPS keeps functioning, but I know that in a severe crisis I should still be able to find my way.

At noon our position was 19S35, 123W54, giving us a n-n distance of 114 miles in the direction 196T. We had made 1.8 degrees to the south. I expected to cross 20S before nightfall, meaning that I will have crossed the ten degrees from 10S to 20S in about 5.5 days. I was farther west than I would have liked to be, but otherwise I couldn't complain.

After the noon report I walked to the mast along the weather (port) side to have a look around. Both headsails looked fine. The headstay and been very taut when I left La Paz and I did not see any oscillations that would indicate that it had gone loose. I would check its tension by hand the next calm day when the sail was rolled up. I felt around the lower swages of the shrouds, which had been carrying the load for over a week, for any broken wires and thankfully found none. I then went back to the cockpit and rolled out more headsail which improved our speed but not direction. The wind was coming from the SE and I needed it to back to the E.

The grib file presented a beautifully accurate description of my situation. I had just gone through a rain band of about 45 miles and was now in moderate SE winds. North of that band of rain - about 1 degree away - the wind was from the NE at less than 6 knots. Unfortunately this system would catch me and I faced the prospect of weak NE winds in 12 hours. If it came to that I hoped that there would be enough strength in that wind to keep me moving toward the SE, a very good direction.

Incidentally, last night I got my Sailmail service from Manihi, 1300 miles away in the Tuamotu Archipelago. The throughput was not great but acceptable. I got a strong signal out of Chile, but the frequency was busy with other Sailmail traffic during the 10 minutes that I monitored it. It looks like Chile is destined to become my Sailmail conduit to the world until I am past the Horn.

At mid afternoon I attended to something that I've had on my mind for a few days. I emptied the emergency grab bag and went through all of the items in to make sure that everything is in good condition and I know how to use it. The first item was the EPIRB. It has an expiry date of Feb 2015 and it tested out fine.

Then I looked at the submersible hand held VHF radio and realized that I wasn't sure of the state of its batteries or even how to use it. I found the instructions in another part of the boat. I turned the radio on and nothing happened. It's rechargeable lithium ion battery needed recharging and the parts list described the charging cradle and both AC and DC adapters. I found them stored below the navigation table and commenced charging. The radio also has a case that can take four AAA batteries. To the case and four AAA batteries in the grab bag I added four fresh AAA batteries. Later I read the entire manual and was impressed at the sophistication in that tiny radio (West Marine VHF150). Having said that, my main interest for now is being able to communicate with a rescue airplane or ship on VHF 16. I'll be able to select power levels of 1W, 2.5W, or 5W. I will keep the instructions with the radio in a ziploc bag. I will keep the recharge kit on the shelf next to the navigation table ready to go.

The other items were in good condition, e.g. rigger knife, reading glasses, 2 parachute flares, a small first aid kit, a signalling mirror, a head torch (working), a small hand held torch, a liter of water, and laminated copies of both of my passports. From now on I will visit the grab bag frequently and make sure that the lithium ion battery stays charged.

We crossed latitude 20S just before 6.30 PM local time. There was rain at various parts of the horizon and it caused disruption to the wind at times. At one point we were headed WSW and I foolishly threw a tack that I was force to abandon 30 minutes later. As darkness approached we were hanging in there doing about 5 knots and headed SSW. I had a feeling that I'd be on deck tending to the sails several times during the night.

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Day 34 - Fellow Sailor and Fuel Transfer

This was 29 November 2011. The day before I crossed the equator on 20 November I commented in my blog (Day 24) on how Jeanne Socrates had made the crossing in her boat Nereida exactly one year earlier. When I wrote those words I had no idea that my nine day advantage in crossing the equator would translate to a distance advantage of 17.5 degrees, but here I was. I had calculated that Nereida would have rounded the Horn on 7 January had she not been damaged in the knockdown, and I am more confident now in my estimation of making my rounding in early January.

Brenda sent me a very interesting blog entry from a fellow sailor, Matt Rutherford, who at the time of writing was at lat 15S12, about 250 miles from me, on his way to the Horn. His thoughts and experiences were eerily similar to mine, which gave me great comfort, possibly because it provided me with some validation.

On the doldrums: "I'm happy to have made it through the "crazy latitudes". I call it that
because it's a infamous area, known to make sailors lose their mind. For me
it started at around 9 north and continued until 3 south. That's roughly
720 miles of thunderstorms, light winds, and opposing currents. The French
have a word for the doldrums that roughly translates into "terrible
miserable darkness". I'd say that sums it up nicely. It felt like I was
trying to sail through the twilight zone, I'm no crazier then when I left."

On the SE trade winds: "Since 3 south its been head winds, head winds, headwinds. I'm just slowly
beating into the seas trying not to beat my boat to death. No matter how
much I reduce sail I still pound from time to time. St Brendan is getting
pretty beat up."

He is worried about the hammering his 40-year old fiberglass Albin Vega design boat "St Brendan" is taking.

He even recommended viewing of "Deep Water", the tragic story of solo sailor Donald Crowhurst. I saw it myself about a week ago and the documentary has special impact on someone alone at sea.

The Matt a track record. He set off from Annapolis, sailed the Northwest Passage, and plans to return to Annapolis via the Horn non-stop. I doff my hat to him. I admire his credo: "The ocean can kill me, but it can't break me."

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It was a very good sailing night. At last light I was tempted to shake out my second reef but fortunately decided not to. All night long the boat sailed itself to the south at about 5 kts. Twice during the night I got up and found that all was well. At 8 AM I was up for the day, quite refreshed after the previous "rest day" and the good night's sleep. I was still headed for Ducie Island and was thinking of shaking out that second reef.

At about 10.30 AM I got the bright idea of transferring fuel from the deck containers into the main tanks. It was a bright sunny day and although we were moving at over 5 kts the seats and cockpit sole were dry, meaning that the diesel would not be contaminated by salt water spray. I had been so impressed with the hand pump that Bob Carroll had introduced me to that I had purchased a second one and had been using one very effectively to pump fresh water out of the 20 liter containers and the other one for pumping out diesel fuel. Unfortunately the diesel fuel pump had stopped working. On inspection I saw that the seal had been eaten away, so my guess is that the pump had been designed for water only. I was unprepared for this and wound up lifting the 20 liter diesel containers and pouring directly into the Baja filter. This was not easy on a heeled and gyrating boat. I managed to transfer what I estimate to be 27 liters of fuel, allowing for spillage of about 2 liters. During this operation I learned to not try to fill the leeward tank. Both tanks are connected and the result was that the leeward tank overflowed (at more loss of fuel) much sooner than I had expected. At the end I was left with 2 seats and the sole covered in diesel, and myself covered in diesel from the waist down. A good rinsing of the cockpit and a salt water bath using soap fixed that problem, but that cleanup came after I had produced my noon report covered in diesel oil and sitting on an old towel. The important thing was that I had completed the transfer without contaminating the fuel with water or damaging the Baja Filter. The next time I'll be better prepared. Siphoning won't work because the Baja filter sits too high. I may simply decant the fuel into one of my two new and very clean buckets that I had purchased for capturing rain water.

At noon our position was 17S46, 123W21, giving us a n-n distance of 124 miles. We had made 1.98 degrees to the south, one minute short of a full 2 degrees. We were now south of Tahiti, 1500 miles to the west.

At 2 PM I shook out the 2nd reef and sailed with the 1st reef. The wind speed had dropped somewhat but was satisfactory, particularly since it seemed to have backed 15 degrees and put us on a course due south at 5 knots. While running the engine (135.0 hours) I spent 30 minutes cleaning out the ice box and refrigerator. A tomato and two onions went into the ocean. As soon we reach cooler temperatures I will shut off the refrigerator and let the butter, cheese, and what is left of the lunch meat fend for themselves. Incidentally my third effort at making yogurt was by far the best: good consistency and great taste. I'll keep that little yogurt production line going as long as I c

Shortly before 5 PM we went through a light shower and the wind abruptly picked up speed and did not drop again. Pachuca was off to the races again, doing 6.5 knots through a rising sea. I put in the second reef again and wound in most of the headsail and our speed dropped to a more comfortable 5.5 knots. Unfortunately the new wind had veered 15 degrees and for now we were headed for midway between Ducie Island and Henderson Island, 200 miles to the west. I could have sailed harder into the wind by dropping the staysail and using the jib, half rolled out and sheeted in tight, but I didn't want to do that because I would need that sail for running downwind before the westerlies.

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Day 33

The wind picked up after dark. At first the sailing was good as the boat zipped along smoothly at 6.5 knots, but once the seas built up things started to get rough and I had to take time off from the Bruce Willis movie (The Sixth Sense) to put in the second reef. This had little effect on the boat speed, which at times was getting close to 7 knots, so an hour later I was back in the cockpit totally rolling in the headsail for the first time since I had put it up ten days ago. I was determined to slow the boat down and my next step would be to drop the staysail. Fortunately that was not necessary because rolling in that tiny piece of headsail had reduced the speed to about 4 knots and the boat was now riding much quieter. After this I had the last grapefruit, nicely chilled out of the refrigerator. It was as juicy, sweet and refreshing as a fresh one. Grapefruit travel well but they are a bit bulky for storage in a refrigerator.

It was 1 AM when I lay down for the night but I was too hyped up couldn't settled down, probably because of the effects of pump repair effort, skipped nap, and nocturnal sail adjustments. I rose at 2 AM, listened to Australian Radio for a while, then decided that I'd better skip the 2.30 AM radio fax session and get to sleep. I took two Ibuprofen and went out like a light until dawn when I got up, had a look around, saw that the boat was still tracking nicely to the south at 4 knots, then went back to sleep until 9.30 AM. Over breakfast I marveled at how well the boat had been moving in these conditions with just a double reefed mainsail and the staysail. The wind was still relatively strong and the sea was still rough so I made no sail adjustments.

Our noon position was 15S47, 122W49, giving us a n-n distance of 106 miles. We had moved south another 1.8 degrees. Easter Island was 1000 miles to the SE. Cabo San Lucas was 2400 miles to the NNE.

In the afternoon I drained the last of the water from my first of four 20-liter containers that I had brought from La Paz. That empty container and the two empty 10 liter containers represented my net use of water from Pachuca's storage resources, not forgetting that I had managed to refill those containers during the short rains in the ITCZ. I had consumed roughly 80 liters of water in 33 day, or about 2.4 liters per day. That left me with 3x20 liter containers from La Paz plus the 280 liters in the boat's tanks, all untouched. I had plenty of water on board, but I was not going to ease up on the discipline until we encountered serious rain in the westerlies or maybe even before.

In the afternoon the sailing was good. With a falling wind I rolled out a bit of headsail to take the boat speed to just over 5 kts. The staysail, sheeted way out to the car track, was luffing a bit too much for my liking so with reluctance I fell another 10 degrees off the wind to quiet the sail and put on a bit of speed. At mid afternoon we were making 5.8-6 kts in reasonable comfort, though we were making almost directly for Ducie Island, which seemed to be acting like a magnet to Pachuca. It was difficult to tell which side of the island we would pass.

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Day 32 (27 Nov) - Bilge Pump Repaired

The SE trade wind has its moods. As the sun fell to the horizon yesterday the wind speed dropped so much that I decided to shake out my second reef before nightfall. Thirty minutes after that there was light rain and when I looked around I felt as though I had been transported back to the ITCZ. The wind dropped to below 10 kt and the boom started to slam. Fortunately that was a temporary disruption associated with the rain and slowly the wind speed began to build up. Two hours later the star lit sky was very clear again. The wind stayed moderate until midnight and the boat speed was about 4 knots.

The polar weather fax at 2.30 AM showed the big South Pacific high centered on the longitude 125W. The relevance is that if I find myself sailing through the center of that high I'll also find myself drifting with little wind. It made me re examine the question of how far west to go in my quest for the Horn. The Ocean Passages chart of the world sailing routes showed the main sailing route between the west coast of North America and the Horn as passing west of Ducie Island for the months of Dec-Feb. This made sense to me because it would increase my chances of passing on the west side of the SE Pacific high. This was all a bit of a surprise for me because most similar passages to the Horn that I've read about tracked near Easter Island. I emerged from this middle of the night session more relaxed about which side of Ducie Island I would pass. I'll continue to sail as best as I can, and if the resulting track takes me west of Ducie Island which is at longitude 124W50 then so be it.

By 3 AM the wind had picked up enough to make the boat a bit frisky so I rolled in some headsail and reduced our speed to 5 kt.

I went to bed thinking how so soon after the bushfire crises of Western Australia we now have large swaths on the E side of the continent inundated and isolated by flood waters.

I woke up at 8 AM still sleepy and wooly headed. It had been a rough but tolerable night and I had managed to get some good sleep. As usual the first thing I did upon rising was to look at the situation on the chart plotter and everything was fine. Our COG was centered around 170T and we were making an average of about 4.7 kts. Boat speed per se was not an issue. I could have easily taken the boat to 6-6.5 knots by rolling out more sail. The issue was the state of the sea and I was unwilling to make the boat pound any harder.

At noon our position was 14S01, 122W41, giving us a n-n distance of 106 miles. We had moved another 1.8 degrees to the south. I was pleased that hardening into the wind had arrested our movement to the west. The boat was moving well with her single reef, staysail, and tiny headsail; making 4-4.5 kts at 165T into a stiff apparent wind of 18 or 19 knots. I've been plotting my noon positions on a paper chart and this day I had to pull out another chart to make the plot, which was a tangible sign of progress.

At 11 AM I began the task of repairing the manual bilge pump in the cockpit. The big fear in these kind of jobs is one snag that turns the project into an ordeal. It could be a seized screw or maybe a hose that won't slide off. Fortunately there were no such glitches and the job turned out to be pretty straightforward. (For the record, the service kit for the Titan Whale Gusher pump is numbered AK4400.) I removed the pump and took it into the cabin. There I swapped in every item provided in the kit including the diaphragm, inlet and outlet valves, screws, circlips, and the stainless steel spring for the exhaust valve. At 2 PM the refurbished pump was back in place and tested out OK.

After having spent over an hour rolling around the cockpit floor with the top half of me inside of the lazarette working while the water swirled around my shoulders I figured that deserved a bath, so I spent a pleasant 30 minutes under the midday sun enjoying a leisurely salt water bath with plenty of shampoo. I then rinsed off with 2 liters of fresh water, dried off, then put on my first fresh set of underclothes in about a week. (Yes I know, on Pachuca luxury has no bounds.)

We went into the night with Pachuca ambling along at 4 kt, course 170T.

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Day 31 - More Reduced Sail

The wind picked up during the night and in spite of the shortened mainsail the boat was moving too fast at times. 80% of the time it would be sailing OK at below 5 kts but during the regular surges of wind the speed would exceed 6.5 kts and the hull would go through a bout of slamming every 5 minutes or so. The moonless night was very dark because the partly cloudy skies obscured most of the stars, so I decided to wait until first light to reduce sail further.

At dawn after a cup of coffee I stripped down for action and put on my battle dress of shoes, harness, and gloves. Rolling in headsail is a trivial task off a friendly coast on a weekend sail, but out here I make every one of these operations a big deal. If something were to go wrong, such as my losing grip of the jib sheet or, worse, the furler line, I could wind up with a damaged sail. The operation went well and I learned that rolling in 2/3 of the small amount of headsail that had been showing was sufficient to quiet down the boat. I got a free salt water shower for my trouble. That left me with the double reefed mainsail, the staysail, and perhaps 50 sq ft of headsail. The boat thereafter settled to a speed of 5.2 or 5.3 knots, rising to not quite 6 kts during the wind surges. As usual, I felt much better after reducing sail, and life in the cabin was more comfortable. After breakfast I ventured to the foredeck and confirmed that the headsail was still in good condition.

Shortly after rising for the 2 AM weather fax session I stuck my head outside and noticed a glow of light off my starboard quarter. The glow was too large and full to be from a star or planet. I turned on the radar and sure enough there was a hard target 12 miles almost astern of me. It was not putting out an AIS signal but from the lighting I figured that it must be a fishing boat in action. I watched it for 30 minutes and turned off the radar when I was satisfied that our separation was increasing.

I had a look at the world chart of ocean currents and it appears that we are moving into the branch of the Peru current that circles back down to the south. The current will be toward the SW at first but gradually clock around toward the S and be assisting me until approximately 35S. This current is not as strong as the south equatorial current, but it is significant enough to find a place on the world charts. This is all good news to me because I've learned that to a sail boat currents are a very big deal.

At 11 AM I started the engine then stuck my head into the lazarette to investigate the whooshing sound that the manual bilge pump had started making the previous day. As expected the main rubber diaphragm had a hole in it. Fortunately I had managed to pick up a service kit for this pump in California. The repair effort will be challenging because I'll be working with the steering wheel not only in place but also turning back and forth wildly under the control of Jeff. I should attend to this matter soon, while I am still in this warm climate. In the meantime, I'll rely fully on the electric bilge pump which has proven to be reliable and efficient (knock on wood). I have a spare electric bilge pump, a gift from my pen neighbor on D jetty at the Fremantle Sailing Club.

At noon we were at position 12S15, 122W42, making our n-n distance 134 miles. We had moved another 2.2 degrees to the south and were now south of the latitude of Lima, Peru, 2700 miles to the east.

I was feeling better after those few hours of quieter sailing. (When the boat is agitated I am agitated.)

In the afternoon I dug out the Whale Gusher Titan pump service kit and went over the instructions, which pointedly state that the rubber components must be changed every 3 years whether they are still working or not. I installed my Whale Gusher in 2008, shortly before sailing out of Fremantle, so I can't complain.

The apparent wind dropped to 13-14 kt during the middle of the day so I rolled out some jib to keep the boat speed above 5 kt. At 3 PM the wind began to pick up to 17-18 kt then the sea began to build up, which is the real problem. So I rolled some headsail back in and reduced the speed from 5.5 kt to 5 kt. Looking back, it had been a very good sailing day, with the boat moving well with moderate winds and in terrific weather.

I've had to move my Sailmail sessions two hours later than my usual (to about 2400 UTC) in order to get successful connections and transmissions from Panama. I've noticed a station at a place call Manihi, which is a relatively close 1370 miles away somewhere in the South Pacific. I'll be trying that out for my connections. Also, there is a station in Chile 3100 miles away which will probably become my sole Sailmail station as I proceed south.

I did some paper chart work in the late afternoon and realized that we were headed for Ducie Island only 730 miles away. In the vicinity and just to the west are Henderson and Pitcairn Islands. I have now placed these islands as waypoints on Dave's laptop chart system so that I can keep a good eye on them. I would very much prefer passing Ducie Island well to the east so to that end I hardened sails which resulted in less speed and therefore the need for more sail. In the morning I'll about shaking out a reef.

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Day 30 - Across 10 Degrees South

I reefed the mainsail yesterday at noon accepting an inevitable reduction in speed. I was willing to trade that for a gentler ride. But the wind had other ideas.

The first part of the evening was very good. After a brief lull at sunset the wind picked up and for several hours we found ourselves in a very nice groove between a good but not too strong wind and a sea that was not too rough. I watched two movies while the boat sailed itself due south at over 6 kt with amazing tranquility.

But near midnight the wind picked up and we had a rough ride all night. There was a lot of slamming of the hull, a lot of water over the cabin hatch, and I was pumping out the bilge (admittedly a shallow one) every 2 or 3 hours. At 8 AM I went topside, made sure that the headsails had survived the night OK, then eased the mainsheet to reduce the amount of heeling. Then for the next 20 minutes I watched the proceedings from the companionway and saw sustained apparent wind speeds of 22 and 23 kts, suggesting to me true wind speeds of 18 and 19 knots. The grib file had predicted stronger winds to 16.5 knots. At those wind speeds the boat wasn't over canvassed. A second reef isn't warranted until 24 kts at the minimum, and the headsails were as I described the day before.

You've got to be able to trust the hull in these rough conditions. Just as a frightened air traveler will freak out when he sees the airplane wing flexing and will try to jump out of his seat when he feels the landing gear thud into position, a timid sailor can drive himself closer to a frenzy with every blow to the hull. I haven't heard of any fiberglass hulls splitting under the stress of a pounding sea. As for Pachuca, her hull is not only extraordinary thick (because she was constructed before the boat builders learned how to cut corners) but is shaped with compound curves everywhere, making it extremely resistant to exterior stress. (Think of the compression strength of an egg.)

Our noon position was 10S02, 122W21, giving us a n-n distance of 136 miles. We had gained 2.3 degrees toward the south and had made the 10 degrees from the equator in only 5 days. I was amazed at the numbers. We were now south of the latitude of the Marquises and 1250 miles NNW of my new reference, Easter Island, at latitude 27S. I could expect the trade winds to hold up until at least 20S but expected to slow the boat down a bit.

Almost immediately after the noon report I did a reprise of the previous day and put in a second reef in the mainsail. I knew what the grib file and my own wind instrument were saying, but out there it felt like I was dealing with a 25 knot wind. I saw no need to push the boat hard. I expected the reliable trade winds for at least another 10 degrees, no bad weather was threatening me, I was through the worst of the south equatorial current, and I expected to still make good time under reduced sail. After the second reef the boat settled down to 6 knots and rode more comfortably. If conditions worsened my next step would be to roll in the headsail. I was rewarded for my efforts with a salt water shower . I heard the wave hit and thought "This is going to be a wet one." and so it was.

In the middle of the afternoon I made my way to the bow for a deck check. Clinging to the inner forestay I had a good look at the headsail and it looked fine and none the worse for the wear of the last few days. I could see that it was sheeted in a bit tight, choking off the slot between it and the staysail, and I rectified that back at the cockpit. The compass was showing a course of 180M, which translated to 190T given the deviation in this part of the ocean of 10E. Our COG was 195T, indicating to me that I was past any significant effects of the south equatorial current.

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Day 29 - Two More Degrees And A Ship

During the night the wind backed to put me on a course of SSE. While I was up to download the 2.30 AM weather fax from Charleville I noticed that the boat had altered course 90 degrees to starboard. The control lines of the self steering had come loose and jumped out of the hub. I was surprised at how calm things were when the boat was headed downwind. Anyway, I restored things before the boat gybed thanking of my good fortune at happening to be up when the problem occurred.

I enjoy being up at that time of the night because I am able to hear "ABC News Radio" on Radio Australia clear as a bell. Unfortunately for the last two days I have been hearing of fires in the Margaret River area south of Perth in Western Australia which have so far destroyed 30 houses and one shopping centre. The voices from Australia sound so ... Australian!

In the morning I had deck work to do. On the cabin of the boat are four raised platforms backed by metal plates to accommodate cabin winches that were never mounted. The platforms are an integral part of the deck's fiberglassing and gelcoat. On the front platforms are padeyes to which the previous owners attached the running backstays when they were not in use. In La Paz I attached snap blocks on the padeyes and ran the staysail sheets through them. This met Dan of Port Townsend Rigging's criterion that the sheeting blocks should be 28"-32" from the centerline of the boat. This worked beautifully and for days I'd been using the staysail nice and close hauled as we beat into the wind. But then I began to notice snaping and cracking sounds from the forward cabin bulkhead. I examined the underside of the platform under load from the staysail block and could find no evidence of stress. Nevertheless I was worried because those platforms have been designed to take winch loads in shear, and not sheet loads near orthogonal. I noted that the staysail forestay is supported by a wire strop that transfers the load of the stay to the forward bulkhead so that the deck will not lift. To my mind, the sheet block should have similar treatment because the loading is actually higher than that of the forestay.

So this morning I threw tack so that I was temporarily heading for Columbia while I rearranged the starboard blocks and sheets so that the staysail sheet passes between two shrouds to a block on the car track as it did when I purchased the boat. This has moved the sheet block another 24" from the centerline, but the sail seems to work OK if the boat is slightly off the wind. Fortunately I found this morning that we were on a COG of 150T so when I resumed the tack I was able to ease the sheets and fall another 10 degrees off the wind. Having the sheet pass between two of the shrouds presents a problem with back winding the staysail when heaving to, but I may not even need the staysail for heaving to - the trysail alone may do the trick. But if needs be I'll try Bob Carroll's idea of passing a second sheet from the staysail inside of the shroud specifically for heaving to.

It is possible that I could have gotten away with the use of the winch platforms for the staysail sheets but the risk and worry would have been too high. Had one of those platforms cracked and lifted I would had to deal with enormous problems of water leaking into the cabin. With the status quo ante I will sleep much, much better at night.

I ran the engine for an hour after having skipped a run yesterday. (130.6 hrs) I used the boat's heater to dry my shoes and gloves, which had gotten pretty wet up on deck.

At noon we were at position 07S46, 122W10, giving us a n-n distance of 122 miles. We had slightly more than 2 degrees to the south.

Immediately after our little 2 degree triumph I put a reef into the mainsail. We had been driving pretty hard for the previous 18 hours, with the boat frequently slamming into on coming waves and plenty of water over the deck and to the cabin hatch. The apparent wind had never hit 22 kt and the sails were handling it well, given that there was so little headsail showing and the staysail can easily handle 30 kt winds. However, it just felt that I should reef. The usual miracle accompanied the reef: we lost little perceptible speed, and were still making 6 to 6.5 knots to the south.

After lunch I had a very peaceful and relaxing nap. I woke up to find the boat making way gently without slamming either into or from the waves. The boat was still headed south at about 5.3 kt. I spent some time in the cockpit watching the boat cutting nicely through the blue water under the bright clear sky and I told myself that passage making couldn't get much better than this.

But sometimes it pays to look back instead of forward. A few minutes later I was back at the nav station and I saw in the chart plotter display a hint of grey peeping out from underneath the symbol of the boat. At this scale it looked like a ship was right on top of me. I zoomed in and saw that there was a ship that had just passed less than 2 miles from my stern. I stuck my head out and there it was, big, close, with hull well up. She was the "Tampa", a cargo ship making for Papeete at 19.7 knots. Had I seen the ship a bit earlier I would have tried to hail them on VHF 16, but the moment had passed. My AIS alarm had not gone off because the transponder had calculated that the ship's closest point would be outside of my safe zone which was set to a radius of 0.5 miles around the boat with the alarm set to go off at 3 minutes before breach of the safe zone. These settings were for close quarter sailing around harbors and anchorages. For this blue water cruising I reset the AIS alarm criteria to the maximum: I would now get an alarm whenever a ship was within 24 minutes of penetrating my safe zone of a 2 mile radius. We may seem like we are in the middle of nowhere but at the scale in which we are operating the near miss was as good as a collision as far as I was concerned. I run the AIS 24x7 and the navigation lights every night. I decided to operate the chart plotter on a larger scale so that I can see any more ships as they approach.

At 4.30 PM the boat was still peacefully moving south. I was looking forward to baking my second loaf of bread and having a quiet night.

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Day 28 - Steady Progress

I started tracking a bit to the west again. A wind and wave spot prediction covering the next few days that I received from Stephen consistently stated that the winds would be ESE (and some E) for the next few days. My latest grib file also stated a wind direction of ESE today and tomorrow. However, I was tracking 200T when I should have been tracking 180T. A look at the wind indicator told me that the boat was pointing well. I then looked at the compass and allowing for deviation my heading was 180T or less. Between the current and the waves the boat was being pushed to the west again, though not seriously so.

I was up at 2 AM to download the polar fax of the South Pacific from station VMC in Charleville, Queensland Australia. I captured a clear image and was able to compare the position of those lows near the Horn over 2 successive days. I need to get a feel about the track and speed of those lows. My recollection is that they begin near the pole then move toward the east in a big arc which takes them back toward the pole.

I did some snooping around the weather fax software and discovered that it contains a schedule of every weather fax station in the world, including their frequencies. The document looked familiar and soon I discovered that I had downloaded the same document from the internet back at La Paz and had forgotten about it. The schedule for CBV in Chile turned out to be a big disappointment. It covers only zone "A", which is a band covering the Caribbean, Gulf of Mexico, and the western approaches to Panama. Also, their hours of transmission are very limited. I was disappointed that Chile, whose navy is renowned for its presence in the SE Pacific and Drake Passage, supports such a limited weather fax service. Station PWZ out of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil will be useful to me after I've rounded the Horn.

The wind had veered 20 degrees in the previous afternoon and had slackened somewhat during the night. Shortly after waking up at 9 AM I actually heard the boom slam once in a wind of only 9 kt. However, within minutes it had picked up big time and soon we were hiking along to the SSE averaging 5.5 kt against a 17-19 kt wind.

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Because I have to access to the internet I cannot see directly comments that are sent to the blog. However, Brenda and Stephen at "mission headquarters" in Fremantle have been very good about passing on the gist - and sometimes verbatum - of many of the comments from Arnold, Simeon, Bill, Chris, Nigel & Patrick, Barry & Joyce, Sue, Peter, Glen, and others. I don't think that I need to go on at length about how much I appreciate the thoughts, suggestions, and encouragement in your comments, folks.

Barry and Joyce were asking about what wildlife I am seeing from the boat. First of all, I must confess that I do not spend as much time topside as I should. While the boat steers itself I am generally down below tending to the boat and the blog. Let's not forget that a solo sailor must play every role on the boat, from cook and dish washer to engineer to sail master to navigator and communications manager. In the early days I was too busy coming to grips with my new situation to worry much about the luxury of just sitting back and enjoying the ride. In the trade winds there is a different factor: we've been beating to windward quite hard a times and the cockpit has not been the friendliest place in the world, what with the boat's agitation, the wind, and the occasional spray. But those excuses to not completely absolve me. There have been many hours when the boat was quietly meandering along and I'd be down below reading a book.

Now for some responses. I know that there are many turtles as sea, but most of the accounts of their sightings have been from people drifting on a life raft or a disabled boat, where the turtles came to them probably out of curiosity. Out here in these conditions the sea is too roiled for seeing anything below the surface and besides, the boat is moving too fast. I have seen no whales or dolphins. I was frequently seeing mid-size sea birds circling the boat until a few days ago but they seem to have disappeared. Yesterday I did see one tiny bird - probably a petrel - land in the water near the boat. I've tried trolling every few days with no success, but that in no way reflects on the presence or absence of hungry fish, since I seem to be a poor example of a fisherman. Crossing the far end of the Peru current I may be passing into a relatively dead part of the ocean. I certainly expect to see much more sea life at the extreme latitudes.

Regarding the electrical power setup on the boat, yes I still have the two 60-watt solar panels over the cockpit and the wind charger at the stern. The house bank is composed of four gel batteries rated at 230 a/h each. The starter bank is composed of two large "maintenance free" batteries that are old but still work fine, probably because they have such an easy life. I am running the engine about one hour per day to keep up the voltage level in the house bank but I expect this situation to improve in the next few weeks as I consume the frozen food and sail into cooler latitudes. I'll first turn the refrigerator thermostat down then will later turn the fridge off altogether. Once this is done I expect to be almost power neutral.
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At noon our position was 05S44, 122W16. Our n-n distance was 113 miles in the direction of 204T. We had moved another 1.7 degrees to the south and were now firmly in the latitude of Peru, west of the city of Chiclayo 2500 miles away. Easter Island was 1470 miles to the SE and Cabo San Lucas at the southern tip of Mexico's Baja peninsula was 1860 miles to the NE.

At 3 PM the wind began to abate. We had had 6 hours of hard and fast (over 6 kts at times) against an apparent wind that at times exceeded 20 kts, and the resultant seas had made for a rough ride. Once again I had resisted the temptation to put in a reef and I was glad that I had. Better yet, the wind had backed a bit and at 4 PM we were on a COG of 185T, making a more comfortable 5 knots.

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Day 27 - Radio Contact With Australia

About a week ago Jim Putt, a friend and fellow member of the Fremantle Sailing Club, suggested that we try to communicate by HF radio. We agreed on the days (yesterday and today), the GMT times (1205 and 1305), and the frequency (12.353 MHz USB) and this morning we had success. I hailed him and immediately I recognized his voice and could make out his words. Unfortunately thereafter the static and an Asian voice on the same frequency frustrated my efforts to understand what he was saying, but I'm pretty sure that he said that he could hear me quite well so I said a few words about my situation. I consider the session a great success because we've established that it can be done. I'm sure that we'll get better at it with practice. We spoke around the "short" side of the world: to my west and his east, without the sun between us. (I'm not sure how RF signals fare over the poles, with the strange electro magnetic effects over the regions.) It was gratifying to learn that he could hear me so well. I'm pretty sure that the RF ground shoe that I had installed below the waterline (and inspired by none other than Jim himself) is paying big dividends.

Before the sun rose I was convinced that we were going to have an overcast day. To the east I was sure that I could see rain. Then the sun peeped over the horizon, big and red and fiery looking. Soon the atmospheric moisture disappeared and we were left with a bright and sunny day.

This wind has been so reliable that I have no doubt that we are in the SE trade winds. It seems to be coming more or less out of the SE at an average of 14 or 15 knots. Sometimes the speed dips below 10 knots for a short time, and sometimes it speeds up to 17 or 18 knots. For two days I've been beating into the wind with the same sail configuration of full mainsail, staysail, and a bit of headsail to a slightly smaller area than that of the staysail. The boat is sailing itself to my satisfaction with this setup. There is only a hint of weather helm and it travels well except when the apparent wind exceeds 19 or 20 knots and the boat starts to punch hard into the seas. The headsail has been holding up fine so far, and I plan to maintain my policy of babying it. As we proceed south I expect the wind to back more toward the east and the south equatorial current to weaken. Both of these changes will allow me to ease the sheets and sail more comfortably - for the boat and myself - off the wind.

I had the last pear early this morning at it was amazingly firm and sweet. I recommend both plums and pears as good travelers under refrigeration. And the bell peppers have held up well too. After almost 4 weeks at sea I have my eye on a big red crisp bell pepper begging to be eaten. I've even got a few tomatoes left, not exactly in prime condition, but quite edible.

I downloaded an excellent weather chart from Australia last night. It is a polar surface chart covering the South Pacific from the South Pole to 20S on an arc from the east coast of Australia to beyond Cape Horn. Unless I can find something better out of Chile, this will be my primary window to weather conditions as I approach the Horn. - And what I saw on that weather fax wasn't too encouraging: a deep low of 963 HPa at 50S, 120W, which is pretty well on the path that I must take. There is another low of 967 HPa coming up behind it from the west. It's a jungle out there. I plan to sail through that region with storm trysail and staysail.

I did an engine check just before noon. Everything was clean and in order. All levels were good and the belt was tight. The fuel vacuum gauge was still not registering anything noticeable. The engine had 128.5 hours on it and I had topped the tanks at 113.3 hours. At 1100 rpm I doubt if I had used much more than 15 liters of diesel in those 15 hours of running, so I saw no urgency to top up the tanks. However, I will top them up at about 150 hours because I've been told that full tanks result in less moisture buildup and it is in my interest to get diesel off the deck where it is vulnerable and represents weight high above the waterline. The entire engine, by the way, is below the waterline.

At noon our position was 04S00, 121W31. Our n-n distance was 107 miles in the direction 184T. We had moved another 106 minutes (1.77 degrees) to the south.

Before lunch I had one more search for it. I had not been able to find my video camera since my return to La Paz from my visit to the USA. My recollection was that I had put it in a safe place before my departure to the USA, just in case a bad guy broke into the boat. Since departing La Paz on this cruise I had searched every place on this boat where the camera might be, which meant checking everything from the bulkhead behind the engine forward. I searched sometimes twice through every bag, every drawer, the sail lockers, the head, the food storage lockers, behind the book case, etc. For the second time I searched the chart rack underneath the navigation table and while I was at it extracted my paper charts covering the SW and SE Pacific. I gave up for a while and decided to take up Mark's advice and do some fishing. I went into the forward part of the starboard cabin locker where I keep the fishing gear and a plastic box caught my eye, and indeed it was the video camera. I want very much to have the camera to keep it at the ready to record anything interesting that comes along. and if I am game to take the shallow waters and pass within sight of the Horn I'll definitely want to capture that on video.

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Day 26 - On the Move to the South

There was a good wind all night long. At one point it was strengthening to 16 and 17 kts and I was considering putting a reef in the mainsail, but happily the wind weakened slightly and we sailed into 14 and 15 kts all night. At 6 AM I saw with pleasure that the wind had backed even more and we were making a COG averaging 180 degrees, and for short periods slightly east of south. This was the first time in too many days that we were easting and for now the headlong rush to the Marquises had been arrested. We were at longitude 121W28 and I hoped that this would be as far west as we would get. Our average speed had been well over 5 kt and at 6.20 AM we were at lat 01S45, having made a full degree and a half of southing in 18 hours. The boat had traveled well. Occasionally the hull would slam into a wave, but generally the only sounds were the hum of the wind charger and the rush of the water past the hull. This was accompanied by little rolling but the expected amount of pitching.

At 6.30 AM I tuned into CBV Chile to see if I could get a weather fax. They were transmitting and I captured 7 very clear faxes over a period 75 minutes. Then they stopped transmitting. Unfortunately all of the faxes concerned the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico area, which was a disappointment. However, at least I learned that I can pick up their transmissions clearly and I now have some insight into when they transmit. I will try to tune in earlier to see what other faxes they transmit and hopefully capture their transmission schedule. In the meantime I will rely on the Pt Reyes weather faxes out of California, though they are getting fuzzier and fuzzier as I move south.

Late yesterday afternoon I treated myself to a salt water bath in the cockpit and a fresh change of underclothes. I had been wearing the same set for over a week and I've learned that when your underclothes start to feel oily it is time for a change. I decided to have a go at clothes washing and put the two sets of dirty underclothes in a large bucket, added a generous amount of liquid clothes detergent, then filled the bucket almost to the top with water and left it to agitate overnight. Judging from the color of the water this morning the technique cleans clothes very well. I then wrung out every bit of salt water from the items that I could then rinsed them in maybe 2 liters of water and left them in on the cockpit seats so that the sun and wind can dry them a bit before I bring them in.

And last night I slept under a sheet for the first time since leaving La Paz. For about a week I've been sleeping in a track suit bottom and a long sleeve top, with socks to keep my feet warm. Last night even that wasn't enough so out came the sheet. I wear long clothes in the cabin most of the time, but for deck work I still strip down in order to keep my clothes dry.

Precisely at noon our position was 02S14, 121W24. In the last 24 hours we had made good 120 miles in the direction 188T. We had made 119 minutes of southing, just one minute short of a full 2 degrees. To top it off we had moved 4 minutes to the east since 6.20 AM. The boat was on the move and I was fairly sure that we had found the SE trade winds.

The weather faxes out of Hawaii showed Hurricane Kenneth packing 75 m/hr winds at roughly 10N 110W. The good ship Pachuca and her crew passed through that area 9 and 10 days ago. Providence.

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Day 25 - Back In The Southern Hemisphere

I crossed the equator at lon. 120W on 20 November at 1316.11 UTC (7.16.11 AM local time). La Paz was 1500 miles to the NW, the Galapagos were 1750 miles to the east, Hawaii was 2300 miles to the NW, the Marquises were 1200 miles to the SW, and Easter Island was 1750 miles ahead to the SSE. This crossing had been much more difficult that the one that Arnold and I made in late 2008 when we made the 2300 mile crossing from Papeete, Tahiti to Hilo, Hawaii in 18 days, averaging 130 miles per day under clear skies and consistent winds.

The wind had moderated during the night (forcing me to take the wheel for a brief time) but made up for its moderation and reduced boat speed (3-3.5 kt) by backing (ie counterclockwise) and taking us on a COG slightly south of SW. The wind backed more at at 9 AM I enjoyed my coffee and toast watching with great pleasure the boat on a COG of 200T, not far off direct south. The reduced boat speed (3.6 kt against and 11 kt wind) led me to estimate the speed of the southern equatorial current at about 2 knots. This is more than I would have expected but quite plausible.

The toast was thanks to the first loaf of bread that I had baked the evening before. It was not the prettiest loaf in the world, but it had risen well and tasted fine. It seemed to go much better with honey than the store-bought bread. Just as well that I have 6 kg of honey on board. From now on I'll have bread for breakfast only. I had plenty of flour and yeast, but baking consumes a lot of LPG gas.

In the late morning I raised the full mainsail then removed the sail cover and lazy jacks from the rig. The task required mainly patience. The rest was a straightforward series of small steps. I thought that I would have trouble storing it all, given the two tubes of PVC running the length of the cover, but this was resolved when I slid out the tubes then cut them in half. PVC is cheap to replace and the pieces that I had were bent from their years of work. In truth, it was unlikely that I would ever use this unit again. It represented one of the worst pieces of work ever done on this boat. The sail cover was much too tight even though the company twice added more material at the mast end of the sail cover then came back again and added 2 inches to each size of the zipper. My vision of a stack pack had been to be able to drop the mainsail then quickly and easily zip up the cover. For three years zipping up the cover has been a 20 minute ordeal of slowly moving the zipper in increments with one hand while cramming down the sail with the other. And now the boom area seemed so clean without the cover! No longer did I have a mess of fabric and cord hanging from the boom while under sail. I could once again see the full foot of the sail, I could see the entire path of the reefing lines, I could see the boom vang clearly. I could see all of the boom cleats. Even climbing the mast was easier, as I found out when I had to go up a few feet to retrieve a line. This reminded me of the simpler sailing days on my 27 ft sloop Angie. Back at Fremantle if I can't be convinced there is a better design available for a stack pack I will consider going back to an ordinary sail cover with no lazy jacks.

At noon our position was 00S15, 121W07, giving us a n-n distance of 100 miles in the direction 146T. We had made 69 minutes to the south. The wind was relatively weak at 9 kt but the grib file and weather faxes indicated stronger winds ahead. The sky had cleared yet once again and for the first time in days I wore sun glasses on deck.

We could use the sun. Without assistance from either the solar panels or the wind charger I am having to run the engine for one hour every day (127.5 hrs). I think that I've resolved the worry about forgetting to open the exhaust valve before starting the engine. I now Always shut the valve after I shut the engine no matter how calm the sea may be, and I therefore always open the valve before starting the engine. It's become second nature to me, but I still tie a cord between the engine control lever and the cover to the instrument panel to remind me that I do not untie that cord until the valve is open.

The Forecastle was till totally plugged up by the damaged headsail and for several days the cabin had been cluttered with items that I had moved to make room for the headsail. Now with the sail cover to add to the clutter I faced the task of bringing as much order as possible to the cabin. I dragged the headsail into the cabin and started to straighten out the sail starting at the peak. As I worked my way down to the foot I remember thinking that the sail appeared to be in great shape. The leather reinforcement that Hosse's team had sewn at the peak was as new, the telltales were all intact, the material looked good, and so did the stitching. Then I got to the area of the tears and what I saw took me by surprise. The fabric had not torn, it was the stitching that had failed. Then I remembered that Doug had told me recently that stitching is the Achilles heel of sails because it is susceptible to UV degradation. He told me that UV resistant thread is available but is prohibitively expensive. I then remembered Dieter, whose entire clew had been ripped away from his mainsail because of UV damaged thread. Perhaps I had been too hard on myself about how I had treated the sail.

So it looks like the sail will live to fight another day. I'll need to consult with the sailmaker, but at this point I would be inclined to have the entire sail re stitched and much of the UV tape along the foot and leech replaced. I noticed, by the way, that the area that failed was single stitched in a zig zag pattern. (Hmm. I wonder why it wasn't double or even triple stitched.) Also, if I really really get into a bind I've got the option of having a go at re stitching the sail myself.

There was no hope of properly flaking the sail in the cabin. The best I could do would be to make an orderly bundle as best as I could, then bind it all up with good rope. Doing this took close to an hour of sweaty work. Then I cleared enough of the forecastle to open up the port sail locker and in there I stowed the asymmetric spinnaker with its sheets, the sail cover with its PVC rods, and the large blue bag that once housed the water maker. The last hurdle was to somehow get the thick and heavy bundle of sail through the two doorways into the forecastle. After a protracted effort worthy of a Sumo wrestler I managed to pull the sail on top of the V berths then push it as far forward as possible. After another 20 minutes of packing the other items the cabin was once again clear and plenty spacious for one person.

I emerged from the hot and sweaty confines of the cabin into the cockpit and was welcomed by a beautiful day for sailing. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the sea was blue and calm with the occasional white cap here and there, and Jeff, the indispensable second member of the crew, was steering the boat to the south against a moderate 13 kt breeze. The air felt cooler and dryer and crisper. (Cooler? Hmm. I wonder if I'm not already in the SE trade winds.) I treated myself to a cup of tea and a handful of almonds at the steering station enjoying the sailing and thinking that things were looking alright.

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Day 24

Late yesterday afternoon I cleaned out the ice box and refrigerator. The onions were starting to go, but there were still plenty of them and I would carve out what I could from them. I threw the last of the carrots - 3 small ones - away. Out went a grapefruit, some tomatoes, and a bell pepper. I deserve a big kick in the rear for not consuming them when I had the chance. However, there remain a few tomatoes, 2 large peppers, one plum, a couple of oranges, one grapefruit, and a pear. They are not in the best of condition and I will consume them in the next few days. Also in the refrigerator is the rest of the frozen mean, 4 or 5 packs of turkey sandwich meat, some bacon, plenty of cheese and butter, the yogurt, and the bread yeast. ... Speaking of which ... I'm down to the last slice of bread. That pack of four loaves that I purchased at Sam's Club served me well, with no sign of mold. I wish that I had purchased another 4 loaves, but never mind: I've got plenty of flour and yeast. I still have almost 2.5 dozen eggs that are holding up OK.

Food will not be a problem. I am eating less than I expected, and there is a huge variety of items, e.g. canned corn, olives, instant noodle meals, juices in carton, that I haven't even touched. I have felt no need to take the excellent daily vitamin pills that I have on board. Even when I run out onions, potatoes (2 left) and limes I figure that there will be enough vitamin C to keep me healthy in the sauces that I use. Having said that, if I have any doubts I'll start taking the vitamins.

The last stage of the ice box and refrigerator cleanout was the washing of every item of plastic. I retain the ziplock bags for other uses. Plastic that I cannot reuse winds up in a garbage bag awaiting my arrival to shore. Every other type of garbage goes overboard, including glass and cans.

I found two new sources of weather information in text form via Sailmail for the SE Pacific. One (Met.15) is issued by the Chilean Navy weather service and covers areas to the west and south of Chile, including Drake Passage. The other (Met.16) covers the area east of longitude 120W between the equator and 18.5S. Both are in English.

In the evening I tried something different. Normally I set up the Acer computer for a movie after dinner. This time I set it up earlier and had a look at some of the literally hundreds of albums that brother Arnold had passed over to my external hard drive when he was on the boat. (Thanks Arnold!) I used the VLC media player and fed the output to the boat's sound system then spent a great 45 minutes cooking and eating dinner to the mellow sounds of Johnny Mathis filling the cabin. I felt like a million dollars and boy, could that guy sing! There is a lot to be said for modern boating.

At 4 AM I was up snooping around the weather fax world. I got a good one from Honolulu and because I have their schedule they are now another fax resource for me. I tried Wiluna in Western Australia and got a very readable weather chart. By sheer chance I had jagged the time when they transmit the surface chart of the polar region to 10 degrees south. Wonderful! Another resource. I didn't have much luck with Chile, but I don't have their schedule (couldn't get it on the internet) and they may have been shut down at that time of night.

At 9 AM I woke up to find the boat still moving SW at about 5 kt. As the grib file had predicted, the wind had moderated somewhat but because the ocean was so calm with its long and low swell the sails stayed filled when the wind got down to lows of 8 kt apparent and the boat kept moving. We had already done 65 minutes of southing since the previous noon and I expected our position to be within 1 degree of the equator by noon. The day was overcast and drizzly, with showers on the eastern horizon. (I thought that the equator was supposed to be sunny and dry ????)

We were at the latitude of Quito, Ecuador, 2500 miles to the east.

During the night I went over a few notes that I had taken of Jeanne Socrate's sail toward the Horn at this time last year on her boat Nereida. My recollection had been that she had zoomed past the equator much faster than me, and I had just enough data to make a rough comparison. Nereida had sailed out of Victoria, BC Canada. On 13 Nov she as at 23N, 123W, 725 miles west of Cabo San Lucas. On 28 Nov she was at 01N, 118W and she crossed the equator on 29 Nov, representing a span of 16 days from the latitude of Cabo to the equator. It looked like my transit from La Paz to the equator would be 25 days, but let's not forget that it took me 5.5 days to sail past Cabo San Lucas into the Pacific Ocean. Even then I was still at a disadvantage because the winds near the coast were weaker than those far out to sea. Putting that aside, it looks my comparable transit to the equator will be 20 days. That's 4 days longer than Nereida's transit, which is no where near as bad a comparison as I had expected, given my difficulties in the doldrums and with my headsail. Even so, I expect to cross the equator on 20 November, 9 precious days before Nereida's crossing.

Then there is the issue of longitude. Because Nereida departed from Canada she sailed down the 123W meridian in order to clear the west coast of North America. According to my notes Nereida passed midway between Easter Island and Dulcie Island to the west on 10 Dec. That would have put her at about 120W. The point I'm making is that my present position near 120W is not outrageously out of order - In fact it is the recommended meridian for a sailing vessel out of San Francisco for the Horn. (Specifically, cross the equator at 120-122W then make for 124W at 30S until the trade winds are encountered.)

On 4 January Nereida was at 54S28, 79W19, 400 miles from the Horn. I calculated that had she not been severely knocked down she would have made the rounding on 7 January, representing a 39 day transit from the equator. This is not a race but Nereida's experience does provide a benchmark for my endeavor. It is very likely that my passage time to the Horn will be slower than Nereida's. However, I'll be starting with a 9 day advantage from the equator, so barring unforeseen difficulties my prospects of rounding the Horn in early January seem good.

At noon our position was 00N54, 119W56. We had a n-n distance of 131 miles in the direction 236T. We had moved south 1 degree and 13 minutes (i.e. 73') in the 24 hours.

In the early afternoon I dug deep into the starboard cabin storage locker to fetch 5 or 6 items. Everything was in order: no breakages or spillages, and the locker was dry. The inventory spreadsheet is working very well and I am meticulous about keeping it up to date.

Another 1 hour engine run (126.4 hrs).

It looks like I may have dodged a bullet. I was surprised to see a tropical cyclone at approximately 10N, 102W and headed WNW. I was at latitude 10N nine days ago trying to inch my way through the doldrums and if I had seen that coming at me I would have freaked out big time, though I'm sure that I would have used its leading winds to scoot me south fast. At this point it is 1200 miles to the NE and I understand that storms never track within 5 degrees of the equator.

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Day 23 - Moving Well, But To The WSW

As you'll know from the last blog entry, I had a scare with my Sailmail service. The software, "Airmail 3", using my position and time of day, provides a superb radio propagation matrix for every Sailmail station. The software tunes the radio to any suitable frequency that I click on. The top rating is 100. Until recently I've been able to find US stations with 100 propagation at various times of the day. A few days ago I was forced to switch to Panama which provided good service with a propagation rating of 99. As I've moved farther SW the propagation numbers have gotten weaker, with fewer selections. Fortunately last night I managed to get connection and good service through Corpus Christi, 1800 miles away, on 22.881 KHz. I will say again that for this reason the absence of blog postings for several days at a time should be no cause for alarm.

I haven't been too happy about the speed at which I was heading west and the Sailmail connectivity issue sealed my decision. This boat was doing over 7 knots at times headed WSW, to the north of the Marquises. Although it felt great to go fast, it really wasn't in the right direction so I bit the bullet and tacked. Unbelievably, the COG dropped from 7 kt to 1.7 kt. Nevertheless I had arrested the westward movement and I was still making some progress to the south. I looked at the chart again and I can expect to be dealing with this current until I get to latitude 10S. ... I can well understand why sensible people sail around the world taking the "coconut route" with its favorable trade winds and currents.

Two hours later I could not stand it any more. The boat speed was at time dropping to less than a knot and I felt that I was doing little more than holding my ground. I found it difficult to believe that sea current provides the complete explanation of the amazing difference in boat speed that I was experiencing. Whether it was solely that or included differences in sailing dynamics or maybe even a little bit of voodoo thrown in was irrelevant to me. I had to deal with the effects. I tacked the boat again and soon we were traveling WSW at over 6 kt.

Just as well. At 4 AM I awoke to find the boat in some agitation, even though our boat speed was only about 5.5 kt. The wind had picked up to over 15 kt and better yet, had backed a good 15 degrees, putting us close to a course of SW, now heading for the Tuamotu archipelago south of the Marquises. The leech of the headsail was fluttering a bit too much so I rolled it in a bit and moved the car forward along the track to get a better sheet angle. We lost about a half knot in speed but the headsail was much happier.

I stayed up for a while listening to BBC and Australian ABC radio.

I rose at 9.30 AM to find the boat making 6.5-7 kt to the SW. The wind had strengthened to 18-19 kt apparent and the sea was correspondingly rougher. I was very glad that I had taken my opportunity to change headsails the day before because on this day it would have been wetter, more dangerous, harder on the sail, and maybe even impossible. We were at lat 02N15 and had made another degree of southing since the previous noon. I was planning to take it easy this day, but was mindful of my next task: remove the sail cover and lazy jacks which are doing nothing but getting in the way and and being beat up by the wind.

I visited the foredeck at mid morning. Everything appeared to be in order. The deck cargo was secure. Both foresails were drawing well. Now that I was getting used to managing the extra pair of sheets and the running backstays I was starting to like this cutter sail plan very much. The headsail was set to about the same area as the staysail and they - and their forestays - were sharing the load more or less equally. The headsail was still fluttering but with so little sail showing I didn't think that it was being unduly stressed. I planned to tighten the leech cord at first opportunity.

I tidied up the sail cover and had a look at the task of removing it. It is a simple matter of moving the slides forward along the boom track and removing them at the mast end. However, the forward and aft reefing lines were in the way, so it was a job for a calmer day when I had the mainsail fully raised.

I had a look at the charts and the Marquises were still 1400 miles away at about 08S, 139W. I would cross the equator long before then (in 2 days I hoped) and sooner or later the wind would back toward the SE allowing me to steer south well before I got to the Marquises, and perhaps the strength of the South Equatorial Current would diminish. (But if there was voodoo at work all bets were off.)

At noon our position was 02N07, 118W07. We had a n-n distance of 120 miles in the direction 235T. We had gained 68 minutes to the south. Our speed was averaging 6.1 kt with course 235T. After another bout of cloudiness the sky was clearing again.

I revisited Richard Dana's "Two Years Before The Mast" regarding their path through the equator. On 15 May they were at 14N56, 116W14. Three days later, on 18 May they were at 09N54, 113W17. Four days later, on 22 May they were at 05N14, 116W45. (The book gives their longitude for this day as 166W45, but that is impossible and must be a misprint.) Within 24 hours of crossing the equator they encountered the SE trade winds from the ESE. Thirteen days later, on 5 June, they were at 19S29, 118W01. They were averaging 1.1 degree of southing at about the time they were in the doldrums but averaged 1.8 degrees of southing once they were past the equator. On 12 June they were at 26S04, 116W31, had lost the trade winds, and were averaging 0.9 degree per day. I wasn't sure how this translated to a sloop in the 21st century and my summer to their winter, but nevertheless I would keeping their numbers in mind.

At 3 PM I started the engine for a 1 hour run (125.4 cum. engine hrs). The house batteries were at 12.4V but I couldn't be sure that they would not drop below 12.3V overnight. 60A net were charging into the house bank at the usual 1100 rpm.

After my radio fax session with Pt Reyes Ca I had a go at a weather fax from CBV in Chile. The reception was very noisy, but I could recognize the galloping pattern of the fax and the image, though grainy, was recognizable. I will experiment with Chile at other times of the day.

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Day 22 - Spare Headsail Up

NOTE: I've been having much trouble in obtaining a Sailmail connection for getting out this blog and receiving messages. This is no doubt because I have strayed so far from land. I have in fact tacked back toward the east in the hopes of getting service from either Panama or Chile. Because my communication is totally dependent on short wave radio propagation there may be days between my blogs and it should not be a cause for worry.
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This wind has proven to be reliable and for a second night we sailed SW at 3.5-4.5 kts. However, the wind had veered 15 degrees in the last 12 hours and we were making WSW at 235T ahd headed for the Marquises. I rarely sail hard into the wind. I have found that I get better speed and less lee pointing a little bit off the wind. For me that means a tacking spread of 120 degrees. Given that, I figured that I could tack without losing any southing, and taking me a bit more east, which I wanted to do.

I tried to tack but the boat did not have enough drive to cross the wind. I didn't want to wear ship (tack by turning the boat around the other way) because of all the canvas I had up with my single reef, so I started the engine, which I needed to run anyway. Using the engine I crossed the wind to a starboard tack then set the sails and put the engine into neutral to see how we were sailing. We were doing about 0.9 kt. I trimmed the sails a bit and managed to get just over 1 kt, but this was nowhere near acceptable. I went below and brought out the Ocean Passages chart of the world's ocean currents and sure enough I was in the middle of the South Equatorial Current, which is strongly set to the west. I wasn't prepared to fight the current so I tacked back to the SSW heading. Indications were that once I crossed the equator I could expect backing winds and a more southerly heading.

That experience made me realize that the boat wasn't driving as hard as I had thought and that I'd better get cracking with putting up the spare headsail.

There was less swell than on the previous day and the wind was down to 11-12 kt apparent, as had been predicted by the grib file. It was as good a time as any to bring the headsail down. First some preparatory work: Remove clothes and paper products from the forecastle lest water come through the front hatch. Unlock the forward hatch but leave it closed for now. Gather the wire cutters, small adjustable wrench, and cord the put on shorts so that I can carry the tools and cord in the pockets. Carefully take out every twist in the headsail halyard and flake it so that when the sail was dropped there will not be a kink in the rope to force me back to the cockpit. Give the roller furler line a similar treatment. I decided to keep the staysail up to make sure that Jeff could hold our course. The sail would fall outside of the staysail and it would be up to me to crawl between the staysail and the rail and haul in the sail as it dropped.

I then rolled out half of the sail and too photographs of the tears in that magnificent sail. Then I rolled out the rest out and let it flog in the wind. Then I eased the halyard and got a sense of how fast the sail would drop. Fortunately it would not be too fast, otherwise it would have dropped into the water before I could haul it in. So I let the halyard fly, went to the foredeck, then got on my knees and started hauling in sail from the tack end. By then part of the sail had dropped into the water and it was a race between my hauling in sail up and over the rail and enough sail dropping into the water to enable it to fill, which could have led to nasty consequences. After what seemed like 30 minutes but was probably 15 minutes of hard yakka enough of the sail was on board to enable me to tie it to the rail and free free it from the peak and tack shackles. I tied down the halyard so that it would not go flying up the forestay then crawled back and removed the sheets. I had thought that I would have to drag that heavy sail forward and around the inner forestay then back into the hatch but saw that I could pass it under the staysail, which would save a lot of work. Another 15 minutes of effort and the sail was down the hatch.

During the deck work I noticed that the wire strop to the tack of the staysail was wrapped around a nearby cleat. This explained the crease and slack area at the bottom of the sail that I had noticed the day before but obviously did not investigate enough. When I sorted that out the sail had the proper shape. I hoped that between that improvement and the removal of the drag caused by the loosely furled damaged headsail I might get a bit more boat speed.

This left part III, putting up the spare headsail. This should be the easiest part except for one possible problem. Putting up the headsail is easy when there is someone in the cockpit pulling up the halyard while the other is at the forestay feeding the bolt rope of the sail into the extrusion track. But how was this going to work out for someone on his own? I decided to have lunch and a nap then deal with it later.

At 2 PM I arose and told myself that there were no excuses for delaying the attempt to put up the spare headsail. The sea was comparatively calm and the wind was at about 11 or 12 knots. I put on my shorts, gathered my tools and stainless steel mousing wire and got to work. I lifted the sail onto the deck too it out of the bag, then orientated it with the tack forward. I connected the tack then traced to luff to find the peak then connected that. Then I worked my way along the foot to find the clew and connected the sheets. The result was one big ball of sail on the crowded deck with connections that I hoped were correct. Then the worrisome part. I got the sail started in the headstay extrusion track then it was a matter of aligning as much of the bolt rope under the track as possible then going to the mast, pulling on the halyard to lift a bit more sail, cleating it off, then going back to the bow to align more sail. I got help that I had not expected. I had forgotten that the extrusion rotates so that we didn't have a case of the sail binding on the track because it is being pulled to the side by the wind. Nevertheless it got messy, with much of the sail skimming along the water, but I managed to get it up. This is where the sail's reentry into the world got fairly traumatic because the unsheeted full sail was going wild and I could do nothing about it until I took the halyard off the cleat at the mast and brought it on at the cockpit using the winch. The popping and banging were phenomenal and I have no doubt that anyone who had gotten in the way would have had bones broken. Eventually I sheeted it in and could see the tape where the sail had been repaired in Adelaide in 2008, and the repairs were minor compared to what would be required for my first line sail. Then I rolled in about 2/3 of the headsail and off we went doing over 6.5 kt very comfortably toward the Marquises. Later I revisited the foredeck to secure the forward hatch and took pleasure in seeing the boat sailing like a cutter with two foresails and the mainsail.

After it was over I would have paid $50 for a cold can of Pacifico Clara beer. I had to settle for my favorite drink on board. I slice a lime in two, squeeze the halves with a pair of piers into a glass, throw both halves into the glass, then fill it up with water. I get 2 or 3 refreshing drinks out of it.

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Day 21 - Blown Headsail

At about an hour before dark I decided to roll it a bit of headsail for the night. In order to wind the roller furler you must first get pressure off the sail by easing the sheet until the sail starts to luff and flog. I saw that the sail was OK, eased the sheet, pulled on the line to turn the furler, looked back at the sail to see that it had split across its width in two places.

I was amazingly calm about it. Instant acceptance and "Lst's see what to do now."

The boat had slowed to a crawl and I wanted to keep it moving throughout the night. I figured that I had enough daylight to hank on the staysail, which is what I did. I put snap blocks on the cabin fittings, laid out the sheets through the snap blocks then through the aft cars then to the aft winches, set up the port running backstay, brought the sail on deck and hanked it on, tied the sheets, connected the halyard, then brought it up. It went very well, partly because the incident had focused my mind and partly because following discussions with Jak I had already designed the setup and knew what to do.

This got us moving. There was still a bit of daylight left so I decided to have a go at raising the mainsail to the 1st reef for a bit more sail area. This went OK and I found us traveling at 3 knots, having lost 1.5 knots in speed. Not great but acceptable.

It's not exactly the end of the world. I've got two spare headsails in the locker, one "heavy" and one "light". Having said that, these two sails started to tear before we even got to Adelaide, which is why I had the one that blew out today made in 2005. The two sails were repaired in Adelaide but I can't consider them top of the line sails.

I'm going to have to use the staysail as my workhorse. I'll set up the spare "heavy" sail on the roller furler but will have to baby it. All this means much slower sailing for me, but my focus has shifted from speed (subject to rounding the Horn by the end of January) to just getting this thing done without having to call into a South American port for repairs, at the cost of another year's delay of my return.

As for the torn headsail I don't know what to say. I had it checked in Port Townsend and it was pronounced OK after a few minor repairs to the UV tape. I don't think that I was driving it too hard. But I did drive it hard in the past and it has done a lot of work. Perhaps the wear and tear finally caught up with it.

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I woke for breakfast at 8 AM to find the boat still headed SW at 3.5-4 knots. I had had one scare during the night when I woke to the boom slamming a couple of times but as I watched things for the next 30 minutes the wind picked up. I looked through the cabin hatch and saw the staysail working away happily.

During the night I thought about the situation. I remembered that I have a very good sail repair kit on board that includes thread, tape, needles, and a palm. I also remembered that there are at least two books on sail making on board, which would inform me about stitching. The problem as I saw it was that the tears are so long that it may be better to reserve the repair resources to keep the replacement sails going. This was early days and I needed to get that damaged sail down for a better assessment.

While having coffee I noticed on the chart plotter that I am closer to the Marquises (1700 mi) than to South America (2100 mi). Baja is still closest at 1150 miles. I did some "What If" thinking and realized how tempting it would be to ride the trade winds back to Australia through French Polynesia, Fiji, where I could get repairs done, then around the north of Australia and down the west coast to Fremantle. If I were to get more serious equipment problems in these latitudes I would have to consider that option because I would not want to battle the trade winds to South America.

However, my preferred option is still firmly the Horn. It's not just that I've set my heart on it. It could also be the easiest and most practical route back to Fremantle. I figure that if I can make my way down to the westerlies, Western Australia will be a generally downwind run with a favorable current, which I could do with minimal sails in a pinch.

Regarding sails, I have confidence in three sails: the mainsail, storm trysail, and staysail. I have no reason to suspect that the mainsail (new in 2005) is not in good order. (It too was checked out in Port Townsend.) It is of heavier material that the headsail and has not had the same punishing life on a roller. The staysail is of very heavy material. I've used it in 30 kt head winds and to heave to in a gale without a problem. It's relatively small area and high aspect shape put it under less stress than the headsail, particularly from flogging. And it is hanked on wire, which I am convinced is easier on the sail (though not the crew) than a roller. The trysail I consider to be as bullet proof a sail as any boat could have. I had it made for this boat in 2007 and it has hardly been used. Once I am in the westerlies I can get home with that trysail if I lose the mainsail.

There is another sail. It is a "storm jib", never used, of very heavy material, designed to be "hanked on" to the headstay by wrapping the luff end around the rolled up headsail. Steve Hartley, the sail maker in Fremantle, told me that they used one overnight in a gale on one of the Sidney-Hobart races and gained 30 miles over their competitors. Not that I would consider using it in a gale. The point is that it can represent a bit more sail area to augment the staysail whose area is approximately 12.5 sq meters, 135 sq ft.

As they say in the movies, I'm still in this fight.

At 11 AM I began Stage I of putting up the spare headsail: digging it out of the sail locker. I tried too get some leverage out of the operation by inspecting every item of overburden to remind myself of what was where. I hit upon the idea of using the head for storage. The fact is that I rarely go into the head now. (Please don't cringe, but I brush my teeth at the galley sink.) This has made managing the sail lockers and V berth area much easier. I found everything in the V berth area nice and dry. (Not like the old days, eh Brenda and Arnold?) even after all of the pounding against the waves. There are 5 or 6 wool blankets all clean and folded and in plastic bags, and plenty of clean and dry clothing, particularly warm items for the cooler climates.

I pulled out the heavy headsail and the material seemed heavier than that of the blown sail, which was some high tech laminated affair. Yes, this sail had begun to fail before, but that was in the early days before I knew better when I was pushing it hard in the gale winds of winter in the Southern Ocean. This day it looked like a fine sail and who knows, with modest use it might go the distance.

At noon our position was 04N16, 15W13. I was amazed to see that somehow we had made a n-n distance of 82 miles and had gained another 68 minutes to the south. The wind was still good and the boat was pointing well to the SW. We were doing OK and I was reluctant to heave to and change the headsail. In truth, I was in no rush to use the spare headsail while we were doing acceptably well with the staysail.

I am looking forward to the prospect of the wind backing to the east as we progress south. We need to steer south because we are as far west as I want to go.

At 12.45 I started the engine for the first time in 3 days to recharge the batteries. The house bank was down to 12.3V which I consider the minimum, and the clouds had returned so that I could not expect much help from the solar panels. At 1100 rpm the Volvo meter was showing a healthy 13.5V, well beyond the 13.0V that sets off the battery fault alarm. The ammeter reading had settled down to 63A but I had come to realize that this reading does not present the entire picture. The ammeter that I look at reports only on the net current flow into the house bank. So that if, for instance, the refrigerator and other equipment are using 8A, there is actually 71A going into the house bank. But even that is not the full story because I can't see how many amps are going into the starter bank. The bottom line is that I have no doubt that the alternator, which is rated at 115A, has been putting out more than I had been thinking.

I went to the foredeck at mid afternoon and had look at the task of dropping the headsail. I would have to drop the staysail and hope that the mainsail had enough drive to keep the boat into the wind. I would then have to drop the halyard a bit at a time, mking sure that all of the droping sail was inboard. When it was down on the deck I would stow it. The wind was still blowing at about 15 knots and the sea was still up, causing a lot of pitching and rolling. I decided to postpone the operation until conditions were more favorable.

At 4 PM we were still headed SW at about 4 knots.

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Day 20 - On the Move in Sunshine

At 4.30 PM yesterday I threw a tack because of the backing wind. The boat was now headed a satisfactory 220T. The wind direction held and all night long the boat pounded against a wind varying from 15 kt to 23 kt. I was pleased with the sail plan of double reefed main and a no. 2 jib. It carried the boat comfortable at the lower wind speeds and was right at the limit at the higher speeds. All night long I must have averaged about 3.5 kt with a course SW.

At 8.30 AM I did a visual deck check and everything seemed to be in order. Jeff was in good shape too with his control lines still tight. I found a beautiful specimen of a flying fish in the cockpit but unfortunately it was too late to save him. Our position was 05N32, 114W19, so we had made 56 minutes of southing since noon, with 3.5 hours to go to the next noon.

The Rutland wind charger had come into its own in that wind. It was putting out anything from 2 to 4 amps at any instant. Over a period of 24 hours this is significant. I entered the night with the house bank at 12.5 v and welcomed the morning with 12.6 V. (I don't run the refrigerator at night.) The contribution of the wind charger made up for the loss of solar power due to the cloudy weather. I hadn't run the engine for 2 days and was wondering if I could get away with a 3rd day.

The sky cleared from the east and by noon we were in bright sunshine with maybe 10% cloud cover. The wind charger was still delivering its 2 amps or so (The output jumps around from 0 to 5 amps), and the solar panels were delivering 7 amps, which would increase as the sun passed over to the starboard side of the boat where the boat was heeling. This was the first serious sun that I had seen in 3 or 4 days.

At noon our position was 05N24, 114W27, for a n-n distance of 70 miles. We had moved 1 degree and 5 minutes to the south and were on a latitude between Medellin and Bogota Columbia, about 2350 miles to the east. The wind was still from the SSE at 20-22 kts. I had gotten my wish for a steady wind but it had been a boisterous beat to windward.

After lunch I went to the port deck to attend to the fuel containers on what was now the weather side. I tightened a few ropes and added the two at the ends as I have described earlier. As long as I make regular checks of the ropes I think that the deck cargo will be OK - at least until we get to the high latitudes. At the mast I coiled some line that had come loose and while there had a look around for any surprises. All looked well.

The boat had been riding quieter and I noticed that the wind had dropped to around 15 kt. While I was on deck I saw the boat stall momentarily when it hit a particularly large wave at the wrong time. The boat needed more drive to show the waves who was boss, so I rolled out the headsail from a no. 1 to a no. 2 and immediately gained a half knot in speed. Our course was still good: directly SW.

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Day 19 -Better Progress, Chart Plotter OK, Autopilot Dead

I needed something - anything - to cheer me up yesterday. At 5 PM we sailed through the latitude of 7N which put us 420 miles from the equator. All indications are that the wind will become progressively stronger as we approach the equator. Today's grib file provided me with the second bit of cheerful news. Bearing in mind that grib files aren't really that reliable, it does indicate reasonable winds from the SSE for the next 2 days. I don't mind beating against a moderate wind. Let's hope.

Regarding the shattered starboard window on my spray dodger, I remembered that at Bob Carroll's suggestion (thanks again, Bob) I had clip-on sun shades made for the windows. I'll see tomorrow about putting on the starboard shade. It has a minimal number of clips holding it, so I may have to do some sewing. It must be strong for what lies ahead. I'm not so interested so much in the see-through aspect of the windows, but what I really need is the protection the dodger gives to the instruments at the companionway as well as the companionway itself.

Late in the afternoon I turned off the chart plotter. It was not providing a service so there was no point is using the electricity. About an hour later I had a look at the wind instrument and it was off. I then recalled that when the breaker to the chart plotter is there is no power to the wind instrument. No problem. I switched on breaker and turned the chart plotter for good measure, and to my amazement all of the numbers came up on the plotter. It was reporting position, COG, SOG, wind direction and strength, etc. There was no longer a problem with the Seatalk network. I have no idea why the the system was working now when my earlier efforts of restarting did no good. ... I wasn't game to turn on the autopilot and would deal with that the next morning.

I tried to go to sleep at 9.30 PM but a strange shuffling sound on deck bothered me. I tried to ignore it but couldn't because any new sound really must be investigated. It was pitch black and the wind was howling at 19 or 20 knots and just as well that Pachuca was beating with a double reef in the mainsail and a tiny amount of headsail. I turned on the deck light and went up with my own spotlight to have a look. The rope holding the aft end of the lower jerry can timber to the stanchion had parted and the rope holding the upper timber was under a lot of stress as the line of jerry cans sifted with the pitch and roll of the boat. Soon I was at the board with a couple of pieces of rope and made things fast for the night. The next day I would have to check every rope holding a board to a stanchion. The incident, by the way, shows an advantage in using 2 boards instead of 1: redundancy.

I then wanted to get to sleep but the heading that the boat was making had been bothering me for about an hour. The wind had backed and we were on a COG of about 0100 - almost due east. I reluctantly decided to tack the boat - something I didn't want to do in the harsh conditions in the middle of the night. But I had one thing going for me: there was such little headsail out that I wouldn't have to wind any in so that the sail would clear the inner stay. All I had to do was to make sure that the lazy sheet had not wrapped around a deck cleat. The mainsail could take care of itself. After the tack I would adjust the mainsheet traveler then orientate Jeff to the new wind direction. The tack went well and the result warranted the effort. I had gained a full 30 degrees in my quest for the south. Now if only this wind would persist throughout the night!

The wind indeed held up all night. However, its speed and direction were somewhat variable, depending, I suspect, on our proximity to a squall. At times the wind would exceed 22 kts and the boat would accelerate to 4.5-5 kts. After 30 minutes of that it would resume the 15-17 kt range. Sometimes it would veer 30 degrees taking the boat west, only to back again in another 30 minutes. The boat coped well with the conservative sail plan, but at 9 AM we had made only 35 minutes (i.e. 35 miles)of southing. It was hard, slow going, but I had no choice and at least I was making some progress. The cabin remained remarkably dry throughout the night. My only complaint now is the steady shipping of water into the bilge. I am convinced that it is coming through those plastic thru hull fittings at the back of the boat. Normally they are above the waterline but when I'm making way in a sea the boat pitches and immerses the fittings. Evidence of this that (1) the boat never ships water in calm waters such as in a marina, even though it might be raining hard, (2) the lazarette floor is always wet when underway, even though there may have been neither rain nor enough water on the cockpit sole to cause it to pass over the barrier into the lazarette. Any water in the lazarette will pass into the bilge through the various holes that allow hoses to pass through.

At 9.30 AM I tacked and let out 100% more headsail to a no. 2. That gained 15 degrees in our southing, on a port tack with a COG of 125T and speed of 4 kts against a 16 kt wind. I had been influenced by the grib file which had predicted a subtle shift in the wind direction from just east of south to just west of south.

Just before noon I had a look at the autopilot. The controller at the binnacle displays "NO PILOT". The manual states that "The controller is not receiving data from the SmartPilot computer." I did a continuity test on the 5A fuse of the computer and found it to be OK. I probed the power posts and the unit was getting power. And let's not forget that strange clacking sound that the computer was making when it broke down. At this point I see nothing more to be done. The manual is quite specific about not opening the unit. I'll have to accept the loss of the autopilot, but at least I have almost full functionality in the chart plotter - "almost" because it cannot display heading data because the information from the flux gate compass is not getting to it. Heading was useful because the discrepancy between heading and actual COG gave me clues about the presence of currents. Three of the four components of the autopilot have been replaced at various times: (1) the controller in Adelaide (2) the linear drive in New Zealand (3) the flux gate compass in La Paz. I'll see if I can get the computer either fixed or replaced in Cape Town.

Just before noon I checked the result of my attempt to make yogurt using a recipe that Brenda had sent me. You need boiled (sterilized) water, full cream milk powder, and two tablespoons of yogurt - in my case the remains of the yogurt that I had brought from La Paz. After letting it stand for 24 hours I tasted it and it was very, VERY good. (Thanks Brenda!) It is now in the refrigerator and I'll try to keep the chain of culture going as long as possible.

At noon we were at 06N28, 113W59. We had made a n-n distance of 41 miles. Because of the tacking that 41 miles was almost directly south of our previous day's position, moving us 41 precious minutes to the south. Note that this was done without use of the engine. That last long engine run had left my batteries in pretty good shape so I saw no need to run the engine. I had a very close look at the grib file prediction for the day. The wind was as it predicted, promising to get stronger as I moved south. One more degree back to the north and I would have been dealing with 6-7 kt winds. I was hopeful that I had broken through to moderate and steady winds. True, they would be adverse winds, but we would deal with that by simply slogging on. I looked forward to the prospect of leaving behind the uncertainty, unpredictability, and episodes of becalming of the last week.

After lunch and a nap I attended to the unpleasant task of strengthening the lashings of the jerry cans on deck. My plan was simple: unless the ropes holding the timber to the stanchion had parted, I would merely put a tight loop of rope around the lead and aft jerry cans and their adjacent stanchions. That would secure and help support the ends of the lines of jerry cans. To that end I sacrificed a beautiful length of 10mm rope and cut 4 lengths of 2.5 m. I went to the starboard weather side and found that the forward end of the line indeed needed attention. The rope securing the upper timber had come loose and the entire front end was starting to dance around. I re secured the timber then put the new loop around the container and it worked a treat. On the way back I tightened the ropes of a container, and I found that the job I had done on the aft end during the night was good enough and did not need attention. Then I looked at the leeward side and concluded that it was too risky to do the remedial work on that line of containers. With the boat heeling while pitching and rolling there was too much danger of my being tossed overboard. I looked at the line from the cockpit and everything looked tight and secure with no sliding around. I will attend to that side when I get the opportunity.

I then had a cup of tea and a few almonds while I watched on the chart plotter the boat trucking along at 5 kt on course 130, almost SE.

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