This section encompasses a collection of stories and
passage notes written while underway during the first leg of Voyage
Two of Pacific Bliss, the 3252 nautical mile passage from San
Diego, California to Atuona Harbor in the island of Hiva Oa, Marquesas,
French Polynesia.
_____________________________________________________________
April 1, 2002, 0600
16º46'N, 124º17'W
One Gloomy April Fool's
I wish that this were a joke
but it was all too real.
I awoke for the 6-9 AM watch hearing the faint sound of "Lois"
calling me from
the sea. It was eerie. I dressed hurriedly, and poked my head through
the
companionway to the owner's hull. "Gunter, did you call me?"
"No," he said dejectedly, slumped over at the starboard helm,
half asleep, the
weight of the world on his shoulders, his silver hair curled at the
ends and
greasy from one week at sea in the salty air.
"That's OK," I replied, knowing full well that it hadn't
been his voice anyway.
"This incessant clanging caused by the stress of the main against
the lines is
driving me crazy," I thought.
Now that I am sitting up at the nav station, the noise is bearable.
In our
bunk, it is miserable. With the main boom right over our cabin, and
the
preventer cleated in front of the starboard helm, a resonance is set
up.
Gunter compares it to living inside a guitar.
I dwell gloomily on the future: night after night at sea, the boom
in this
position as long as we have a northeast wind, which will most likely
be the
conditions all the way to the ITCZ Zone. It could be a long, miserable
ride,
if it is anything like today. The wind right now is Force 3 from the
NE, 5-6
knots apparent, 7.6 knots true and we are bumping and groaning along
at only
3.6 knots. So much for the benign NE trades that we expected once we
hit the
tropics.
To add to our mood, we are experiencing 100% cloud cover still. It
has been
days since we have seen a sunrise or a sunset, or even the moon, which
was full
the last time we saw it. Gunter and I both become moody with lack of
sun-that's why we left Germany and Minnesota, respectively.
But there is another reason for our dour moods: last night was a real
bummer.
We had flown the spinnaker since 10:00 AM yesterday, adding a beautifully
smooth ride to our Easter Sunday festivities. How I loved to see that
spinnaker flying, its nylon rainbow spreading out magnanimously, capturing
every breath of air. How we will miss its graceful moves, sashaying
from side
to side as it pulled Pacific Bliss onward to new destinations.
We put her up (rather, the guys did) while I prepared an Easter Sunday
breakfast of buckwheat/banana pancakes with maple syrup. The Easter
bunny had
miraculously arrived during the night, leaving green grass in the Guatemalan
basket, filled with white, hard-boiled eggs and gaily-wrapped truffle
eggs.
Our crew had hoisted her easily, and came to the table ready for a feast.
Gunter put Handel's Messiah-He is Risen!-on the CD, and despite the
lack of
sun, it had been a nice day on board Pacific Bliss. During my
morning watch, I
had prepared a banana cream pie; it sat in the top tray of our fridge,
waiting
to be devoured for dinner.
The spinnaker-a miracle of nylon and nature--pulled us gently along
at 8 knots
in NE breezes of 10-12 knots apparent. Our standing orders were to take
her
down at 15 knots apparent (F5). Armin stood on the deck taking photos.
She
looked just like the most recent web-site photo with the story beneath:
On to
the South Pacific in Search of Adventure and Bliss. This scene was just
what I
had dreamed about during our long landlubber period between Voyage 1
and Voyage 2.
After dinner, we discussed the spinnaker:
"The conservative approach, of course, would be not to fly it at
all at night,
for fear of having to take it down. There is no moonlight again."
"But we already flew it one night, with no problems, and now we
have practice
taking it down."
"You guys had it all together nicely, raising the mainsheet first
to protect
it from the wind."
"Yes, we seem to have it down pat."
"The ride has been so nice all day."
"And we wouldn't have that banging all night, with the main down."
"We might improve our speed and actually gain on Makoko."
Makoko is our buddy boat. They had been sailing in the Sea of
Cortez. We had
arranged with them to leave from Cabo the day after we departed from
San Diego.
They would head west as we headed south; we would meet at our "Waypoint
A" in
the Pacific and sail together from then on. But when they started out,
they
faced a wind from the west, directly on their nose, so they elected
to go south
instead. Makoko found good winds while Pacific Bliss floundered.
Now they
were well into the NE trades and putting more distance between the two
boats
every day. They were four days or so ahead. Their yacht is an Amel-designed
53' Super Maramu ketch. It's not used to being beaten, but neither is
Pacific
Bliss!
"OK, here's what we will do," Gunter decided. "When
the apparent wind is
sustained at 15 knots, we'll call for all hands on deck. Armin, you're
the
Heavy need for the chute. Work along with Doug, up front at the net,
to hold
it down. Lois, you're at the helm. I'll work the winches."
We would fly our beloved spinnaker overnight for the second time during
Voyage
2.
Gunter and I retired after my watch ended, but we couldn't sleep. We
were
alert to every wind gust. Instead of the steady downwind sail we had
experienced during the day, the wind became fickle, veering from NE
to N to
ENE. Twice, Gunter left our bed to go on deck, adjusting the lines,
changing
the spinnaker angle offside to starboard.
By 2300, the wind had gusted steadily 13-15 knots apparent, still within
our
guidelines, but shifting to the East. Our downwind sail had changed
to a
reach. Armin was already on watch. Doug was deeply sleeping in preparation
for the dogwatch (12-3AM). "All hands on deck," came the cry.
The mainsheet was pulled to center (in hindsight, we wished that we
had
adjusted it, with the preventer in place, to a beam reach and set the
course
before dousing the spinnaker. As it was, the dousing caused unstable
steerage.) I tried to keep Pacific Bliss on course downwind,
eventually
starting the engines, but fearful of going too fast with the guys upfront
on
the net. With no moon, we were literally in the dark. But with the spreader
lights on, the guys were blinded by the light and still couldn't see
the
spinnaker. With things happening so fast, the story is always difficult
to
reconstruct. First, the spinnaker had ballooned way out there, out of
control
The guys were afraid that it would catch and rip on the spreaders. But
as
they pulled it in, somehow the blue spinnaker line tangled around the
furled
jib, and the inky, featureless night made it difficult to untangle.
Armin
tackled the entire mess and held it tight to the net. What an ordeal!
It seemed to go on forever. I continued to steer directly downwind,
the main
flopping, fearful for the safety of the crew, even though they always
clipped
in. The adrenaline rush caused the now-familiar dry mouth as I feared
further
escalation, more afraid for the people than the spinnaker. Somehow,
I knew the
spinnaker would be gone. As it turned out, she fell to the pressure
and ripped
at the bottom seams, and broke her collar as well-a good job for a sail
repair
facility in Papeete. Until then, Adieu, Spinnaker of Many Colors. We
will
have some slower, less comfortable passages all the way to Tahiti.
:
Photos Damaged
Spinnaker
Break
in Collar
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