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.
_____________________________________________________________
Sunday, April 14, 2002
Atuona, Hiva Oa, Marquesas
Land-Ho!
0330: I was scheduled for the 0300-0600 watch, but awoke at 0200, so
I came on
to relieve Gunter. He looked and acted exhausted, his forehead warm
to the
touch, and was very short with me. I can imagine how he feels; he cannot
rest
well under the strain of being Captain. It's a heavy burden when one
is
totally well.
The wind has kept up incessantly. When I took over, it was 18-20 knots,
the
waves slamming against the hulls, creating bombs underneath, as we are
on a
beam reach. It wears on everyone; we have not had relief from this for
two
days now. Sleeping is difficult. Last night, when I joined Gunter in
bed, he
had changed our sleeping arrangements, so that we sleep sideways, our
heads
underneath the starboard window; now we can roll with the waves. Whatever.
I
was so exhausted that I fell asleep anyway.
It is an eerie night, the wind whistling through the mostly empty rigging.
Last night, we had to rein Pacific Bliss way back. She had been
doing 7 knots,
despite a triple-reefed main and jib. We pulled her jib back even further,
and
she finally got the message: she will not be galloping to the finish
line. We
cannot arrive at our waypoint off the eastern tip of Hiva Oa too soon;
in fact,
we set a new waypoint far away from the island, so that even if the
charts are
off, even if a squall comes up, we will be not be close to land in the
dark.
0345: My timer goes off, telling me to take the customary scan of the
sky and
the horizon. There are big, ominous clouds to the east. I turn on the
radar.
It takes the customary two minutes to warm up, as the multimeter shows
the wind
increasing to 22, 24, 26, 29 knots. I decide to wake up Doug As he comes
up,
the radar shows a huge squall system, some squall lines behind us (which
could
be giving us the huge stern quarter push) and others to the side of
us. As it
turned out, none of them were in our path.
Then Ray quits three times successively. The wind has decreased to
12 knots,
but I have no steerage. We change course, let out some jib, and Ray
and
Pacific Bliss begin to work in unison again.
0500: The wind comes roaring back at 20 knots. Doug goes back to bed.
I'm
alone again with Pacific Bliss, sailing on through the night,
the ride smoother
now that the squalls have dissipated. I chart our new position: 9º39.8'
South
and 138º34.3 West. By dawn, we should be able to sight land. I
can manage to
stay awake for that!
0700: Gunter is tickling my feet gently. I couldn't stay awake; when
he came
on watch, I went to bed. "There's land," he said. I rubbed
my eyes, threw on
my pareu, and moved slowly to the cockpit. A rectangular hunk of blue-grey
jutted out from the sea at our starboard, only slightly discernible
in the
haze.
"Good," I said. "I'm glad. No, I'm relieved." I
turned around and crashed
again. It was not the big rush I expected it to be.
0900: I woke up to a bright light shining into my window. Finally.
Some sun!
I sat up and looked out. We are motoring along the shoreline of Hiva
Oa. It
is all green. A deep,lush green--a color I hadn't seen in three weeks!
My
energy returned. I dashed topside, and feasted my eyes. Three islands
were in
view, the largest of them very close. We were eight miles from Atuona
Harbor.
I made an instant coffee from the hot water still in the thermos. Then
I took
the warm cup to the starboard helm and took it all in. The bright sun
put the
mountains into stark relief and the trees appeared dark brown now. Even
so,
the rugged profile was spectacular.
Ahead of us we saw the sails of a beautiful, long monohull called Raven,
a
familiar name from the Puddle Jump Net. It seemed strange, talking to
the
Captain, Jan, by VHF instead of SSB. We proceeding on, following Raven's
mast,
beyond the roadstead, with homes perched on the sloping hillside, and
on into
the little bay past the breakwater. Then we held back, waiting for Raven
to
anchor first and for an outgoing Tayana to clear. After that, we took
a slow
pass around the bay, already crowded with 14 yachts, with more expected
to
arrive this day.
Raising the courtesy flag for French Polynesia
1145: We dropped the hook, equidistant (we thought) between Priority
III and
Free Radical. Before we could even begin to set a stern anchor, we had
drifted
close to the burgundy-and-white striped Free Radical, their Canadian
maple leaf
flag flying astern. The owner was already in his dinghy, offering to
help us
reset the stern, saying, "It's better to be pro-active now than
an ass hole
later, I've found."
Doug took the stern anchor into his dinghy and pulled it back far away
(we
thought) toward the shore. We were the farthest boat back in the anchorage
now, in only 7.7 feet of water, so drifting back--at least--was not
a problem.
We were that close to the shore.
With the anchors finally set and already fatigued and red from the
blistering
sun, the four of us simply sat quietly in the cockpit to catch a breath
of
breeze, drinking water and more water. "Juice?" I asked, digging
a long-life
carton of peach out of the fridge. The thermometer in the salon registered
97ºF.
I poured us each a glassful. No one said a thing. There were no cheers,
no
high-fives, no champagne. There were no words of wisdom or wit from
the
Captain. It was not the arrival I'd dreamed about during those long
twenty-one
days at sea. The only feelings we had were ones of relief and sheer
exhaustion.
"I'm going below," said Gunter. "I don't feel so well."
"I'll follow shortly," I said.
One more glass of water and another of juice, and I was ready to join
Gunter.
He was already fast asleep.
A few hours later, I heard a faint "Pacific Bliss."
Then I heard a tap on the
hull. I thought I might be dreaming. But then I heard a male voice say
"Pacific Bliss" again. I awoke with a start and looked
out the window. The
hull of Free Radical was all that I could see. And in between our boat
and
theirs was the Captain in his inflatable dinghy, protecting both yachts.
Our
stern anchor had been dragging and our sleeping ship had been gradually
drifting toward Free Radical.
I came up on deck. "We were all asleep," I said.
"I know. Sorry to wake you."
Doug came topside and wrapped the anchor line around the cleats a few
times to
move Pacific Bliss over a bit. Now everyone was up. Using our
dinghy, Petit
Bliss, now down from her davits and seeking shelter underneath the coolness
of
the hulls, Doug reset the anchor, then fashioned an impressive bridle
system
with our black dock lines, securing Pacific Bliss in all directions.
Sufficiently awake to actually feel some hunger pangs, our crew consented
to a
cold meal of potato salad and canned oysters with crackers. I took out
a
well-chilled bottle of Sheridan Sauvignon Blanc. Oh, the marvelous taste
of
the first mouthful of dry wine, the first since our Bon Voyage parry,
now over
four weeks ago! Our chilled champagne could wait for our "official"
arrival
party with Makoko. Gunter, still under the weather, didn't partake,
but the
three of us clinked until the bottle was gone. We talked a little, but
mostly
we just sat in silence, taking in our new surroundings. We are finally
in Baie
Taahuku, Hiva Oa, Marquesas! It had been quite an accomplishment. We
had
sailed 3,252 nautical miles, according to our log. It would be a long
time--if
ever--before any of us wanted to make such a long passage again.
End of Passage to Marquesas section...
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