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Mabi Two - Atlantic W-E |
The Log - part 3
May
14th. We had our fair share of downpours today, drenching
everyone and everything, in the last outburst of this rapidly departing
cold-front.
We
picked up a radio conversation with a French lady also going to the Azores.
(When you hear the VHF radio speaking it means that someone is in the
vicinity, within 40 miles) Later in the night she converged with our
course and actually passed within 100 metres from our bow – women
drivers! It may be a vast empty ocean, but it always pays to keep a
constant look-out.
Today,
the usual small repairs, a frayed rope-end to be sewn and reinforced, a
recalcitrant sail-batten that keeps slipping out of its pocket and
requiring a balancing act on the coach-roof to repair, a stuck cable to be
freed in the wang etc. We also added a boom preventer for our down-wind
sailing, like I had in my Trade Wind crossing – this is a rope that
leads from the cockpit to the bow of the boat and then back to the end of
the boom to stop it accidentally slamming across to the other side in a
gybe by a distracted helmsman. Our newly-manufactured lee-cloths also
required some adjustments, as they would not fully keep their sleeping
occupant firmly in place when the boat was well heeled over.
Riky taking it easy and Rob at the sextant
There
is always something to do, in fact we all find that we have little time to
do all the reading that we had planned to do. Any spare moment we have is
spent gazing at the waves, which tend to mesmerise you and particularly
awesome are the monster waves that occasionally arrive, towering over the
boat while it is in a deep trough and then mysteriously disappearing under
the boat as you rise to their crest, giving you an extended view over the
horizon. It is only in this brief moment that you can quickly scan the
horizon for other boats and ships.
As
we proceed north it gets colder and colder, with the nights particularly
chilly. The night watch-man is now well clothed in his “oilies” (today
of highly technicological materials) with warm underwear and gloves, while
the standby watch-man sleeps on deck snugly wrapped-up in blankets. He
dozes off to sleep gazing and wondering at those bright, blinking diamonds
in the black sky. Incidently, this night sky is not familiar at all as the
constellations are not in their expected positions and are difficult to
find. I can even see low on the horizon my once familiar Southern Cross,
very dear to all Australians.
At
night, we are always, always with our life-jackets on and hooked to the
boat with our individual life-line. A crewman falling overboard at night
is out of sight within seconds and almost impossible to locate and
recuperate, so one must simply NOT fall overboard. In fact it is a
conciencious crew and very careful about this.
We
are eating very well, each one providing his specialities of cooking and
our evening dinners in the cockpit are accompanied by most stunning
Atlantic sunsets, occasionally providing the elusive “green flash”,
which the crew believed to be only a legend.
On
very windy days when out on deck your senses are overpowered by the
elements, with the boat rushing through the water at high speeds, the
hissing of the wake, the breaking of the waves, the wind in the rigging
and sails. But when you go below, all is quiet and calm and it seems you
are not moving at all, as if you are in suspended motion and you get an
uncanny sensation seeing the water gushing past the port-holes.
However
it is a different matter if the waves are on the beam (on the side of the
boat), then it rocks wildly from side to side and everything not tied
down, including yourself, is hurtled across the cabin and the boat is
constantly in an unsightly mess (fortunately out of sight of its mistress,
Mabi!)
You
must constantly hold on and be careful not to hurt or scald yourself or
let something spill, so one is always on the alert.
There
is a lull in the weather, with favourable light winds sending us on an
eastwards course. I have chosen to stay around the 33° parallel and not
go further north for the moment, as on Sunday we expect a big depression
to come in with strong winds just further north. So we will keep well away
and go north to the Azores at a later date.
The
nights are still pitch black, as the new moon has not shown itself, but we
are now all accustomed to the blackness, which takes some time on each new
trip. It is quite disconcerting the very first time. The boat keeps rising
and falling on the long gentle Atlantic swell, which tells tales of woe in
distant seas, where big storms are whipping them up. I have likened the
movement of the boat to a never-ending roller-coaster ride. Our tireless
and never-complaining autopilot gives us a periodic welcome respite from
helming by hand and our Jeanneau 54DS gracefully rides the monster waves,
letting them pass underneath with hardly ever a splash of water coming on
board – an excellent and most ocean-worthy sailboat.
May
16th. Whilst in relatively calm sea conditions we emptied four
jerry cans (80 litres) into the main fuel tank, as it was down to a
quarter. The wind forecasts interpreted and sent to us by Giuseppe, proved
to be extremely accurate, and were promptly obeyed by Eolo. At the very
first sign of a feeble wind direction change, I quickly gybed in the night
to avoid doing it later in strong winds and we were then sent hurtling
through the night at over 8 knots. The ever increasing waves came from two
different stern directions, brewing up confused seas and making steering
very difficult and dangerous. There was a constant threat of gybing or
broaching, both involving a dangerous sudden tipping over of the boat on
its side. So I decided that the hand steering had to be constantly
controlled by a second person throughout the night, ready to step in
should there be a distraction on the part of the helmsman (the conditions
were too heavy for us to use the autopilot - considering it broke down on
the first Atlantic crossing).
In
these sea conditions I keep the drop-board fixed down in place in the
hatchway entrance and the cover closed, just in case a wave breaks over
the cockpit which would pour down into the main salon.
Riky behind the drop-board passing out tea
With
suitably reefed sails, in constant 25 knot winds, gusting over 30 knots,
we hit a top speed of just over 10 knots and continuing for the rest of
the next day, allowed us to cover 165 miles. Had we had these conditions
for the full 24 hours we would have covered up to 200 miles at that speed.
However, the Trade Winds on the westward passage offer much more constant
winds, whereas this eastward passage offers more erratic winds obliging a
more erratic course.
GPS recording speed of 9.9 knots
As
the high and low pressures cross your path, the winds of the high pressure
first come from a northern direction, then from east, then from the south
(no winds at all if you are in the centre) and when the low pressure comes
in, then the winds start from the south, then from east and then from the
north (and all hell breaks loose if you are in the middle). So this
eastward passage is much more complicated and therefore, having reliable
wind forecasts, is most important for determining a safe and quick
navigation.
Our position on May 16th
May
17th. For the
following night the wind remained constantly from the SW, always around 20
- 25 knots and continued into the next day, the longest stable
wind we have had so far. Our course is always eastwards, even though we
should start heading NE to Horta, but if we gybe, we would head too far
north. I also tried going wing on wing (one sail on one side and the other
sail on the other side) but we would still overshoot Horta, so we will
continue to the east and either the wind will change direction, or we will
be forced much later to tack towards our destination. Early this morning
we had a breakfast show from a pod of some midget stubby dolfins, leaping
around our bow.
The
water-maker seems to be producing brakish water and will probably require
new membranes, so we will have to be very careful in using the remaining
full fresh water tank – no more clothes washing, a task part of the crew
is particularly energic with. For washing the dishes, we use sea water,
which is pumped from outside by a foot-pump on the floor in the kitchen,
which saves tons of fresh water, though your tea-cup always tastes a
little salty.
Our
fishing has not been very successful so far, with only three fish caught (though
that’s more than what most boats catch), but maybe this northern part of
the Atlantic is less populated with gullible fish than the warmer southern
part, where we caught 10 fish on the passage westwards to the Caribbean.
A
small practical curiosity: the elegantly designed plates and bowls we
normally use on our Mediterranean cruises are completely useless on an
oceanic crossing and absolutely must not be used, the food would not last
one second, being whooshed off onto you and onto the floor. For every meal,
we use simple plastic bowls with high edges, very similar to the typical
dog-food bowl, very practical and safe to use.
The skipper eating from his dog-bowl
The Mediterranean Sea
mediterranean-yachting.com
Copyright L. Camillo
2010