Saturday, May 30, 2009

Checking in and exploring anchorages

We left Fatu Hiva an hour late on Thursday. As a result we chose to anchor 5 miles south of Hiva Oa in an anchorage that felt like open ocean on the north east side of Tahuatu. Since it was on the east side of the island, strong trade winds blew all night and had anything gone awry with the anchor, the reefs and land behind us would have been our first stop. We kept anchor watch and woke at 4am to leave in the pitch dark. We wanted to get to Hiva Oa to check in with the gendarme at 7am when the office opened. Right as the anchor was up, large gusts began to buffet us and pounding rain commenced blowing sideways. We slowly motored against the force and through uncomfortable waves. Two hours later, we arrived at Hiva Oa, anchored and walked to town. By this time it was 8am but we were taken care of easily and simply. We'd contemplated hiring an agent to check us in (for 450 bucks) but figured we'd try it on our own. It was two easy forms, an hour wait at the post office to buy some stamps to mail the forms to Papeete, Tahiti, back to the gendarme for 5 minutes of stamping our passports, and finished. Two hours of paperwork saved us a chunk of cash we were much happier to spend on food and later, fuel.
As a French "place" (not sure it's official term, it was claimed by the French in the 1800s and still has a representative in French legislature), French baguettes have become one of the staple items and are subsidized by the government. They're about 3 1/2 feet long and sold in most grocery stores. Even more delightful, we found tin tubs of butter from New Zealand. They must be subsidized as well because they were only 2 bucks a pound. The "butter" we ate in Central America was so plastic tasting that I even double checked that "mantequilla" meant butter instead of margarine. So, this is a delightful upgrade. All other groceries are about triple what they might be in the States because of transportation and importation costs, and transportation taxes. Luckily, we still have enough food to last us until New Zealand.

After about 4 hours in Hiva Oa checking in and buying our bread and butter, we decided, there were more beautiful anchorages where we'd rather spend the night. We hoisted anchor and sailed a couple hours to Hana Tefau ("hana" means bay in Marquesan) Here we found beautiful snorkeling, calm water, and only a couple of other boats. Brian spotted an octopus pretending to be a rock, and a moray eel. The variety of fish colors and shapes is similar to walking through a garden in bloom.

We'll stay here through Monday, do some boat chores, snorkel, and go to the church service (the singing is reported to be heavenly here), then off to a nearby anchorage to celebrate our 7th anniversary.

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Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Fatu Hiva

Wow, where do I start. We arrived 48 hours ago in an anchorage unlike any we've ever seen. There is a ridge coming down above the water from the north that abruptly ends in a sheer cliff with 3 stone spires atop. These spires are the cause for the original name of the bay, "Bay of the Phalli" The French missionaries didn't like that and promptly changed the name to "Bay of Virgins" In the French, there is only one letter difference. Tucked behind this sheer cliff and a small breakwater is a cement pier and boat ramp and the 300 person village of Hanavave. The main industries are fishing, selling tapa cloths and wooden carvings to the cruisers that come through on sailboats. Behind the village is a 3000 foot high wall of rock mountain that runs the length of the island.

Roosters crow every morning and evening and wild goats roam the cliffs below the rock spires. The water is clear and the pamplemousse (oversized green grapefruits) are sweet. We've climbed to a waterfall and swum in its icy pool with 2 -inch long crawdads. We've bargained for carvings and fruit and started learning words in Marquesan and French.

We have little time in the Marquesas and so will be leaving this bay tomorrow for the next island to the north. Before that, we will have 5 local kids to the boat this afternoon for chocolate chip cookies. We haven't been able to communicate much but, we get by.
More details to come.

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Monday, May 25, 2009

Land Ho!

One of the best sunrises ever this morning because it illuminated the green mountains and ravines of Fatu Hiva! Brian got to see it first and when I woke up, there it was in front of us,large and cloud capped. After 24 days of flat horizons only varied by the shapes of swells, this is a glorious sight.

I've already run my homemade French flag up the flag halyard. Maybe since it's high enough up, nobody will notice that the red panel is a bit bigger than the white and blue ones.

There's not much more to say except I'm really excited and this evening we're looking forward to being snugly ensconced in the Bay of Virgins (aka Hanavave) on the west side of the island. A full night of sleep sounds pretty good, too.

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Sunday, May 24, 2009

140 miles to go!

Wow, it doesn't seem like the end of this leg of the journey could possibly be almost over. At times it has seemed overwhelmingly interminable, at other times the days have zipped past. We've gotten good wind for the last 12 hours and I can imagine God up there with his wind bellows sending out the trade winds. Yesterday's sailing was so smooth that Brian pulled out the sewing machine and finished sewing his hoisting harness for the outboard motor. We'll be all set when we get there.

It's been encouraging to see boobies and frigate birds again. In the middle of the passage all we saw were a handful of what I think were a type of petrel. Boobies and frigates symbolize land to me.

In celebration of Sunday, here's a something Jesus said, "Didn't I tell you that you will see God's glory if you believe?" John 11:40 I hope you all see God's glory this week. When I think about this quote I realize that God's glory isn't always fireworks and bright lights. In fact, most of the ways I've seen God on this trip have been in almost unnoticed ways, except they were supernatural. For example: Every day for the year before we left Santa Cruz, I worried and experienced anxiety about "THE CROSSING" of the Pacific. It was an insurmountable emotional turmoil. Even so, we left and I told God that if I was to go on "THE CROSSING" he had to make it doable for me. In the weeks in Panama leading up to our departure, I had only the occasional twinge of doubt about our ability to accomplish this large distance of empty ocean. And now, during the dreaded crossing, the only (very valid) concern has been to stay safely on Nomad. And so, I have seen God's glory. I've enjoyed many parts of the trip I felt would be abominable and emotionally impossible.

Other news: Our GPS is working fine. Brian has spotted Olga twice this week during his night shifts.

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Thursday, May 21, 2009

getting closer

Well, we have about 470 miles till the Marquesas. At our current slowed rate of about 100 miles per day we will get there some time Monday or Tuesday. It's nice to have the end in sight.

Strangely, our primary GPS is acting strangely. Three times it has suddenly registered our speed at 13 and then 10 and 50 knots while our latitude and longitude jump around like ping pong balls. We're not sure why it does this but we are confident that our other 4 GPS's will be plenty to get us where we need to go if the primary goes out for good. In the mean time, it's entertaining to think of Nomad going 54 miles an hour. Our guess is that it's having difficulties acquiring fixes from the satellites that support the Global Positioning System which is run by the U.S. military.

All else failing, the stars seem to be maintaining their correct positions in the sky and for centuries served as adequate navigational aids. That is the beauty of night watches. I feel like I've gotten to know the stars and look for them in their places in the same way that I look for the old tree house and the large oak tree at my Mom's house when I go home. They are stable, familiar and reassuring. We can still see the Big Dipper even though it is lower in the sky than in Santa Cruz. The North Star long ago disappeared below the horizon. Each degree south we travel, the Southern Cross and its two bright sidekicks rotate higher and higher in the sky. The Dipper stays to our starboard and the Cross to our port side - Comforting Giants twinkling all night long. Then, in the dark morning hours if I look behind us, I see one of the brightest stars in the sky. When it appears, I know it won't be long before the sun follows.

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Wednesday, May 20, 2009

May 20

The wind is getting lighter and lighter. Nevertheless, we made 103 miles in the last 24 hours. Not blistering speed but progress. This morning, we spent 1 and a half hours rigging the spinnaker. I still haven't finished making the sock for deploying it so we do it slowly and carefully.
We're still eating our tuna and are enjoying creative fish recipes.

Today, we wrote out a message and put it in a well-corked wine bottle. We dropped it overboard and wonder where it will go. We gave our latitude and longitude and an email address. Hopefully if it's picked up, the people speak English!

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Monday, May 18, 2009

Confession May 17, 2009

Maybe it was the gloves. A few days ago, I remembered to pull out my West Marine sailing gloves. They have leather palms and finger pads and no finger tips. They're designed perfectly for handling rough fast moving salty ropes ("strings" as Brian likes to call them) and untying knots. They fit my hands just right and give me confidence that I won't get injured when easing sheets, sheeting in, and otherwise dragging strings around the boat.
So, with this extra confidence perhaps I forgot something. Perhaps I thought something had changed. See, it's been almost 20 months since we left Santa Cruz on Nomad. Over that time I expected to learn and acquire skills that I didn't already have from the 5 years living aboard and sailing Kansas, our other boat. This is certainly true in many areas. I've learned how to repair sails, and sew canvas; I've mastered navigation and feel very confident plotting our course; I've gotten comfortable with a life style of energy conservation. But there's one major thing that keeps me back in the amoeba learning group. Sail trim eludes me. It's as mysterious to me as the insides of a computer and as baffling as the human mind. When the sails annonce that the wind is shifting. I'm at a loss. I can vaguely determine the direction of the wind and I have ideas about things we could do but how to accomplish them is harder for me than organizing my master's thesis. There's strings to be pulled, strings to be let out, strings to run through pulleys, autopilots to adjust, and winches to crank. The order of these activities and deciding how to align the sails is a complete mystery to me, partially because there are differences every time. Sometimes I'll guess and attempt to hlp Brian by pulling a line, resulting in a snappy, "The other line!" or I'll wait for directions because I can't figure out what's next, while Brian is assuming it's obvious what I should be doing.
I spent many successful years in school and in sports. Anytime I encountered a difficulty, I worked hjarder, paid attention, asked questions, and practiced. These are the strategies I've applied to my mental disability in sail trim. To no avail. I'm equally clueless as I was 20 months ago. To this day, if Brian says, "turn down wind" I ask, "right or left?"

So, wearing my leather-palmed sailing gloves this morning, I was enjoying the bright path of the Milky Way and the pleasant steady 15 knot wind. When our course changed, indicating a wind change, I knew that what needed to be done was to swing the mainsail from the starboard to the port side of the boat. I've helped Brian do this numerous times. I eased the preventer, pulled in the main sheet, changed course on the autopilot, let out the main sheet on the other side, reattached the preventer on the other side, and pulled it tight while swinging the mainsheet over. Success! Warmed by this effective solo sail adjustment, I felt confident to reverse the process not half an hour later when the wind changed again. I was already rehearsing in my mind a proud description of accomplishment to tell Brian when he woke up. The second time didn't work so well. Half way through the process, things went wrong and I couldn't figure out how to make the autopilot do what I'd told it to do. "Come on Uli," I begged fruitlessly. Sometime in my desperate begging and string pulling, Brian poked his head up from below, "what's going on?"
To make a long story short, I ended up causing the breakage of the fiberglass windsurfing mast Brian had rigged in place of the whisker pole I'd broken two nights before (I haven't told that story yet). This makes a total of 3 breaks in whisker poles on this trip. Once again, Brian is patching it together. It looks like a backyard prototype of the bionic man's leg. There are over 30 rivets and 5 hose clamps securing the scrap aluminum pieces to the outside of the recent broken point. Further up the pole, is the original break from 2 weeks ago. It has bamboo (gifts from our friends in Bahia Honda) poles hose clamped on and duct tape around the hose clamps.

So, this sailor has decided that she might not wear her gloves ever again. Or maybe, I'll just accept that I will need step by step instructions for every sail change from now on. To compensate for this realization, I made the best batch chocolate chip cookies I've ever made. See, I can do something well.

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May 18, 2009

Last night with flukey wind and choppy seas, we hoved to. This is the closest thing a sailboat under way can come to pulling the car over at night to sleep. By back-winding the headsail and tying the tiller to one side or the other, the boat is "hobbled" and makes minimal progress ( 1 - 2 miles per hour) in a very comfortable easy motion. This requires less vigilance (unless you're hoving to in a shipping channel) and translates to more sleep. AAAH sleep. So, we got more rest last night, made much less progress, and today are back dealing with choppy seas in which we, once again, seem to make more lateral progress than forward progress. In these conditions it's hard to motivate myself to do anything but sit around and feel sorry for myself and wonder when we'll see those green rocky spires of Fatu Hiva.
Hmmm, what morale-boosting culinary wonder should I whip up today?

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Friday, May 15, 2009

California Time Zone

Yesterday we passed through longitude 117 degrees. This is the same longitude as San Diego. We have finally worked our way far enough west to enter the same time zone as California. When we left Panama we were more or less longitude (and time zone) as Kansas. In the Galapagos we were below Colorado and now we only have one more time zone to cross and we'll be in the Marquises.

We've been under way for exactly 2 weeks today. Phew. That means were about 2/3 finished. Looking forward to those big solid rocks to hike around on.

The wind was weird and twitchy yesterday. Changing direction, changing strength. Brian was like a monkey running around the boat pulling things, climbing things, changing sails, trying various combinations of preventers, etc. Last night, the wind made up its mind and settled back in from the East at a pretty good clip, about 20-25 knots. We were making great time most of the night and morning. I wonder what will happen next. At least we have some homemade oatmeal cookies to munch on while we wait.

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Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Over half way!

Tuesday, May 12 some time mid-day, we crossed the half-way point!! This is indeed a good feeling! The rain has stopped. Nomad is clean again. Today, the sky is again filled with an abundance of small white fluffy clouds, the wind is plentiful and the sideways rolling continues unpredictable yet constant. Even so, we're over half way! Hula skirts here we come. Just kidding, I don't think they wear grass clothing anymore, but I hear many people wear hibiscus flowers tucked behind the ear. I hope so.

Two nights ago we saw a massive living river of dolphins from far off of our starboard and headed across and in front of us. They got closer and closer and soon the mass of leaping, arching, splashing creatures could be seen on in front of our bow and to port but still they came. For over 5 minutes the river poured in front of us and away into the sunset. There were certainly over 1000 animals. Based on my book, I'm guessing they were Pan-Tropical Spotted Dolphins. Whatever kind they were, they were in a hurry and yet having a good time flinging themselves into the air. They remind me that all is well.

We continue to have lots of time to read. Here's a quote from Abba's Child by Brennan Manning. He's quoting a guy named John Cobb:

The spiritual man can love only…when he knows himself already
loved in his self-preoccupation. Only if man finds that he is already accepted in his sin and sickness, can he accept his own self-preoccupation as it is; and only then can his psychic economy be opened toward others, to accept them as they are -not in order to save himself, but because he doesn't need to save himself. We love only because we are first loved.

I'm praying that this is internalized in me, and doesn't stay just a pretty thought.

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This inning, strike out for Ship's Chief Officer In Charge of Food.

In almost any book of more than 3 chapters touting itself as a comprehensive guide to the cruising life, there is at least one chapter dedicated to provisioning, meal planning, and the importance of food in the life aboard on long passages. Even a specialized book we have on Heavy Weather Sailing tactics dedicated two pages to remind the captain that food is a key to maintaining morale high when the barometer is plummeting. My two cruising cookbooks stress this same point as well.
Consequently, I have taken my position quite seriously and, with a solid foundation to stand on, dedicatedly loaded tins of cookies for when the weather was inclement and I couldn't bake. I included numerous tempting and health snacks such as varieties of salted nuts, granola bars, dried fruit, whole grain crackers and peanut butter. Over 40 pounds of white and whole grain flours came aboard for baking breads, cakes, pancakes, crepes, waffles, fruit crisps, muffins, and other comforting deliciousness while under way. Tins of ingredients for hot savory 5-minute meals in one pot are stowed as an emotional security. Just the sight of all this food has the power to boost a hungry sailor's flagging spirits. NO crew of mine was going to suffer from boredom and low morale as a result of an unappetizing menu.

Yesterday morning drug us into the day after a night of long sail adjustments, loud flogging sails, noisy rigging, off and on rain, wind fluctuations and unpleasant wave tossing. It hadn't been a perilous or stamina draining storm, we just hadn't gotten much sleep and we were uncomfortable. Morale-Boosting Ship's Food Officer to the rescue! I decided that waffles were on the morning menu. With the engine running, we had plenty of power to run a superfluous electronic gadget and waffles are Brian's favorite breakfast food. I pulled out my Crème de Colorado cookbook and in between bracing myself between cabinets and keeping the mixing bowl upright on the counter, whipped together our favorite Buckwheat Pecan Waffle recipe (substituting whole wheat for buckwheat flour).

[Sidenote: Just because I'm the Head Cook doesn't mean that I'm the only cook. Especially when we're under way, Brian frequently makes at least one meal per day even if I'm not seasick. Often, I'll prepare the meal and Brian will cook it. This was the case yesterday]

I retrieved the waffle maker from it's deep resting place behind the plastic tubs of tea bags and placed it on the counter. Brian's turn. He plugged in the extension cord, turned on the power inverter. I could feel the morale climbing already. As soon as the first crispy steaming breakfast treat landed on its plate, I would have accomplished my goal, beaten the spirit-draining ocean. Instead, I was greeted to a yell by Brian. What could have possibly happened? I jumped from my smug position at the table and looked into the already steaming waffle iron he was holding open. Oh NO. The remains of a waffle from our last session were in an advanced state of decay. Blue-green spores and brown powdery stuff had already diminished the thickness of the former waffle. It had been in there at least 2 months. Strike out! No waffles, no morale boost. Instead, Brian spent almost an hour on deck, picking moldy waffle bits and dropping them overboard.

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Monday, May 11, 2009

Something to Keep the Boredom at Bay

How nice it was sitting down to a glass of red wine before our lasagna dinner, freshly showered and shaved, sun closing in on the horizon. The wind was filling back in after a very light wind day, hard sailing conditions. I had spent the majority of the day reefing, rigging, sheeting, and fixing things that had worked their way loose from the wild rocking that comes with light wind and choppy seas. We were settling down in the cockpit when we heard a big swoosh! Immediately upon looking up we realized the spinnaker had come loose at the top and was dragging next to the boat ¾ of the way to the back. Either the halyard or the block had let go. We raced forward and manhandled the sail up out of the water and over the lifelines back on deck.
All the while there were half a dozen Dorado hitting the flying fish hard in the water around us. They cruise along in a pack with the greatest of ease. In a split second they bolt several meters away, engulf their prey, and are back in the pack like nothing happened. Megan was trying to enjoy watching them just off our starboard bow, while I was being military guy and spurring her to work, not watch. A part on the block had come in two, sending all to the water.
As soon as we got the spinnaker bagged up for the night and headed back for the cockpit I realized that we had a fish on the hand line. Perfect, my low speed trolling plan using a mid sized Repala magnum redhead has worked. Going four knots I wanted that heavy wiggly action to make something happen. The poor guy must have been on for a while because he did not fight all the way to the deck. He only had the energy to flop at the end.
After subduing him on deck, it was back up front to rig the genoa for the night so we could have a head sail. Another surprise awaited us. Laying right in the middle of the foredeck was a slit ring for a clovis pin (small pin for securing largest sized rigging bolts). We both looked at it and realized that it was a very serious situation. The sun was now just setting. We started going through bottoms of the shrouds looking in vain for where the ring may have come from. We both feared the worst, that it had come from the top of the mast. Next we shifted attention to mid mast level hoping that we'd find it easy. Nothing! We were getting almost frantic by this point. We both surmised that the block coming loose at the top of the mast may have pulled the pin out all the way up there. We tried looking with the binoculars with no luck, knowing that if one of the four stays (that hold up the mast) was missing a ring up top, it would only be a matter of time before it worked loose. If it happened to be the forestay that came loose, the roller fuller would be damaged on descent, and the loss of the forestay could easily lead to a dismasting. All very bad scenarios as we are 1,500 nautical miles from the Galapagos on one side and the Marquises on the other. It would be a huge show stopper to say the least.
We both knew what had to be done, and fast. Megan ran below to get the bosun's chair and unload the tools from it. I started getting the genoa ready to unfurl, so that we could drop the sail in order to have a halyard to pull me up. We usually use the main halyard, but in the sea state, we absolutely needed to leave the mainsail up as something to keep us going in the right direction and give us some control of the wild rocking. I really did not want to go up the mast, even though I've done it a many times before. If one thing went wrong, we could have been in a much more serious situation, but we really had no choice. In fast forward speed we got things in order and then I was on the way up. I remember thinking, "I don't want to fall and die today". I thought of the old square riggers with crew whose job it was to run around way up in the rigging, and sometimes fall and die. I hung on to the mast like a monkey, letting go with one hand every four feet to move the prussic line (safety catch) up. Megan was winching like mad, and in an uncomfortable motion as we were using a different winch that usual. But soon I was at top making a thorough inspection of all terminal ends. I found nothing out of place. Good news as it would have been very difficult to put the ring back in. Every minute or so a set of waves would roll under us sending us into an imitation of an upside-down pendulum. On deck it's uncomfortable; dishes slid and flip over, coffee spills, etc. Up on top it's down right scary. The back and forth travel is huge, like being a bug on the tip of a baseball bat. Any climber knows that going up is only half the trip. Although the top of the mast was wild, it was secure because of all the hand and foot holds. Megan got me down safe, smooth, and fast though. We were relieved to know it was nothing on top, but where was it? Same scenario of possible dismasting if a shroud or stay were to come loose down below. I started looking again, and the first thing I looked at, which was the only thing I'd missed before going up the mast, was it! The bottom terminal of the inner forestay had come loose.
After securing the pin in it's place, we next had to re-rig the genoa, with whisker pole and all, and then tune it for the night. We'd done more in 45 min. than we often do all day. We were both very grateful all events happened before the daylight had disappeared. But, there was still more to do after our waiting dinner of red wine, fresh baked lasagna and bread. The Dorado waited for me to fillet after dinner. By this time it was late and I was getting really tired. All there was left to do was put the fish in the fridge, and get ready for a nap. Upon opening the door, our big glass water pitcher jumped out of the fridge and landed top down on the galley floor. The plastic lid contraption was smashed and water flushed all around me. It was a two towel and one chamois clean up. The plastic went in the trash and the glass overboard. Finally, I switched the mainsail to a new position and to my surprise, the wild rocking and slapping ceased. I lay down in the cockpit tired, under a full moon and fell asleep. A hour later I was awakened by slapping sails and heavy rocking again. The rest of the night Megan and I shared the engine room ear muffs and had a fitful sleep. And so it goes…. Only 12 more days to go if we get good winds.

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Saturday, May 9, 2009

1000 miles behind...

We're still going. We made our 1000 mile from Galapagos mark some time last night. Our celebration was popcorn, sliced apples, and hot chocolate. We thought about taking a picture but it all looks the same out here. The water color is deep indigo blue which is a change from the dark teal water which was around the Galapagos. There's no green highway signs that say "Fatu Hiva 1900 mi.; Hiva Oa 1920 mi…." No 7-11 stores either. Luckily, I don't crave the plastic chemical food from convenience stores. I make brownies, instead.

I've been reading Thor Heyerdahl's book, "Aku-Aku" about his archaeological digs and discoveries on Easter Island. Reading about its history almost causes me to wish we could change course and head the extra few hundred miles south to see it. However there are no good anchorages there, and I'm sure it's changed a lot since the book was written. The 10 - 50 ton (up to 40 feet tall) stone statues are still there as well as many secret family caves filled with ancient stone carvings. It's the most archaeologically rich island in the Pacific. Instead, we'll get to hike to some 8 foot tall tikis on Hiva Oa and Nuka Hiva, islands in the Marquises that we do plan to visit.

At this time in our crossing, a hike to see ANYTHING sounds really nice. We're still doing our daily half hour exercise routine but it's nothing compared to swinging my legs up a trail fringed with trees and flowers on the way to a tall waterfall. That's what I'm looking forward to right now!

Today, we put up our cruising spinnaker for the first time. The wind has eased a bit but our kite is holding wind and looking beautiful with it's blue and red diagonals. We only got it wrapped around the forestay once when our position changed course during a mainsail adjustment.

Right about the time we were untangling our spinnaker, Brian looked off the side of the boat and saw two wahoo (a kind of fish) swimming in tandem next to us. They were beautiful but the most striking part about them was their fins. They were light grey next to the body but the outside half of the fins was a fluorescent blue. They were easily cruising and hunting for flying fish alongside Nomad for about 10 minutes. Brian pulled his cedar plug lure up next to them to no avail. I was glad he didn't catch them.

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Thursday, May 7, 2009

788 miles behind us

Only 2199 miles to go. Tomorrow at 2:30pm we will have been under way for one entire week. We'll be about 1/3 of the way to the Marquesas.
Yesterday was my first day of feeling well enough to read and start some sewing projects. Despite the fact that Nomad seems to cover as much lateral ground as forward progress, I'm able to pass the time doing things that make the day pass more quickly. Our wind is holding. Although it fluctuates, we haven't even thought of motoring since last Saturday. There is swell that comes from our port side and rolls us side to side so everything we do is with one hand or foot out to brace.

Our batteries haven't been holding their charges as well as they should so Brian is trouble shooting with Niger Calder's "Boat Owner's Mechanical and Electrical Manual" as well as installing a battery monitor he's had aboard for a couple of years. He's sitting in our "hallway" with wires and screwdrivers and cables and instructions around him, muttering.

Another way we've decided to pass time is to have an all-crew-required exercise session every afternoon. We do lunges, push ups, crunches, toe ups, and stretches... no jumping jacks. It's quite challenging to do pushups while the boat is dropping down a trough. It's been good at helping us feel not quite so stagnant and sedentary.

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Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Great Circle Route

Brian is figuring out our Great Circle Route today. Because the earth is not flat like the maps indicate, the shortest distance between two points (i.e. The Galapagos and Fatu Hiva, Marquesas) is NOT a straight line. One of our navigation software programs has a tool for plotting the sequence of waypoints that are more direct than a straight line would be. It can shave off lots of miles! If you think about it, this is one of the reasons why the air traffic routes are arcs.

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Tuesday, May 5, 2009

OLGA

Some people have been wondering about our gecko. The little critter came aboard in Mexico and we have seen her in various places in the boat. The most recent sighting was behind the plates in our kitchen cupboard about a week ago. We're pleased to have her aboard because she looks really fat when we see her. That means we have fewer bugs or ants than we would have. We've named her O.L.G.A. for "Our little gecko/anteater" If we ever determine she's a boy, we'll just call her Og.

OOPS.
I just realized that our yotreps location is wrong on the mark for May 4th. It should have been 3 degrees South instead of 5 degrees south. That's a 120 mile error to the south. We're still north of that mark. The May 5th mark is correct.

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Lots to think about.

Well, we are making good progress. The wind has held and we are zooming along between 6.5 and 7.5 knots (each knot is 1.12 miles per hour). This is fast for us. Unfortunately, every time I try to read or rustle around to do something, I get a seasick headache and tummy ache. The bonus of this is I'm getting in a lot of stretching, the stainless steel in the cockpit is getting polished, and Brian is cooking me meals. Instead of the small sewing projects and cleaning projects and tasty treat-baking I wanted to be doing, I'm sitting around thinking and praying and napping. It's amazing the things I've been thinking about: planning stuffed animals I could make, trying to remember the fairy tales of Rumplestiltskin and Rapunzel (can anyone remember these, it's driving me crazy. They used to be my favorites.). I've come up with poems I want to write, desserts I want to cook, questions I have for God, and more.

For example. All the wind whistling past and pushing us forward has got me thinking about that verse in the Bible that says something like, "God stores the wind in his warehouses.." It's in either Psalms or Job. I also had heard it translated as bags. Well, I've got it all imagined out. The winds are up in the heavens somewhere in leather bags the size of small countries. In my mind they have tiny tidy seams sewn with sinews and God has a big bellows that he squeezes to force the winds out. They're strategically located at the beginning of all the trade wind locations. Who knows. Maybe when I meet God face to face he'll give me a tour of his wind factory.

Speaking of wind, our whisker pole bent two days ago. Luckily Brian has aboard his No Limitz Skinny windsurfing mast from the 1990s. He has it rigged to pole out our sails for downwind runs. It's not as long as our whisker pole but it works really well. (We should definitely get some free No Limitz gear for this sound bite!)

Another highlight so far has been watching the creatures exploding out of the water from time to time. We get displays of flying fish splashing upward and arcing over waves to land and fly again. We've seen the silver bottoms of manta ray wingtips curling up above the water as they rest. Once we saw a whole herd of tunas jumping out of the water frantically trying to escape a bigger fish. Also, we've found marooned flying fish and 2 small squids on our decks (free bait!). So, there are things to see and do, they're just on a different timing. It reminds me of those really difficult Where's Waldo pictures that were popular in the 90s. When you first looked at them they were a cacophony of color with no seeming organization. The longer you looked, the more you could make sense of the forms splashed around liberally with red and white stripes. After a while, "Boing" one of the little Waldo's would jump out at you. Soon you'd be seeing more and more Waldos and not being side tracked by the red herrings of almost Waldos. This is our ocean. I'll sit and space out and watch wavelets and breaking crests and dips and splashes. All of a sudden, "Boing" out jumps a tuna or a flying fish runs across the top of the water, giving brief glimpses of what's underneath.
Maybe that's how all of life is. It's a huge Where's Waldo picture of confusing, misleading tidbits. The longer you look and patiently persist in finding the meaningful bits, the more you find what you're looking for. I hope you all find what you're looking for this week!

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Saturday, May 2, 2009

137 nautical miles

We left San Cristobal at 2:35pm yesterday and the currents and wind brought us a fine run of 137 nautical miles in our first 24 hours. For an area that is known frequently as the doldrums this is a very good start. We motored a bit but right now we're sailing under all sails at around 6 knots. I've been queasy and lethargic all day but that's to be expected.

I wasn't lethargic when I saw our handline had a fish on it about an hour ago. I reeled in a 5 to 6 pound dorado. They are a golden yellow color with blue polkadots. Their aqua blue fin starts at the top of their blunt head and runs most of the way down their backs. They are not only beautiful but YUMMY. The restaurants call them mahi mahi but most fisherpeople call em dorados. Either way, we're busting out the wasabi and soy sauce tonight.

Only 2820 or so miles left to Fatu Hiva, Marquesas.

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