Hızlı ve kolay bir şekilde sende web site sahibi olmak istiyorsan tek yapman gereken sitenin aşağısında bulunan iletişim formu üzerinden gerekli bilgileri girmen. Hepsi bu kadar.
Web Siteye Reklam Ver
Sende web sitemize reklam vermek veya ilan vermek istiyorsan. Tek yapman gereken sitenin en altında bulunan yere iletişim bilgilerini girmen yeterli olacaktır. Ekip arkadaşlarımız siziznle iletişime gececektir.
Web Sitemizin Yazarı Editörü OL
Sende kalemine güveniyorsan web sitemizde bir şeyler paylaşmak yazmak istiyorsan siteinin en aşağısında bulunan iletişim formunu kullanarak bizimle iletişime gecebilirisni
We couldn't have asked for a better day. We didn't know if we'd make it all the way to Port Suez, but we departed at 4am thinking that if the weather was calm enough, we just might make it. What we got was unbelievable. Flat, and I mean FLAT, seas and light-light winds. We were happier than pigs in, well you know the saying. At first it was hard to believe or enjoy as I just kept waiting "for the other shoe to drop", but as the day went on and the seas only got calmer and Port Suez got closer I couldn't help but get excited ... we were really go to make it!!! We averaged 4.4 kts and didn't have to tack once (because it was light enough that we could just motor straight there).
Another 27 knots. Today was a great day we sailed 46 miles but covered 40 this time, wind never got above 25. only 50 miles to go!!
Summary: 10 hours 10 mins, 40 miles
The Red Sea is a huge mind game. With weather forecasts so far off and given that the winds and swell can pipe up within 20 minutes, we were forever wondering if we were doing the right thing and second guessing ourselves. As the wind started to die on the night of day 6, we asked each other, should we go now and go overnight? But what if it picks back up, we'd have nowhere to duck into at night and then we'd be out there, at night, not something we were keen to do. But on the other hand what if it's calm all night and the wind picks up in the morning? What if the weather window isn't as long as we think it is and by remaining anchored for a day we end up stuck somewhere for two weeks? What if, what if, what if???? And so it made it hard to ever relax. Even at night I'd wake up whenever the wind changed, wondering if we should be out there, or sometimes grateful that we weren't, and stressed about what the morning would bring.
The morning of Day 7 brought good news. 16 kts. WOW! While it got up to 27 kts, most of the day hovered around 20. What we couldn't understand (but weren't about to complain) were the somewhat flat seas. Given the wind direction there was nothing to protect us from the swell, and it was blowing around 22 kts a large part of the day, the same wind we'd had previous days and encountered huge square waves, but on this day, the swell was that of 12-15 kts of wind, not 20-25. We couldn't understand it, we theorized and theorized but in the end we just gave up and enjoyed the sail. It was truly a terrific day, we only had to tack 12 times, sailed 46 miles to go 40, and averaged 4.5 knots ... so far it looked as though we'd made the right choices by staying put on the two high wind mornings.
Had a nice days rest.. it was blowing 27 when we went to leave .. so we stayed!! Sailed 45 nM to cover 32 today with 27 tacks in mostly 23-27 knots. Still looking for a break in the weather!!
Summary: 9 hours, 32 miles Waiting seemed to pay off. We started the morning with 16-20 kts, and although it picked up throughout the day (22-28kts), the seas remained manageable. Many months before we had read about the waves and swell of the Red Sea, and unfortunately near Port Bernice we experienced just how bad they can be. The thing about the Red Sea is that the seas build up almost instantly and form these square waves that knock you back as if hitting a mack truck. Trying to motor into such swell is nearly impossible, unless willing to travel at about 1-2kts. However, what we found is that if we motor sailed, keeping the seas at an angle and using the wind to give us extra drive, we actually made way and the ride was more comfortable. The downside was that we usually needed to hand steer in order to stay tight to the wind and tacking required more work than lazy sailors (such as us) tend to like! In total we tacked 26 times, sailed 44.9 miles to go 32 miles, and both were feeling a bit worn out when we arrived. But we had made 32 miles, which was a great day for us (in this weather) and had managed to average 5 kts. We were exhausted but happy.
Again it blew all night and was already averaging 25+ kts when we woke up to go. There was a local in a motorboat that was anchored near us and he had stopped by to see how we were doing the night before. He too was going to Port Suez, and when we looked out and saw that he wasn't going anywhere we figured that we should trust local knowledge and stay put!
We crossed to El Tur (45nM).. Even though we are only 1/3 of the way there, I think 1/2 of the hard stuff is behind us!! We'll keep you posted, it sure doesn't feel like it with 20-25 blowing right from were we need to go. 120 nM to go!!
So much for the lighter winds theory - the wind blew above 20kts all night and we woke up to whitecaps in the anchorage. The Red Sea looked ugly. At 6am it was already blowing 25-28kts. We decided we needed a day of rest.
3am start ..(hey it was calm .. 10 knots) Made it to Zeitiya (25.2 nM). From here we will jump to the other side for "calmer" weather. Forecasts are way off says 6 knots we're getting 25-30 across the deck.. Ah the Red Sea!!
Leg 1 Summary: Geisum to Zeitiya; 4 hours 15 minutes, 14.7 miles This time we departed at 3am, and it paid off. We took the inner route through the reefs and for the first few hours it was nice and calm with little wind. The winds started picking up as we neared the anchorage so the last hour and half was a bit long, but overall we were quite happy.
Leg 2 Summary: Zeitiya to El Tor; 5 hours 15 minutes, 25.2 miles I must say we were THRILLED with this leg. Zeitiya was where we jumped across the channel; meaning no protection from the swell, we'd be taking on the full brunt of the Red Sea, and have to avoid huge ships at the same time. We waited until the afternoon so that the tide was flowing with the wind (therefore, hopefully, resulting in less swell). When we departed it was blowing 22 kts, we both wanted to wait, but also knew that this was probably as good as it was going to get and we needed to just suck it up and get out there. It was better than we'd dared hope. We motor-sailed across at a pretty decent angle (not going backwards anyway) and averaged 4.8 kts all the way to El Tor, even with 20+ kts! We really couldn't believe it. El Tor was a big milestone for us, as we were now across the channel and people (and forecasts) had reported the winds were a bit lighter once past El Tor.
Part 2 .. 15 nM Took advantage of a Rea Sea Calm (20 knots) to move around the point. It will be slow going but I think We'll make it.
Part 1 .. 15 nM stop a little ways up after a 30+ knot pounding..1/2 mi of fetch and it still killed us.
Leg 1 Summary: 1 hour 15 mins, 4 miles Leg 2 Summary: 3 hours 10 mins, 11 miles
We departed Endeavor around 6am hoping to make a few miles before the wind picked up. We didn't get very long, about 20 minutes later we had 25-30 kts across the decks. We kept telling ourselves that it shouldn't be so bad as we were less than 2 miles from a huge mountain that should've been protecting us for any big fetch. Nothing about the Red Sea is logical, even with just 1 mile of fetch we had huge square waves and we depressingly watched as Billabong's speed sank and sank until we weren't even making 1.5 kts! Finally we caved-in and headed off to an anchorage. At this point I was seriously thinking that we'd just have to go back to Hurghada and wait for next year. We looked at the weather forecast and it was all the same, 6-12 kts for the next few days, if 6-12 meant 22-27 than how would we ever make it???
The winds were predicted to lighten up in the afternoon so we waited, and waited, and waited, but it was still blowing 20kts. Luckily, thankfully, friends of ours were coming from Hurghada and reported only having 15 kts. We figured the mountains must be accelerating the winds in the anchorage, so at 3pm we joined them and were extremely relieved to find that it had indeed lightened up (to about 15-20kts). There is an inner route, through the reefs, that we planned on taking but it did require sticking our nose out into the channel (no protection from swell) for about 5 miles. We gave it a go that afternoon, and were thrilled to find that we could actually make way, even in 20 kts. Our faith was restored that we could actually make it to Port Suez!
In total it had taken us 4 hours and 25 minutes to go 15 miles, but the real kicker is that we had only gone 5 miles as the crow files!!!
Finally Back out Here .. This Will be a rough trip. The first protected leg took us 7 hours to go 24 miles.. uggh. Oh well I guess it's just part of the job!!
Summary: 7 hours, 22.7 miles
For the most part it was, at least, a comfortable day. We were in the protection of some reefs so we didn't have big seas, and therefore we were able to motor almost straight to our destination (rather then short-tacking inside the reefs). On the other hand we were now a bit worried about the days to come ... if we were going this slow in protected waters, just how slow would we be going in the open waters without the reefs to break up the swell???
What we soon began to learn about the Red Sea as that there is either no wind or a lot of wind. We departed Dudu on the 6th for an overnight trip to Port Smythe. Throughout the day and night we’d either be motoring in about 5 kts or sailing reefed down in about 25 kts. There was rarely anything in-between. The good news is that since we were still in the Southern section of the Red Sea we still had southerly winds, so everything came from behind.
We caught two more fish, a gigantic Trevally and a good-sized Spanish Mackerel. After our fishing draught of Indonesia we were in heaven!
The anchorage at Port Smythe pretty much sucked. It was a reef anchorage which didn’t allow for much protection in higher winds (which we had by the time we arrived). It was safe and mostly comfortable, but too rough to really do anything. Supposedly there is good snorkeling to be had there, but we didn’t get the chance.
Our passage from Aden to Mersa Dudu was mostly, thankfully, uneventful. It was a combination of motoring in no winds to sailing reefed down in 30 kts. But even the higher winds and rolly seas were not too bad as they all came from behind.
The Bab al-Mandab Straits held up to their reputation of being windy, but again it was nothing unmanageable. We had to once again cross a major shipping channel, but compared to the Singapore channel this was nothing. It also helped that we now had AIS so could see the ships, their courses, and speeds from over 30 nautical miles out.
Just after crossing the Straits Chris threw out a fishing line and by 10am on our second morning we had a nice Mahi-Mahi. We were traveling with a few other boats who all threw out fishing lines after we announced we caught something. Amazingly within minutes three of the four boats had a fish! Not even a full day into the Red Sea and it was already living up to its reputation for good fishing.
549 nM down - 63 nM to go Almost there, Nice Sailing, Lots of BIG Ships coming through the convoy
It was good sailing during the day. The wind picked up as the day carried on, and by night the seas had a pretty good swell going. The wind was directly behind us, so we had to run wing-on-wing. The difficult thing was that we were trying to keep our speed up in order to not cause everyone an extra night out, so we had our full main up, which meant we could absolutely not afford to accidentally jibe. Simon (the auto pilot) was having trouble steering down the big seas without going off course, so we had to continuously adjust and monitor things, practically hand steering, to ensure we did not jibe.
427 nM down - 185 nM to go Passed through Pirate Alley with no problems, motor sailing to keep speed up
We hit the "pirate alley" around sunset and decided to run with anchor lights. Originally we had planned on no lights, but it was too difficult with the close proximity of the boats. All our anchor lights were pretty dim, so we figured it was good enough.
We got through the area without a single worry. We were almost to Aden and ready to be done with the convoy.
312 nM down - 300 nM to go Much Nicer day, sailing + motoring, Dust Clearing
Things were much, much better. The wind would occasionally pick up, but nothing like the day before. A brown haze still hung in the area -- we couldn't even spot a huge tanker that was barely 4 miles away! And dust still filled ever nook and cranny both on boat and person. I had trouble relaxing as every time a little burst of wind would come through I'd find myself bracing, waiting for the storm that was sure to follow...
192 nM down - 420 nM to go 30-35 knots breaking Seas, a very Wet day. Still have reduced visibility due to desert winds
With the rising sun came a horrendous sand & wind storm. I can honestly say that these were the worst seas poor Billabong (and crew) have ever been through. They were big, steep, and extremely close together. A lot of them literally broke across Billabong. There was so much sand in the area that within minutes everything was turning dingy brown, and visibility was so low we couldn't make out any of the other boats...
62 nM down - 550 nM to go Crappy first day left in a Sand Storm very little visibility and lots of wind
The morning of our departure was a bit of a debacle. First the wind picked up enough to cause a few boats to drag and they had to re-anchor. Then one of the tug boats came through asking about 10 of us to move as a ship was coming in that needed to dock behind us. In Oman you have to check out within a couple of hours of your departure, no 24 hour leeway, therefore we hadn't yet cleared out which meant we didn't have the option of just leaving, we had to re-anchor - not the easiest task with the higher winds, too-small of anchorage, and poor holding ground. We managed, and Chris was finally able to go ashore to check-out while I kept an eye on Billabong...
Salalah (Oman) to Aden (Yemen) is the area of highest reported concentration of piracy attacks on yachts. It is really the only area in the world where Chris and I have traveled that we actually looked to the news for information (in other places we have found news to be extremely focused towards violence and unsettlement). "Pirate attacks" might sound daunting, but the reality is that not even 1% of the yachts who travel through this area are hit. As I told our family, there was a higher chance of us dying in a motor scooter accident in Phuket than being hit by pirates. In addition no incidents had yet been reported for our year. We therefore were not worried about pirates, but still felt there was no need to tempt fate and did everything "by the book".
One thing that is recommended is to travel with a convoy. Originally I had mixed thoughts about a convoy. If I was a pirate, armed with MK-whatevers, and saw four or five small, slow yachts traveling together, it wouldn't stop me from approaching. And if, upon approach, none of those yachts produced a weapon and started firing at me, well than I would be enjoying one-stop-shopping, four for the price of one! What I found ironic however is that, by all accounts that I have read, traveling in a convoy does in fact deter the pirates; I've read where pirates (weapon bearing men) would scatter off when the other boats circled back. It doesn't make sense to me, but there it was in written proof, so Chris and I decided a convoy was the way to go. We hooked up with three other boats for the run to Aden. We did take the time to hide all the goods (leaving various bits of money, and broken or old electronics out). We also checked-in with the coalition armed forces, who now provide some patrolling, follow your route via daily check-ins, and offer to try to assist in the case of a pirate attack. We opted against any types of weapons; all accounts we had read seemed to show that only those with weapons were ever harmed, those without were merely robbed. And we decided to run about 40 nautical miles offshore.
February 21, 2008
The morning of our departure was a bit of a debacle. First the wind picked up enough to cause a few boats to drag and they had to re-anchor. Then one of the tug boats came through asking about 10 of us to move as a ship was coming in that needed to dock behind us. In Oman you have to check out within a couple of hours of your departure, no 24 hour leeway, therefore we hadn't yet cleared out which meant we didn't have the option of just leaving, we had to re-anchor - not the easiest task with the higher winds, too-small of anchorage, and poor holding ground. We managed, and Chris was finally able to go ashore to check-out while I kept an eye on Billabong.
A little before 11am we were ready to go, when one of the boats in our convoy called to say they had an engine problem and would need about an hour to fix it. I figured I might as well get lunch ready so that I wouldn't have to do it "at sea". Just as I was toasting bread for sandwiches (about 30 minutes after the delay call) they called to say they were ready. I quickly pulled the bread off the pan and we lifted anchor. Moments after we got the anchor up, another boat in our convoy called with windlass (the electronic piece of gear that hauls up the anchor & chain) problems -- another delay. We didn't bother re-anchoring, but rather just did slow loops around the anchorage. About 20 minutes later they were ready to go, and finally all four of us were off.
We had to motor against 20-25+ knots out of the channel and out through the breakwater before we could finally turn, putting the winds behind us and making things a lot more comfortable. After we got settled sailing Chris asked what was up with the sandwiches on the counter. "Oh," I said "that's our lunch". I went down to grab them and noticed that it was awfully warm in the galley. That's when I discovered I had left the burner on this entire time ... more than two hours!!!
Our convoy goal was to stay within .5 to 1 nautical mile of each other. Our first night out we failed miserably. At first it didn't seem too bad, especially motoring, but as the night wore on and the winds came and went we couldn't seem to keep together. I believe our biggest problem was that the fast boat was in front, so the only way they knew they were going too fast was by constantly checking radar or by us calling them. At one point we were over 2.5 miles behind. It wasn't too big of a deal, the real pirate alley was still a few nights away, but we thought it was not a good sign that we were already failing at this convoy thing!
February 22, 2008
With the rising sun came a horrendous sand & wind storm. I can honestly say that these were the worst seas poor Billabong (and crew) have ever been through. They were big, steep, and extremely close together. A lot of them literally broke across Billabong. There was so much sand in the area that within minutes everything was turning dingy brown, and visibility was so low we couldn't make out any of the other boats.
The convoy quickly fell apart (I mean if we couldn't stay together in mild conditions how could we in this crap???). Stardust couldn't point, so we changed course to try and stay closer to them. Djarrka couldn't seem to slow down enough, and Ascension couldn't pound through the waves, so they were pointing off and reefing. We reefed to get as comfortable a ride as possible and tried to head off enough to not have the waves break on us. Chris donned on foul weather gear and took station in the cockpit, while I sat on the floor next to the navigation station, periodically throwing up. We tried as much as possible to keep the group together, but it was nearly impossible. The upside is that there was no way any pirate would be out in that crap anyway, so we didn't have to worry about them!
Of course during this entire time Chris and I were both stressed about the forward compartment. He'd done a temporary fix to try and keep water from getting under the hatch (the best he could do with the supplies we had access to), and of course put in a new bilge pump. This time he wired the bilge pump such that an alarm and red light would go off inside the boat if it was triggered. In addition he put a switch inside the boat (forward) that allowed us to manually switch on the bilge pump without going on deck. With waves breaking over Billabong the force of the water on deck was tremendous, and we just didn't know how the hatch would hold. Then "beeeeeeeep" went the high pitched alarm, which meant that the bilge pump was going off. Okay, it's good that the pump was working, but not so good that there was water. What would we do if we ruined the borrowed water maker??? And God forbid, what if water got under the bed again? Every time a really huge wave would break over Billabong I would go forward and manually run the pump, just in case. The trick was to hopefully get out any water, but not to run it so much that we burnt out the bilge pump. Once, I was forward running the switch when Chris yelled down "HOLD ON!". I braced myself and looked back towards to the cockpit to make sure I could see Chris. What I saw was a huge flood of water flowing from the roof of our cabin onto the cushions, table, and floor. Everything was soaked. Enough water had hit the dorade vents with enough force that it had forced its way through the vents and into the cabin - well that was a new one for us. I did a quick clean up (just what I could manage given the conditions), and then Chris threw on his harness and struggled forward to cap the vents. He also tried to take a peek at the forward hatch but it was just too rough. I couldn't stand watching him on deck with the huge waves lumbering towards us, even with his harness on. I was quite relieved when he was safely back in the cockpit.
It took about eight hours before things settled enough that we could try and get the convoy back together. The seas were still big though which made radar useless (for spotting each other), and the visibility was still pretty low. Somehow, magically, by dinner time the seas had calmed, and the convoy was back within visual sight of each other!!!
We changed our convoy "formation", such that the slow boat (that's Billabong) was leading, and therefore setting the speed, which seemed to help us keep together a bit.
February 23, 2008
Things were much, much better. The wind would occasionally pick up, but nothing like the day before. A brown haze still hung in the area -- we couldn't even spot a huge tanker that was barely 4 miles away! And dust still filled ever nook and cranny both on boat and person. I had trouble relaxing as every time a little burst of wind would come through I'd find myself bracing, waiting for the storm that was sure to follow.
And finally good news, Chris was able to check the forward compartment and there was no water! Hooray!!! Apparently what was causing the bilge pump to go off was the tiny bit of water left in the compartment from when Chris was testing the new bilge pump. With the dramatic motion caused by the waves, this little bit of water would go racing under the bilge pump, lifting the lever and causing the alarm to go off. The water maker was safe, the temporary hatch fix still working, and the bilge pump still going. Phew!
February 24, 2008
We hit the "pirate alley" around sunset and decided to run with anchor lights. Originally we had planned on no lights, but it was too difficult with the close proximity of the boats. All our anchor lights were pretty dim, so we figured it was good enough.
We got through the area without a single worry. We were almost to Aden and ready to be done with the convoy.
February 25, 2008
It was good sailing during the day. The wind picked up as the day carried on, and by night the seas had a pretty good swell going. The wind was directly behind us, so we had to run wing-on-wing. The difficult thing was that we were trying to keep our speed up in order to not cause everyone an extra night out, so we had our full main up, which meant we could absolutely not afford to accidentally jibe. Simon (the auto pilot) was having trouble steering down the big seas without going off course, so we had to continuously adjust and monitor things, practically hand steering, to ensure we did not jibe.
This was also the busiest shipping night I've ever been through. Ship after ship came through our path and we'd have to shift starboard then port. It was exhausting, and with the difficulties keeping Simon on course it was frustrating. Our AIS (Automated Information System - which reports pertinent information for the large ships) was invaluable that night.
Finally around 4am we told everyone that we had to reef (and slow down), it was just getting too dangerous. Things were so much better for Simon after the main was reefed, and now we no longer had to stress about an accidental jibe bringing down our rigging. At this point the slower speed didn't matter because we were close enough to Aden to know we were going to make it without an extra night out.
February 26, 2008
To finally arrive in Aden felt like a huge burden off our backs. Not only had we gotten through some ugly seas, but we were finally through the worst pirate area and could be around people without talking about and analyzing it. But mostly it was the end of the convoy that made us happy. I watch these birds zoom inches from the water, in tight formation. The lead bird angles left and like synchronized swimmers the other birds effortlessly follow. It looks so easy ... I can't help wonder why our convoy was such a nightmare, why couldn't we be more like those birds? And it wasn't just Billabong who felt this. At dinner on the night of arrival we all talked about how frustrating it was and how annoyed we'd get with each other (luckily we all had good humor about it afterwards and are still all friends). Here's where we figure the SNAFU began:
Steering. All four boats used a different method of auto navigation. Wind vanes, Auto Nav to a waypoint with no crosstrack error, auto pilot based on heading, and so on. Every method of auto navigation has some degree of error (more accurately, you will go off course a certain number of degrees on either side before the auto navigation corrects it, so your overall course is correct but a sailboat never travels in a perfectly straight line). Normally, alone, you don't care about this back and forth, or getting slightly off course ... you just periodically correct things so that you stay mostly on target, but if trying to stay within a certain range of three other boats you don't have the luxury of error and this becomes a very tiresome task!
Speed. It sucks to be the slow boat (which Billabong was). Of course, I'm sure if you talk to the other boats they'll say it sucked to be the fast boat - always having to slow down. Prior to departing we had told everyone our motoring speed sucked and we were lucky to do 5 knots (and were doing even less because we needed new bottom paint). We told them even sailing we rarely get over 6/6.5 unless the wind is really piping (in which case the seas bump up and we don't want to be going over 6.5 anyway). We told them that if we had to use our pole then it meant reefing our jib because our pole was too short, so we couldn't get as much speed as a normal boat our size. They were all okay with that. But once out there we felt like a hindrance, everyone kept saying it was no problem, but then they'd also start asking "do you have ALL your sail out", "what RPMs are you running at", how much more speed would you get if you weren't reefed", and so on. It seemed that some also felt the need to announce things like "well I just can't put up any less sail", or "I'm reefing AGAIN", and "I guess I have to go to even lower RPMs" ... every comment just made Chris and I cringe.
Course. Before departing we agreed that one person (Chris) would put together a route and then it would be passed around so that we all had the same waypoints. About two hours into the trip we realized that we weren't all steering the same heading, which we should've been given we were all trying to go to the same point. Turns out one of the boats had changed, just so slightly, the waypoints in the process of entering them into their auto navigation! Well, obviously that wasn't going to work. Also some boats treated the route and waypoints as though they were the one and only way to get to Aden, like a highway that had to be followed. If someone suggested a different heading to make the sail easier (either more comfortable angle to the waves, or better wing angle for the sails), someone else would come back with something like, "but that's not the course to the waypoint", and then a ten minute discussion would follow. It's not like it mattered, the waypoint was a reference, as long as we all shifted our heading together it wouldn't make a difference! Argh!
In the end it just comes to down to the fact that we all have different sailing styles, different ways of navigating, and different speeds we are happy with, and we couldn't seem to get the four boats to gel. Between sand storms, occasional high winds, shipping traffic, and multiple nights at sea, we were all sleep deprived and slightly irritable. The good news is that we all easily got over our frustrations once in port. We did joke at one point that the pirates didn't bother us because they overhead all our bickering on the VHF and just figured we'd be too much of a handful!!!
Trip Summary: 1237 nM, 240 Hours, Average 5.3 Knots
When I wrote the BLOG about our passage from Thailand to the Maldives one of our sailor friends emailed us saying passages were akin to childbirth; you never wanted to document them too accurately (especially the bad stuff), otherwise you wouldn't be able to allow your mind to smooth over the rough corners (and potentially forget the bad moments all together), and that means you'd never do it again! If that's true then I should just stop writing now, because there was pretty much nothing good about our passage from the Maldives to Oman. It was in Oman that I began seriously wondering if I couldn't bribe Chris into allowing me to fly to Egypt! But our friend is right, because as I try to write this (about one month post-passage) I find myself having difficulties remembering the fine details of the passage, right now I'm thinking, hmmm perhaps it wasn't so bad! I suppose we should've foreseen the future when we woke up and a rainy squall was passing through. We hadn't had rain in months, perhaps the Gods were trying to warn us. It almost worked, as Chris and I put in a movie and proceeded to wait for the weather to clear. About two-thirds into the movie we got a VHF call from one of the other boats, telling us that all looked quiet aboard Billabong and were we still going to go? As a few other boats were still going we figured we ought to motivate and just get on with it, the rain had mostly stopped and delaying was just postponing the inevitable.
It's another bad sign when you get out of the lagoon and the winds are about three times stronger then predicted. We knew we would have wind on the nose for part of the trip, but it was predicted to be light for that portion so we figured we could handle it. Once we pulled away from the lagoon the seas seemed to flatten a bit and even though we were about 25 degrees off course we thought we were doing okay.
For the next three days the winds continued to drive us off course, and we found ourselves beating into 20-25 knots (which means our apparent wind was 26-31 knots -- YUCK). The seas built back up and we were taking huge amounts green water over the deck. The force of these waves was astronomical. At one point our kayak even broke free, breaking the three lines that tied it to our deck. Chris was able to catch it before it was washed away or managed to break anything else. Another scary mishap was when we hit a sudden burst of wind before we'd had a chance to get a reef in the jib, Chris looked up and noticed that our jib was tearing. Luckily we were able to get the sail in before the tear worsened, but now, for the remainder of the trip we had to baby the jib and keep it well reefed. From the Marshall Islands to Fiji we had beat to weather for over fifteen days, and most of the time we experienced more winds than the Maldives-Oman passage. Afterwards we had promised ourselves we'd never do that again, but here we were, once again in beating hell. We noticed that although the winds weren't any higher than those we experienced in the Marshall Island to Fiji leg, the seas seemed more rough, steeper, and more unsettled. The force and quantity of water that came across our decks seemed twice of what we'd previously experienced (and to think that during that passage to Fiji we had thought things couldn't get any worse!).
Now, let me break and quote to you from Jimmy Cornell's "World Cruising Routes". First he states that the routes in the North Indian Ocean are "governed by the predictability of the weather ...". Hmmm, none of the crap we were in was predicted. According to weather reports, by now the winds should've been shifting and they should've been about half the strength. Next Jimmy says, "The favourable season for a passage across the North Indian Ocean is during the NE monsoon, when almost perfect sailing conditions can be expected". Well, here we were in the NE monsoon season wondering just when we'd hit these perfect sailing conditions. For the leg from the Maldives to Oman he says "Excellent weather conditions will be experienced ...". This was far from excellent. And Jimmy is not the only cruising book that raves about the North Indian Ocean crossing and the fantastic NE monsoon. Also I should point out that for at least this sailing season, we are not the only boat who found the passages difficult, just about every boat we've talked to hit crappy weather (that was not predicted), and found themselves wanting to have a word with good 'ol Jimmy! If we hadn't known better we'd swear that we weren't in the NE monsoon season at all!
What really wore me down was the fact that the weather was so different than expected. It was as though mentally I could not accept or comprehend why we were bashing into the rough seas or why our cockpit was continuously soaked with water, I wanted that great passage that I'd read about. To put it lightly it made me a wee bit grouchy.
On about the 9th (our fifth day out). The winds finally shifted, and the seas calmed enough that we could try to make up some miles (we were now about 50 nautical miles off course). It was also calm enough that Chris felt like fishing, snagging a nice Mahi Mahi. Chris also decided that he should take the opportunity to double-check things on deck (rigging, booms, blocks, the lines that tie down the dinghy and kayaks, and so on). It was during this process that he found our forward bulkhead filled with water. Apparently (what we discovered later when we were able to take a closer look), the forward hatch cover had cracked under all the water pressure and pounding. The force of the water across the decks was able to flex the hatch enough to allow water into the compartment. To make matters worse the bilge pump broke, so the water just continued to pile up ... high enough that our water maker was submerged. Motors and salt water do not mix. Chris pumped out the water, cleaned up everything the best he could (the seas were still lumpy so he couldn't fully take out the water maker), and then tried to better seal the cracked hatch -- a temporary fix until we could make it into port and do a full investigation and fix. We spent the rest of the day completely bummed out about the water maker and wondering what it was going to be like traveling through the desert countries without a water maker.
We spent the next three days in crappy seas, the wind was more on our beam so we could at least get on course, but water continued to come across the decks. Every time it got calm enough Chris would go forward to check on the forward compartment and pump out any water that had accumulated. It was not a fun time. But ever the fisherman, Chris didn't let the weather interfere. Anytime it calmed down just a wee bit a line went overboard. In a three day period (from the 10th to 12th) he caught four Mahi Mahi, two small tuna, and a bluefin tuna. We threw most of them back (not having the space in the freezer and only wanting to hassle with cleaning them if they were big enough for a couple of meals).
It's bad enough when things break on their own accord, or when you suffer through weather that you just can't control. But I felt it was just plain mean of the Gods when they caused me to accidental through over Chris' fish cleaning glove. Chris was constantly nicking himself when he'd clean fish underway, so in Australia I talked him into buying a Kevlar glove. He wasn't originally going to because it was $35. The problem with the glove is that after a few cleanings it begun to stink to high heaven. Underway I'm ultra sensitive to bad smells (part of the sea-sick thing), so I was sitting in the cockpit practically gagging when I decided I needed it to be far away from me. I casually grabbed it and went to toss it across the cockpit. Wouldn't you know it, but the damn thing went further than expected and managed to flop, ever so slowly, between the gap in the wind screens. Away floated our expensive glove, and it wasn't like we were going to find another one anytime soon! AND we were headed towards fishing haven -- the Red Sea!
On the 13th things finally started to settle out. By nighttime it was almost comfortable. That was until the flying fish attacked. As I was going down for my first sleep Chris yelled down, "wow, a whole fleet of flying fish just flew over the boat in formation!". When he woke me up three hours later he informed me that tons of flying fish had flown into the boat and cockpit during his watch. I settled down into the cockpit, but after about 20 minutes not a single flying fish appeared so I thought I was in the clear. Then it began. "Thump". "Thump thump", I could hear them hitting the hull of the boat. Then "thump .. thwat-thwat-thwat-thwat", one had hit the side of our screen and fallen into the cockpit. Before I could get him scooped out two more had fallen onto the deck next to the cockpit. I spent the next hour running around trying to throw the ones I could reach back into the sea. Finally I realized it was futile, there were too many, and every time I went to try and save one he'd just end up beating himself to death trying to avoid my touch anyway! Chris later told me that he too had tried to save them until in the mist of throwing one back to the sea another flew straight into his chest -- SMACK! After that he said "to hell with this!" The rest of my watch I only removed the ones that came directly into the cockpit. It was a strange night, the water was so phosphorescent that it was as though a huge spotlight shone from beneath. The flying fish continued to thump against the boat, hitting our cockpit screens, the sails, and decks ... it was like being under attack. During our next watches the flying fish died down so things were peaceful again. As the sun came up I looked forward and saw our decks were littered with what appeared to be hundreds of dead fish. There wasn't a clear spot to be seen. When Chris came up I told him to look, he couldn't believe it. we also had fish scales on everything, it was a mess. It was finally our first calm day, so Chris was able to go on deck and clean up some of the mess. He counted 78 fish, and this does not include the ones that hit and bounced off, nor the ones that we threw off. One poor guy was wedged in-between a solar panel and the support beam that held it, about a 1/4-inch space above the dodger!
Chris kept a "fleet" of four, which he rigged up to use as a lure
We spent our last night in super calm seas, going about 3 knots. As we wanted to arrive in the daylight we just sat back and enjoyed the smooth oceans and calm sail. I probably say this after every passage, but I've never been happier to have a passage over with and to arrive somewhere safely. Now of course we had a huge task ahead of us, we had the forward hatch that needed repairing, a water maker that was probably beyond repair, a torn sail, and oh did I mention we discovered another hole in the dinghy? Little did we know that our problems were actually ten times worse that all that -- water had found its way from the forward compartment to under our bed, causing substantial damage ... but that's a story for our time in Salalah.
Current Location: Bundaberg, Australia Current Position: 24º45.62' S 152º23.28' E Next Destination: Bundaberg for at least two weeks
So our passage didn't stay quite as dreamy as it had started out, but all-in-all it was still quite nice. The biggest problem was a lack of wind coupled with just a tad too much swell. The boat would roll a bit, slackening the sail (because there wasn't enough wind to hold it), and then when the boat rolled back, the sail, along with the boom, would slam back into place ... an ugly and loud noise that eventually drove us (especially Chris) crazy. With the banging sails and looming overtime charges if we didn't get into Bundaberg by 4:30pm on Friday, we motored more then we normally would have ... in all we figured we probably motored about halfway here! But the cost of diesel was less then the cost of overtime charges, and we saved our sails from the extra, unneeded, wear and tear. Everyday was filled with near cloudless bright blue skies and sparkling clear waters. The swell was never that bad, and I was thrilled to have a passage without seasickness. After a year full of beating to weather and 20-30 kts, this passage was a welcome relief.
We had a bit of entertainment along the way as well. In all we caught three fish, of which we only kept the 4 ft Wahoo caught on the morning of our arrival. The guy was strong and put up a good fight, bruising my finger, and giving Chris a pretty good gash on his hand (via teeth). Luckily we did NOT catch a whale --- About half way here, on a very flat sea day, we had a whale (maybe two) check us out. Chris and I were both reading in the cockpit when we heard the blow. "What was that?", Chris asked, and when I looked over the side I could see a large dark shape just thirty feet off our stern. Just a few seconds later emerged the back of a huge whale ... it appeared as though he was actually chasing our fishing lures, "Uh oh" I said as the big 'ol whale head brushed into the lures before losing interest and diving back down. I was sure he was going to snag a hook, but luckily there was nothing for the hooks to grab onto and they just brushed off his back. Next the whale came along our starboard side and swam along side us for a few minutes, as though trying to figure out what kind of sea creature Billabong was. I just hoped he didn't mistake us for a potential mating partner! For quite awhile he seemed to follow us, always resurfacing just behind us while we slowly moved along ... it was a good spot of entertainment for the day, but we still let out a big sigh of relief once we were clear and sure we weren't going to hit each other. The last 'creature' to keep us company was a Boobie (bird), who decided our collapsed main sail would be a good spot for a break. He rode along for a bit until, in our efforts to say hello, we scared him off. He attempt a couple of more landings, but apparently wasn't used to landing on a moving target, and could never get it quite right.
We arrived in Bundaberg on Friday (Nov 3rd), about six and half days after departing Noumea. As we closed in on Bundaberg I commented to Chris that you would never know how big Australia is from this angle; the land seemed really flat, almost like an atoll, and not much seemed to occupy the shoreline ... it will be interesting to see what other Australian shore-side cities look like. Customs and Quarantine were some of the nicest, and youngest, officers we've experienced. We spent so much time chatting it was hard to get the paperwork filled out. We never would've guessed but apparently electric fly-swatters are considered weapons and not allowed in Australia!!! I guess people are known to buy them and alter the battery to higher voltage, creating taser-like mechanisms (what will people think of next?). We were just finishing up the final papers when another boat was heading for the quarantine spot in front of us and lost forward gear. We came out to assist them in backing in, and, go figure, they lost reverse. The winds and current started pushing them right for Billabong! Yikes! No worries though, we were able to throw out fenders and grab their lines, rafting them up to Billabong. The poor people aboard were horrified that they might of damaged Billabong, but there wasn't a ding in her. Later they had to tow her away, and then we moved into a regular slip.
Since we had joined the Bundaberg Port to Port Rally, we now have a week of social events to look forward to, and have been meeting a number of new boats. I already feel overwhelmed with the endless things to see and do in Australia!!!
Current Location: Noumea, New Caledonia Current Position: 22°16.65' S 166°26.42' E Next Destination: Undecided, New Caledonia
Billabong's crew is getting just a wee-bit tired of weather work. It seems this season has been full of it, and honestly it is wearing me down! Not only that but the winds have been higher this year too ... 15-20 if we're lucky, and even then always closer to the 20 knots (which when beating into it is closer to 25 apparent). I long for some aft of the beam, 15 knots apparent, sailing. I know what you are thinking -- stop your bitching, look at where you are! And thankfully that is my saving grace, so far every destination has been worth the effort and sea-sickness to get there.
We spent five, mostly rainy, days in Revolieu Bay trying to get a somewhat decent weather window for the beat back to Port Vila. Finally on the 22nd we were off .... a 12 hour sail against the winds, but luckily in not-to-bad of seas.
We spent a week wrapping up errands around town and on the internet, while waiting for another weather window to get us to New Cal. Early morning on the 28th, we released the mooring and headed towards New Caledonia.
Port Vila to Noumea is another 'beat', we waited for the winds to clock as much as we thought they would and then left in time to hopefully arrive before they clocked South. Our first day out was hell ... and I don't feel as though that is an exaggeration. We had 25+ knots at 55 degrees, with big confused seas. We were tossed and thrown all over the place and continuously punched our bow. Waves threw themselves into our cockpit, and green water ran down the rails, spilling over to the cockpit floor. For the first time we actually took a few waves directly into the cockpit, leaving standing water (even if only a few inches)! I was the sickest I think I've ever been, both nausea and a splitting headache that I'm sure went beyond migraine status. Chris was a trooper and let me lay like a dead fish, barely moving but to let him know I was okay.
Renaissance 2000 had departed the day before us, and on the SSB reported that the first 24 hours was bad, but everything had smoothed out by the second morning .... so there was hope that all would be better "soon". The first night Chris took all the watches, as for only the second time in our three years, I was, as Chris put it, "driving the porcelain bus"!
True to prediction, the following morning was ten-times better, with flatter seas from a single direction. By night fall things were nearly peaceful and the sailing was terrific. We were sailing with 15 knots, at about 65 degrees. I was able to take watch and give Chris a near solid 6 hours of sleep (as solid as one can get aboard a moving sailboat anyway). At 5am, during Chris' watch, we caught a big-eyed tuna (about 30-35 lbs). Surprisingly I didn't mind getting up to help bring the guy aboard -- happy knowing that not only would we be docked or anchored that afternoon but we'd also be having a terrific Sushi dinner!
We couldn't believe the beautiful mountains and landscape as we sailed to Noumea. And as we rounded the last 'corner' the gigantic city emerged before us -- boy was it big. We had known Noumea was great for kite boarding, but we hadn't expected 30+ kite boarders along with numerous wind surfers to be zooming about. By 3pm we were relieved to finally be safely docked and ready to relax. Both of us were feeling a bit under the weather, but we still had to get through the check-in procedures. We lucked out with one of the easiest quarantine searches we've been through, perhaps because it was after 5 on a Saturday night. We'd heard rumors that the quarantine lady was quite strict and would search out our frig in detail ... however she barely glanced into our fridge & cupboards.
That evening was calm and relaxing, we enjoyed the stillness of the marina along with the continuous flowing hot water showers! Unfortunately we were both a bit sick, especially Chris with a low-grade fever and shivers.
Sunday was a combination of relaxation and chores. Chris was still sick, so spent a huge portion of the day in bed, while I took advantage of endless fresh water, to wash down the boat and do laundry. I still can't believe how big of a city Noumea is ... no doubt a culture shock. And with that big city comes big city French prices. On one hand you can buy just about any meat, cheese or vegetable, but on the other hand most of it is beyond our budget! It's especially shocking after the low market prices in Port Vila. It's weird to be somewhere with so many white faces -- even if they are still speaking a different language. And, as with the other French countries we've visited, Noumea is ALL French and nothing but French!!! So far French Polynesia and Noumea are the only tourist areas we've been where signs, pamphlets, etc are not in more than one language .... it makes it a bit tough to get around, but we're making due and dusting off the French dictionary!
Current Location: Port Vila, Vanuatu Current Position: 17°44.72' S 168°18.67' E Next Destination: Undecided, Vanuatu
When we arrived in Savusavu after our hellacious trip from the Marshall's I thoroughly washed our foul weather gear for long-term storage (cause of course we wouldn't be needing them again, right?). I couldn't believe that barely an hour out of the gate from Fiji (heading to Port Vila, Vanuatu) we were digging out the wet weather gear and settling in for a cold, wet ride. We started the trip extremely fast with 30-35 knots of wind just aft of the beam. Billabong was screaming along, averaging 7 - 7.5 knots (although we can't imagine it is correct, our GPS once reported a max speed of 17.4!). The seas were the biggest we've seen yet, around 12-15 feet, and they were bashing against Billabong hard, sending huge amounts of spray into the cockpit. It was unbelievably wet, rocky and really cold … but hey we were going fast. At our current rate we thought our four day passage would easily be shortened to three.
The first 48 hours or so we flew along under Jib alone, covering 164 nm in our first 24 hour period (Billabong's usual average is around 135nm). Then we had an period of calmer winds and predictions of less to come; it didn't look like we'd make it in before nightfall on the third day, so we'd have to slow down and aim for a morning arrival. We reefed in the jib and waited for the lighter winds … and waited. It seemed they never truly lightened up (after our first day the winds stayed right around 25 kts), but by now we were too far behind, so we just had to continue to try to slow down. Eventually we had up so little sail that I joked to Chris the only way we could get up less was to switch out the sail for some of my granny-style undies! I don't mind going slow, but with so little sail up and the still large seas it was one hell of a rolly ride and very frustrating to be bounced side to side and dropped as though riding a roller-coaster. Even with the rolly conditions Chris managed to bring in a perfect sized Mahi-mahi, although cleaning and cooking it served to be more of a challenge with the boat rocking all over the place! On the morning of our arrival, with land in sight, Chris unleashed the full Jib and it was a terrific ride in.
Another set of cruisers had briefly described Port Vila to us as "a bigger version of Savusavu" … that would be the understatement of the century. Port Vila is huge (okay, maybe not compared to LA or Boston, but still it is really quite large). It is bustling with a sense of energy. Full of shops, cafes, and markets. Traffic screams through the streets and locals & tourists wander along the sidewalks. It feels crowded, alive almost, but not in an overwhelming sense. On our arrival we met with Island Sonata and Freebird (both of whom we hadn't seen since our Majuro departure) and strolled through town before having a delightful lunch at an open-air café. By now we'd heard of the awesome supermarket, so of course we had to pay a visit there … truly it is the largest, cleanest, most excitingly stocked grocery store we've seen in the South Pacific (not counting New Zealand of course). In our opinion it even beats the extra large store in Tahiti (it's not as large, but the variety and brands include both French and AU/NZ selections, whereas in Tahiti it was all French … in addition the pricing is a wee bit better here)! We drooled over the fresh variety of meats and got giddy over the blue cheese. We've found cruiser's heaven! That evening we again ventured out with IS and FB, this time hitting an excellent Chinese Restaurant, where we feasted until I thought I'd have to purge in order to continue to breath.
We woke this morning excited to explore all the shops and museums and begin the learning process of yet another culture and country. Chris energetically reads tidbits aloud from our Lonely Planet guide, and my mind races with anticipation of everything there is to see and do. We couldn't be more thrilled to be in Vanuatu!
Current Location: Arrived Savusavu, Fiji (from Majuro, Marshall Islands) Current Position: 16°46.6' S 179°19.9' E Next Destination: Undecided (somewhere in Fiji) Miles Traveled: 1787.3 Miles to Go: 0
Yipeee! We’ve done it, finally arrived in Savusavu, and oh what a blessing it is. We officially pulled into the anchorage on Wednesday, May 31 around 7a.m. It’s our first time returning to a location already visited, and it feels a bit like returning home. After nine months visiting flat atolls, the surrounding luscious green mountains of Fiji are breathtaking. And we feel we’ve earned the peaceful waters of the anchorage, as less than twelve hours after writing our previous BLOG (posted 5/25) all hell broke loose.
As the sun was setting on the evening of the 25th, we could see we were surrounded by a number of thunderheads, but nothing so dense to be concerned about. The first squall hit around 7:30pm, marking the beginning of our most exhausting night in our passage-making history. Squall after squall hit, pounding us with enough rain to solve most of the world’s drought problems and with winds between 30-38 knots. They continued the entire night. Twelve hours straight. Hitting so close together that we never got more than 20-30 minutes rest. Our definition of a “squall” was redefined. Once the word “squall” would conjure up images of a large thunderhead throwing down some rain and wind for about 5-15 minutes before passing by … a bit inconvenient, but short-lived. Not this night. These squalls lasted from 30-90 minutes. They didn’t just throw down some rain; they pelted us with water bullets. The wind howled down at us and the waves tossed us around like rag-dolls. It was truly ugly.
Neither of us slept much, if at all, and when dawn finally broke we anxiously looked around hoping to see some break in the system. Depression hit fast when all that surrounded us was a thick layer of clouds and thunderheads. During one of the “calm” periods Chris did a quick deck check and found our main sheet block shackle had worked itself completely out of the threads, the only thing holding it was the pressure of the sail on the line. If it had come loose during a big squall we would have had some serious damage. That morning I talked to a single-hander, Russ (on Hygeleg) on the SSB Radio. He along with Indra and Navire, were a few hundred miles ahead of us. They were all hove-to waiting for a system even further South to break up before continuing on. Russ confirmed that he and Indra had also gone through the system we were currently in, and it had lasted about two days. Not what I was hoping to hear. As the SSB radio net was a twice a day event, Chris later asked me (as I was the one who had been listening in everyday), “How the hell could you have missed them talking about this kind of weather for two days straight?”. In my defense, I didn’t have a copy on Indra or Navire. Hygeleg complained of squalls in addition to a bunch of stuff on his boat breaking; so when he talked about how exhausted he was I attributed it to everything, including him being a single-hander, not just bad weather. I figured, okay so we might hit a few squalls … never had I imagined this! Had I picked up on it, we could’ve pulled into Funafuti, Tuvalu and waited for better weather, but now it was too late, we were going to have to ride it out. What’s even worse is the system had further developed by the time we had arrived. Needless to say, from then on I was much more attentive when I listened to the net.
That day we experienced less squalls, but the winds had picked up to a constant 20-25 knots and the seas were building and extremely lumpy. It was like being in a washing machine. The worst part was that we still had to run close-hauled in order to keep our Easting and not loose our rhumbline heading. The day was dark, dreary, and wet; never did any blue sky seem to poke through. The squalls that did hit were just as intense as the night before, but now we seemed to have a system down and so they didn’t seem quite as bad. Around 4pm I was getting hopefully that perhaps the night wouldn’t be so awful. It wasn’t the most comfortable ride, but with fewer squalls we could at least get a bit of rest. After two meals of granola bars I was thinking something warm and soupy would be comforting and a bit more nutritious. It was still too rough to cook anything ‘real’, so cup-o-soup was on my mind when the next squall hit. The squall packed a punch, making it too rough even for cup-o-soup. I kept waiting for it to end, but alas it was there for the long-haul and I conceded once again to another granola bar meal.
When things are bad, it’s good to remember they could always get worse. And unfortunately in this case they did. Now we weren’t just surrounded by squalls with painful rain and high winds. Now we had lightning. The worst thunder and lightning either of us has ever seen in our lives. LIVES – not just since cruising. Bolts of lightning cracked so bright and so long we had to shut our eyes against them. Thunder that rumbled then roared then growled, all in one continuous long song. There was so much electricity in the air that half the time our instruments didn’t work, reading crazy wind strengths (such as 200 knots). Chris was sure we’d be hit; how could we not? We crammed our oven full with electrical instruments and computers, and threw over our grounding strip. And waited.
Around 10pm, I was down below trying to get in a nap, when Chris called me up. The wind had died and we were stuck in, as Chris called it, the belly of the beast. It was as if we were inside a thunderhead. We couldn’t see more then our boat length away – in any direction. Rain poured down. And everywhere lightning flashed, you could see the bolts darting through the clouds. 360 degrees of surrounding lightning; and here we were sitting there with this huge metal pole standing 60 feet tall. Not a place to just kick it, so we turned on the motor and went full throttle. And went. And went. It felt as though we were doing circles, we had no reference points and it didn’t seem like we’d ever make it out. For two hours we motored and sailed as the winds died and increased. The entire time the thunder roared so loud it shook us to the core and the lightning continued, each flash circling 360 and briefly lighting the surrounding dark masses of clouds.
About an hour into it, I was standing in the center of the cockpit facing starboard, with Chris behind the wheel, when WHACK. “What the hell was that?” Chris, ever so calmly, as if it is a normal occurrence, says “A bird”. “See”, as he shines his flash light on a small bird spread flat on the port side. He was tangled under one of our lines, so I moved the line to free him. Whether dazed, injured, or just plain tired he didn’t make a move to leave. At this point Chris and I were so exhausted and fed-up with the weather that we had nothing but empathy for the poor fellow. He didn’t seem to take well to the motion of the boat (who would), and was having trouble standing. Chris bundled up his sweatshirt and placed the bird into it, providing some assistance against the rocking. Meanwhile the bird’s family seemed to be following us, SQWACK … SQWACK. Our new friend sqwacked back occasionally but made no move to leave. Chris, in his delirious state, actually called out to the birds, inviting them aboard, shining his flashlight onto the decks in a runway fashion. No one else joined us, but they did follow us for a good bit. At one point Chris moved the bird slightly forward of the cockpit, near the railing, to give him a better chance to fly off with his mates, but the bird stayed. So we left the guy, desperately trying to maintain his balance and looking at Chris and I as though we were fools to be on such a moving beast, in the cockpit to rest.
Around midnight, we finally we broke out. Seven hours of nasty lightning finally coming to an end. It was blowing 16-20 and still raining, with occasional lightning flashes here and there, but the clouds no longer blended with the seas and the lightning no longer circled us. Chris finally attempted to rest while I took watch. Eventually our bird friend moved, practically flew into my head, scaring the you-know-what out of me. I thought he wanted to leave, so I lifted the cockpit wind-curtain, but at the same time a wave hit and the bird lost his balance and fell on the floor. I scooped him up and held him to the hole in the wind-curtain. Just about then another huge wave hit and the bird half fell and half jumped from my hands, landing on our swim step. He didn’t look happy at all, but there was no way I could reach him, so I left him, hoping he’d fly away before another wave washed him off the step. The next time I looked out he was gone. I had to convince myself that he surely flew off to safety before a wave came and washed him out to sea.
We went an entire five hours without a squall hitting. We were overjoyed. The next morning was still overcast, but a bit calmer. Maybe, just maybe it was almost over. BAM. Another squall. A white out of rain. We couldn’t see past our bow. But no wind this time, so we were motoring. Unfortunately the seas weren’t dying and they seemed to be coming from three different directions. The three boats up ahead had started sailing again and were reporting the same conditions. By now we were both beyond exhaustion. We’d hardly been able to sleep, and what sleep we did manage was uncomfortable and broken. It is amazing how your body handles such exhaustion. While there are times that the waves and winds can sound a bit like voices, it is usually easy to tell your mind is just playing tricks on you … unless, that is, you are sleep deprived. On more than one occasion Chris reported hearing voices and music. He was especially thrown off when one day we were within VHF range with Indra. Chris hadn’t realized I was talking to them on the VHF down below, and with the high winds he could barely make out Rob’s voice on the cockpit mike. He thought his mind was playing tricks again until he finally realized he actually recognized the voice this time. We had to be extra careful the more sleep deprived we became. There were times when I was so tired I couldn’t get the instruments to focus; they were just blurry numbers before my eyes. Onetime Chris was checking and couldn’t manage to clear his brain enough to compute what he was looking at on the instruments and what it all meant. He had to just stare at the numbers trying to remember what he was supposed to be accomplishing. Staying awake during watches and alert during squalls became more and more difficult; our watch timer was barely doing the trick of waking us if/when we fell asleep. Thank god is was just about over.
The 28th was our first day without rain since the whole mess had begun. The winds were still up (around 20 kts) and the seas still confused, but what a difference a little sun can make in your outlook. We hadn’t fished since the first squally night, but as we passed over a few shallow banks, Chris threw over one line just for fun. We instantly caught a very funky looking reef fish with big ‘ol teeth and a huge wide-open mouth. Not knowing what he was and being still a bit rough to attempt fish cleaning, we threw him back. Another time the “fish on” snubber was pulled bar tight until the 400 lb test line snapped like it was a thin piece of thread, I would have like to have gotten a look at THAT fish!
The 29th was still lumpy and windy, but now we could see the light at the end of the tunnel, as the next day we’d be in Fijian waters and we knew it would be calmer once we got into the Somosomo straight. After all the crappy bad-weather meals I was looking forward to something real and was excited that Chris would once again be able to fish. The next morning was utter bliss. Clam and near flat. Mostly sunny. No black ugly clouds on the horizon. Fijian mountains in the distance. And Chris fishing. With six lines running, we looked more like a fishing vessel than sailboat, but it paid off. By 8am we had already pulled in a good size Mahi Mahi. We also had caught a Barracuda, but opted to not keep it. We spent the day enjoying the calm seas and light winds. Chris played with his magnitudes of fishing gear in between boat chores, such as draining 25 gallons of water from our forward bulk-head. I straightened up down below and kept the boat on course. It is amazing how many things can get jarred free and end up flying across the cabin. With all the commotion we had also managed to burst a few of our home-brew bottles … Billabong smelled like a brewery. We enjoyed extremely fresh fish tacos for lunch and looked forward to another fish meal for dinner. The winds continued to lighten, so we eventually had to motor. Life aboard Billabong was slowly returning to normal.
Since we had our track and waypoints from last year, we were able to get into the Savusavu bay at night. It was around 11pm and we didn’t want to go all the way into the harbor at night without knowing if and what mooring balls were available, but we knew the approximate location of a mooring ball out at the point (about 3 miles from the harbor). We had never attempted picking up a mooring at night, but the thought of a restful night of sleep tempted us into trying. Surprisingly, it went really well, and we soon found ourselves enjoying a calm, cool, quiet evening. You don’t realize just how loud the wind and rain are until you are still. I found myself enjoying the stillness of everything; the air, the wind, the boat, and myself. We both let out huge “Ahhhhhhhhs”, and then hit the sack. It is technically against check-in regulations to moor or anchor prior to clearing into the country, so we got up at the crack of dawn and headed into the anchorage.
It’s hot and muggy due to lack of breeze, but it’s calm. We’ve seen a few familiar faces and have enjoyed being recognized by some of the locals. Navire, Hygeleg, and Indra all made it in on Wednesday as well, so that evening we went out to share ‘war stories’ over cold beers. Navire, having sailed for 10 years and having been around the world nth amount of times commented that this was some of the roughest seas/weather ever encountered. It didn’t help that early on they tore their main sail and had to use their tri-sail, which makes it difficult to point. Hygeleg has been out sailing for over 20 years and he said this was his worst passage yet. While not the worst weather he’s seen, the confused rough seas and endless squalls combined with a torn main sail and broken auto-pilot made the passage nearly intolerable. Indra had to battle a broken wind-vane, leaks, and a severe burn caused from a pot of boiling water falling onto Margie’s hand when a squall came up unexpectedly. All in all, it made Billabong’s passage seem not-so-bad considering we didn’t break anything or hurt ourselves.
After more than 1600 nautical miles of the 1787.3 mile trip to weather (an approximate 45 degree apparent wind angle) and 373 hours, 19 minutes of continuous moving, we are quite thrilled that we have only day-trips to look forward to for the next month or two!
Sorry! The content you were looking for does not exist or changed its url.
Please check if the url is written correctly or try using our search form.
Bigger Archive Portal
Other portals
World War I , Africa ,United States of America ,Anime and manga ,Ankara ,Anthropology ,Military • Astronomy • Asia • European Union • Azerbaijan • Azerbaijan (Iran) • BBC • Beşiktaş • Science • History of science • Biography • Byzantine Empire • Bosnia -Herzegovina • Jazz • Sexuality • Geography • China • Language • Religion • Literature • Energy • Armenia • Eurovision • Evolutionary biology • Philosophy • Feminism • Fenerbahçe • Palestine • Physics • France • Football • Galatasaray • South Korea • Georgia • Harry Potter • Aviation • Hinduism • Christianity • Iraq • England • Human rights • Internet • Iran • Islam • Istanbul • Scouting • Izmir • Japan • Kazakhstan • Cyprus • Kuwait • North Korea • North Macedonia • Culture • Lady Gaga • LGBT • Liberalism • Madonna • Mathematics • Media • Mexico • Michael Jackson • Mustafa Kemal Atatürk • Music • Middle East • Middle World • Ottoman Empire • Automobile • Free software • Pakistan • Psychology • Russia • Art • The Simpsons • Cinema • Politics • Socialism • Soviet Union • Sports • Syria • History • Technology • Television • Terrorism •Medicine • Theater • Society • Turkish Armed Forces • Turkish history • Turkey • Video games • Judaism • Stargate
Kayıtlar
