When I came on watch at 0300 I noticed two things: First, the motion has increased so that I imagine the swell is up over 2 m(can't see a bloody thing outside to verify). Muscles I didn't know I had in my lower back are now jolted awake and working hard to keep me in this seat at the nav. table. The second thing is that we crossed the 180 meridian. It's not like crossing the equator or anything, but it is a notable event to cross the date line. Especially in this particular passage which has been a bit lackluster in regards to sea birds and marine mammals.
Things with the crew have stabilized. It was a hectic start. We still have random bowls wedged into corners and bookshelves throughout the salon in case someone needs a quick container in which to vomit. Tonight while I was cooking dinner, Eric leaned over the counter to watch and asked if he was allowed to eat dinner tonight, "since I didn't throw up today, Mommy" and when I said "yes" he squealed "horrah, I am so excited!". That boy wants a house so badly. Thankfully Elias, who Eric adores, is very much a sailor and spent the entire afternoon planning the kind of sailboat he's going to captain when he's 19 to sail to the Falkland Islands. He told me he wants me to come too, as the cook. Priceless.
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
(no subject)
We're in the routine now - Alisa spent a long sunny morning in the cockpit, reading to the boys, while I made up for the sleep that I missed while standing watch last night. I don't know if it has anything to do with the timing with which I was interrupted through the night, but I awoke with vivid memories of my dreams.
Elias tells us this morning that he would like to continue sailing until he's 16. And he would like to sail to Antarctica. Me too, says Eric. I want to sail to An-arcica.
For the record, no adult on Galactic is entertaining ideas of sailing to Antarctica. During times like the start of this passage, when nothing was smooth, it was easy to imagine that we might give up this peripatetic life. Why Tonga, after all? It's not like we're going anywhere in particular, we're not at all on a voyage around the world or anything like that. So when the sailing gets hard, it's easy to second-guess all of the effort and resources we pour into living this way. We can decide to end our sailing days any time we choose.
But the problem, of course, is imagining an alternative on land that would appeal as much. I've worked hard to keep my employment options from withering during these years away - I'm finally doing a PhD, I'm publishing in my field and collaborating with colleagues back in North America and going to occasional conferences. So when the time does come, I am hopeful that I'll be able to slot into a role as a productive member of society without too much drama.
But...there's something about the way that we've been living for these last six years, this absolutely-everyday but dream-like way that this massive chunk of the peak years of our life has unspooled, that encourages us to continue to dream. When we talk of going back to Alaska, we talk about the places we might visit in that Great Land, the berry picking and camping and skiing that we might do with the boys - we have some vague notion of a life that involves hard work, but on our own terms and with plenty of time spent outside. In other words, we look at our old life in Alaska through the prism of a wouldn't-it-be-nice fantasy.
Meanwhile, in a much more quotidian vein, our Perkins engine has mysteriously stopped leaking oil. We're now motoring through light winds. I shut down every six hours to check the oil, and instead of finding that I have to gurgle in a big slug to replace what's collected in the engine pan, the dipstick reads the same full level every time. It's a funny thing - if this were a Japanese diesel I'd be worried if it leaked oil, but since it's an English engine I worry when it stops leaking oil. But I'm also an old master at engine monitoring, and so am not too concerned. Either the replaced, re-torqued head gasket did the trick, or the Lucas oil stabilizer actually lives up to the claims on the label about stopping leaks...
So that's the state of things on board. We're giving up a chance to make easting early in order to head for Minerva Reef, counting on a long-range forecast that tells us it will be easy to get to the east later on in the trip, in the trade wind zone. The only problem is that the forecast is changing every day - first it promised westerlies late in the week, then southerlies. So we're keeping an eye on it...
-----
At 7/7/2013 12:53 AM (utc) our position was 29°40.15'S 177°50.48'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Elias tells us this morning that he would like to continue sailing until he's 16. And he would like to sail to Antarctica. Me too, says Eric. I want to sail to An-arcica.
For the record, no adult on Galactic is entertaining ideas of sailing to Antarctica. During times like the start of this passage, when nothing was smooth, it was easy to imagine that we might give up this peripatetic life. Why Tonga, after all? It's not like we're going anywhere in particular, we're not at all on a voyage around the world or anything like that. So when the sailing gets hard, it's easy to second-guess all of the effort and resources we pour into living this way. We can decide to end our sailing days any time we choose.
But the problem, of course, is imagining an alternative on land that would appeal as much. I've worked hard to keep my employment options from withering during these years away - I'm finally doing a PhD, I'm publishing in my field and collaborating with colleagues back in North America and going to occasional conferences. So when the time does come, I am hopeful that I'll be able to slot into a role as a productive member of society without too much drama.
But...there's something about the way that we've been living for these last six years, this absolutely-everyday but dream-like way that this massive chunk of the peak years of our life has unspooled, that encourages us to continue to dream. When we talk of going back to Alaska, we talk about the places we might visit in that Great Land, the berry picking and camping and skiing that we might do with the boys - we have some vague notion of a life that involves hard work, but on our own terms and with plenty of time spent outside. In other words, we look at our old life in Alaska through the prism of a wouldn't-it-be-nice fantasy.
Meanwhile, in a much more quotidian vein, our Perkins engine has mysteriously stopped leaking oil. We're now motoring through light winds. I shut down every six hours to check the oil, and instead of finding that I have to gurgle in a big slug to replace what's collected in the engine pan, the dipstick reads the same full level every time. It's a funny thing - if this were a Japanese diesel I'd be worried if it leaked oil, but since it's an English engine I worry when it stops leaking oil. But I'm also an old master at engine monitoring, and so am not too concerned. Either the replaced, re-torqued head gasket did the trick, or the Lucas oil stabilizer actually lives up to the claims on the label about stopping leaks...
So that's the state of things on board. We're giving up a chance to make easting early in order to head for Minerva Reef, counting on a long-range forecast that tells us it will be easy to get to the east later on in the trip, in the trade wind zone. The only problem is that the forecast is changing every day - first it promised westerlies late in the week, then southerlies. So we're keeping an eye on it...
-----
At 7/7/2013 12:53 AM (utc) our position was 29°40.15'S 177°50.48'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Second Night Out
Left Opua after dark, knowing that the conditions would be sloppy, but that weather would also be improving.
Turns out that sloppy conditions are one thing to discuss in port, and another to experience live and in person.
We had 3m of swell directly in our face, with large wind waves on the quarter. We ended up with two reefs and 100% jib just to keep the speed under 9 knots. Then we held on and said our thanks that the boys were asleep.
The next day wasn't as calm as we had hoped for, and the family hunkered down in the saloon for the day. Eric dozed with his mom and Elias did a champion job of entertaining himself. Crackers for breakfast and a PB&J (fixed by himself) for lunch and I'm not sure what was on the dinner menu.
"Ah, the romance of it all!" said Alisa.
Eric got through most of the day with his chin up but then in the afternoon puked all over the port settee - on my sleeping bag, between cushions, under floorboards and into the lockers beneath. I held him in the cockpit while Alisa cleaned up. "I want a house", Eric said to me. "I throw up when we're sailing and I DON'T LIKE throwing up!"
I, meanwhile, passed the day with a crippling migraine, the longest and most severe I can remember. Which means that I kept neither food nor water down and was generally useless for working the boat. All I could manage when the wind dropped was to roll out the jib, and we greeted the world with two reefs in the main all the day long. Looks like I haven't gotten the hang of managing migraines on passage.
In the afternoon, Elias had his first experience at keeping watch - upon Alisa's request, he would stick his head out of the companionway, report our course and speed, and scan the horizon for traffic.
So, that was one way to start a passage!
It's now 0200 local. I'm done with the migraine, and therefore able to write this. The wind has died and we're motoring, albeit with two reefs in the main. We wonder if we'll head for Minerva reef - we've heard things like "our favorite place in the world" from a few people, but stopping there would likely set us up for windward sailing into the trades on the final leg.
More soon, and we'll see in retrospect if instant sharing of the gory details is a good idea!
All well on board.
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Turns out that sloppy conditions are one thing to discuss in port, and another to experience live and in person.
We had 3m of swell directly in our face, with large wind waves on the quarter. We ended up with two reefs and 100% jib just to keep the speed under 9 knots. Then we held on and said our thanks that the boys were asleep.
The next day wasn't as calm as we had hoped for, and the family hunkered down in the saloon for the day. Eric dozed with his mom and Elias did a champion job of entertaining himself. Crackers for breakfast and a PB&J (fixed by himself) for lunch and I'm not sure what was on the dinner menu.
"Ah, the romance of it all!" said Alisa.
Eric got through most of the day with his chin up but then in the afternoon puked all over the port settee - on my sleeping bag, between cushions, under floorboards and into the lockers beneath. I held him in the cockpit while Alisa cleaned up. "I want a house", Eric said to me. "I throw up when we're sailing and I DON'T LIKE throwing up!"
I, meanwhile, passed the day with a crippling migraine, the longest and most severe I can remember. Which means that I kept neither food nor water down and was generally useless for working the boat. All I could manage when the wind dropped was to roll out the jib, and we greeted the world with two reefs in the main all the day long. Looks like I haven't gotten the hang of managing migraines on passage.
In the afternoon, Elias had his first experience at keeping watch - upon Alisa's request, he would stick his head out of the companionway, report our course and speed, and scan the horizon for traffic.
So, that was one way to start a passage!
It's now 0200 local. I'm done with the migraine, and therefore able to write this. The wind has died and we're motoring, albeit with two reefs in the main. We wonder if we'll head for Minerva reef - we've heard things like "our favorite place in the world" from a few people, but stopping there would likely set us up for windward sailing into the trades on the final leg.
More soon, and we'll see in retrospect if instant sharing of the gory details is a good idea!
All well on board.
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)