Mexico to Marquesas: 21 Days at Sea
We decided to finally add the story of our crossing to our blog so we can keep all our writing in one place. That way, if we lose access to Iridium, we'll still have our daily memories. Our Mexico to Marquesas passage was likely the longest and most memorable we'll ever do. As far as big ocean passages go, we had a good one. Thank you to our families for all your encouragement. We looked forward to and cherished reading the letters from home at different milestones. Thank you to SV Lucky Dog for helping us settle in.
Day 0: Sailing into the sunset
Sun Mar 17 2024 16:24:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
We successfully finished the passage prep chores just in time to sail into the sunset. We pulled up anchor at 6 pm and found wind a few miles west of La Cruz. We’re now cruising along on a close reach in 15 knots of steady winds and starting our first night shift routine.
Bye Mexico! Next stop Hiva Oa!
Day 1 Summary
Mon Mar 18 2024 13:51:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
We’re flying along faster than expected out here with 14-19 knots of apparent wind. We wanted to go more west, but the sea state is too uncomfortable in that direction. We decided it’s not worth the potential seasickness to go more upwind. We’re still fighting off a bit of nausea anyway, but it’s manageable.
Day 2 Summary; Settling into the Groove
Tue Mar 19 2024 11:50:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Today is a good day. Wind shifted so we’re no longer bashing on a close reach and rolly beam; now we’re comfortable sailing on a downwind run. Seas have mellowed. Our first-day fatigue, nausea, and jitters are gone, and we’re finding our routine.
At the same time, this voyage is anything but routine. It’s surreal to know we’re way out here with nothing but the Pacific Ocean in all directions. We’re sailing above 13,000 feet of water, from the top reaches of the sunlight zone to the pressurized midnight zone, and we wonder what countless creatures are swimming below our hull. We think of all the voyagers who came before us, from Polynesian seafarers who looked to the stars, to the tall ship seaman who looked to profits, or the sailing legends like Moitessier who searched for adventure and spirit. What did they all see when they looked out at the waves?
We’re currently running wing on wing with a speed of 6 knots. Wind is 6 apparent, 11-12 true. Dave just did a hardware and bilge check, and I rotated eggs. We just cleaned our solar panels. We chatted with some boobies as they circled our boat. Moitessier would approve.
Day 3 Summary: Gratitude
Tue Mar 19 2024 23:57:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Fifteen years ago, when Dave and I were dating, we borrowed his brother’s Ranger 26 sailboat and sailed to Blake Island for the night. It was winter, the boat had no heat, the outboard died in the Ballard locks, and we slept next to a leaky gas can. To me, it was a magical adventure.
Granted, the overnight was an escape from the stresses of grad school and work, so I was already craving peace. I’m sure I saw the whole thing through rose-colored glasses, tinted more by my budding feelings for Dave. But there was something more. The waves, the lines, the canvas, the wind, all working together like a symphony; it was nothing short of alchemy. Life on the water felt simple then.
It’s easy to lose that feeling when planning a big voyage. We get bogged down with details and the what ifs. We add upgrades like Starlink and a watermaker and forget the magic that lived in the simplicity. The dream takes on a stress of its own, and we take the little wonders on the water for granted.
Sitting here in the cockpit at 3am, hearing the waves lap against the hull, feeling the rhythmic dance of swell and sail, there’s that feeling of peace again. The water here is the same water that changed our lives back in Seattle. We’re still just a couple of kids in love, on a boat, excited about the next adventure.
As I write this, I throw a flying fish back overboard. The first flying fish of the passage. It’s the little things.
-Miles traveled in the last 24 hours: 132
-Engine hours used: 0
-Deadlines and stresses out here: 0
Day 4 Summary: Battle of the Boobies
Thu Mar 21 2024 12:41:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Today is a day of personal achievements. We are coming up to the end of our fourth day out here. We’re 470 nm from the closest port (Cabo San Lucas) and 560 nm from our departure in La Cruz. This is longest nonstop passage Dave and I have sailed with only the two of us onboard. So far, it’s pretty rad.
We lost speed last night for a few hours as we chose to make some southerly progress. We sailed under mainsail only, clocking an average of only four knots and an even lower Velocity Made Good [VMG]. VMG is the speed of progress towards our destination. We were going too slow and too low.
But during the early morning shift change, we jibed back and picked up some speed. We are currently running wing on wing again with full sails. Our speed and our VMG are matching again, both ranging in the high 5s to low 8s in knots.
And it appears we just reached the trade winds, so hopefully, fingers crossed, we keep this up for another several days. We really couldn’t ask for better conditions.
Our visitor is happy with our progress too. As we left La Cruz, our friend, earlier crewmate, and previous Pacific crosser Kristin advised, “If you have a booby hitchhiking on the bow, don’t think it’s cute and let it hang out as your new pet. It will cover everything in poop.”
Kristin clearly overestimated my ability to resist cuteness, because we now have a new pet aboard, a beautiful brown booby, Dorothy (named after the venerable and no-nonsense Bea Arthur).
So far he’s spent his day up on the bow pulpit, making googly eyes, pooping, and fighting off other top contenders for prime De Novo real estate. There have been dive bombs, so Dorothy remains vigilant.
Fortunately, he’s only pooped on our anchor so far, as he’s claimed it as his personal poop deck. Everything else is off-limits.
-Miles traveled in the last 24 hours: 135
-Engine hours: 0
-Numbers of booby battles in which Dorothy emerged victorious: 8 (Atta boy)
Sailing into a new time zone, again
Fri Mar 22 2024 00:54:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
We’ve sailed west of 112.5°W, so it makes sense to update our time zone to UTC-8. We’re now 1 hour ahead of the North American West Coast.
Many boats don’t do this. They will keep a consistent “boat time” throughout a whole passage for consistent log times and simplicity.
We decided we wanted to update our time zones along the way so that we’d gradually adapt to the time zone of our destination, and so that our time would make sense with the environment around us (i.e. darkness would generally occur from 6pm to 6am).
This is our second time zone shift on this passage. We shifted from Banderas Bay time (UTC-6) to UTC-7 after our first night out. Banderas Bay is at 105°W, which would be UTC-7 if it were the middle of the ocean, but they decided to adopt the same time zone as Mexico City for cultural reasons. So, as soon as we left Mexico it made sense for us to change our clocks by an hour.
In a week or two, we’ll cross 127.5°W, at which point it’ll be time to change the clocks one more hour to UTC-9. Then we’ll adapt Marquesas local time of UTC-9.5 as we arrive at that port.
Day 5 Summary
Fri Mar 22 2024 15:01:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Day 6 Summary: Clean and Fast
Sat Mar 23 2024 13:11:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
To prioritize resources and more immediate tasks while cruising, we often sacrifice hygiene. Our default is sweaty, salty, and stinky, especially here in the tropics.
But are we those things now? Not as much! We took a shower today!
We knew it was time when I took my rubber band out of my hair and my hair stayed in the shape of a ponytail, caked in salt. Dave had so much salt in his mountain man beard it looked almost white. Oh the romance of the high seas.
We use solar shower bags on the deck of De Novo to let the sun heat the water, a difficulty in the PNW but a practicality here. Instead, the challenges out here on an ocean passage are the high wind and rocking and rolling foredeck. But nothing beats drying off in the sun!
Speaking of high wind, we are flying today! After a frustratingly slow night, we spent the day averaging around 7 knots. Thank you, trade winds.
Day 7 Summary: One Week!
Sun Mar 24 2024 14:15:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
We have continuously been out at sea for 7 days! We’ve also surpassed the 1000 nautical mile mark! Holy moly, are we bluewater sailors now?
Continuous means we don’t stop to anchor. It’s impossible to stop in these depths; boats just can’t do that in the ocean. Instead, one person must stand watch at all time. Dave and I made a 4.5 hour watch schedule so we both have two 4.5 hour chunks to sleep per day.
We initially chose 4.5 hours instead of the typical 4 because it’s difficult to actually get four hours of restful sleep during a four hour break. It often takes extra time to fall asleep in a rolling, jerking, or occasionally bucking berth.
Once we’re asleep though, we’re out. We sleep hard out here. So we decided to lengthen our shifts to allow the person off watch to get more uninterrupted REM cycles of sleep. We’ve been experimenting with 6 hour shifts during these easier trade trade winds days with mostly good results.
“Mostly” is the key word. Six hours is a long time to wait for help with big sail changes. So I don’t. I wake Dave up. Unlike him, I can’t jibe or move the pole on my own; in fact, to do so would be risky in these jerking, whiplashing movements.
I do have more control out here while tacking than jibing. So hypothetically, if I needed to jibe while on watch, I could use a long tack as a workaround, right? It really would just mean trimming the sails while heading up wind, furling the jib for more control, and tacking while falling off and easing sheets. Eventually, a full 280 degrees later and, viola! We’re downwind on the other tack. Basically, I’d be jibing “the long way around” to avoid the inherent problems of jibing singlehandedly. Theoretically, Dave could continue sleeping and I could emerge a heroine of the night, bestowing upon him longer sleep and better wind angles.
But let’s say hypothetically, it doesn’t work out that way. If I were to do that sail change on my own, the upwind bash and commotion may wake Dave halfway through the longer-than-anticipated process. And he may then stand there in the cockpit groggy, naked, and most of all confused by the scene unfolding: De Novo facing the wrong way, upwind, in jarring seas, with a half-furled jib. He may then ask why I didn’t just wake him to jibe in the first place.
Again, I’m just spit balling here. There’s no evidence to prove this scenario happened last night around 0200 on my shift.
Regardless, I’m finding it’s better to just wake him up to do big sail changes.
And that will happen much more frequently when we enter the shifty Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone in a few days. We may have to adjust our sleep schedule yet again.
Day 8: De Novo's First Squall
Mon Mar 25 2024 14:55:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Hey all!
De Novo had her first squall today! Squalls will be common occurrences moving forward, but still, this change in weather means we’re making progress.
Soon after the start of my 2100 shift, rain began to pelt our deck. We weren’t expecting rain this far north, so I actually had to dig out my foul weather gear and phone dry case. I tethered in, curled up under the dodger, and watched our salty boat get her turn with a refreshing shower.
About an hour later, the rain stopped and left a vacuum for the winds and seas to fill in. We picked up speed, and after a while I noticed our bow started to dip slightly in the trough. Acting cautiously (perhaps overly so), I furled the jib completely and ran under main only. But as we slowed down, the building seas behind us crested over, so I pulled the jib back out halfway to pick up speed again. It was extra bouncy, but otherwise not bad. The waves attempted to push us off course, but Sammy, our self steering windvane, kept us between 90 and 150 degrees with only minor adjustments from me through the night.
At 0300, Dave started his shift, and the seas and winds lessened. I was proud to have steered us through our first Pacific squall, and I believe I redeemed myself after the night before.
Shout out to our friends on SV Griffin who helped us weather route today. Thank you for taking precious time out of your New Zealand road trip to help us understand the ITCZ better. Brian and Lauren, you rock!
Day 9 Summary: Making Good Speed
Tue Mar 26 2024 15:43:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Time is speeding by out here. And so is De Novo! At 167 nm in the last 24 hours, we are averaging about 7 knots per hour, and that’s with a reef in the main and a few wraps in the jib all day. This is her fastest day yet. It’s nice to have sustained ENE winds in the low 20s. These are the ideal conditions for De Novo.
The rain and moody skies have been less than ideal though. We’ve had only thick cloud cover for the last 48 hours or so. Without solar, we have to run our alternator to charge our batteries. We hate turning on the motor when there’s such good wind though, so we found a half hour was good enough.
As I write this, our second squall just hit (a little one), so this is enough writing for now.
Day 10: Over Half Way!
Wed Mar 27 2024 14:31:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Today we sailed past the halfway mark! La Cruz is now further away from us than Hiva Oa! If we can hold this pace, we’ll get there in under 20 days total. That’s unlikely though since this first half has been the fast and easy part. Up next is the dreaded doldrums.
Otherwise, today was pretty uneventful. The conditions from the last two days have persisted. 20-30 knots of wind with seas that are often 8-12 feet tall from trough to peak. We’ve been staying comfortable by going downwind and surfing the waves. Thankfully they’re generally going in the direction we want to go. It means we’ve continued to hold a fast pace of nearly 7 knots over the last 24 hours.
Day 11: Our Own Little World
Thu Mar 28 2024 09:31:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
After three days of darkness and rain, the sun poked its head through the clouds this morning. What a difference a little sun makes! Blue waves, sparkling seafoam, it’s gorgeous out here!
Last night was more tiring than most. Winds shifted regularly between as low as 6 knots and as high as 32, true, with little warning. The rain was relentless. We ultimately decided to roll the jib in completely and sail under full powered main (Novy’s favorite way to sail in strong down winds). It meant slow progress when winds disappeared but much more sanity when they picked up.
Dave relieved me from my shift an hour early, and I crashed into bed. Dave, as he often does, stayed up later and let me sleep longer. Thank goodness for Dave. If only everyone were so lucky to have a Dave.
We live in our own little world out here. Our land lives often feel crowded and overstimulating, mostly for me. Out here, it’s just openness and freedom. Just deep breaths with every swell.
The closest humans are our friends on SV Gemini about 200 miles to our south and on SV Wind River 270 miles to our east. Occasionally, a cargo ship navigates within that distance, but we haven’t seen one on AIS for days. Beyond that are the astronauts on the International Space Station as they pass over us 250 miles above sea level every 90 minutes. It’s tempting to feel that we too are in space. There’s magic in the vastness.
It’s also pretty magical to count astronauts among our closest neighbors.
Day 12 Summary: An Illuminating Night
Fri Mar 29 2024 12:56:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
The Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone [ITCZ], the zone where northeast trades and the southeast trades converge, has been on our radar since we started planning this passage. It’s the reason so many South Pacific island nations stayed hidden from European explorers for so long: its low, inconsistent winds; frequent thunderstorms; temperamental shifts in weather; and intense heat hardly felt welcoming.
So here we are on De Novo, centuries later, entering this foreboding boundary by choice. The good news? It doesn’t feel haunted like its reputation implies. No eye of Sauron, no pits of Mt. Doom. Our friends sailing south of us even called it beautiful. The bad news? The lightning squalls weren’t exaggerated.
We spent the night navigating these intense squalls. We could avoid most by watching them on radar, but some were unavoidable.
We’ve never sailed with lightning before. Nothing prepared us for seeing the first flash in an otherwise sky of darkness. We both jumped. On the second flash, Dave sprung downstairs to detach the VHF and AIS wires from our keel-steeped mast, and I inspected all the radar noise to identify which squalls produced the flashes. Some squalls on the horizon looked large but had no discernible flashes. Satellite maps couldn’t separate the benign ones from the electrical ones.
The rain was thick enough to fool our handheld vhf radio into thinking it was submerged in ocean water. It initiated a strobe light we couldn’t disable for hours. This proved an annoyance as we scanned the sky for more flashes. We would not recommend “Flash or Strobe” as your next party game: we found it offered only high stress with low entertainment value.
Once we caught our breath, we determined the lightning was farther away and higher in the atmosphere to realistically hurt De Novo. Still, we kept electronics safe and avoided touching metal. We napped when we could and, as always, Dave let me oversleep.
But today, we’re tired. And we’re humbled. After such an easy passage thus far, we needed a night like last night to remind us we’re not invincible out here. We’re closely analyzing weather and staying alert. And don’t worry, parents, we’re always staying safe.
It’s now daylight in the ITCZ and all is good. It actually doesn’t look much different than any other area we’ve sailed through.
We can predict lightning storm activity with CAPE weather forecasts (Convective Available Potential Energy), and CAPE numbers are low tonight. Hopefully we can catch up on sleep.
-Engine hours: 0
-Percentage of our bathroom space taken up by wet, stinky clothes: 100
Day 13: Navigating the Doldrums
Sat Mar 30 2024 21:38:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Last night was another rough night. Frequent squalls kept us on our toes, and torrential rains kept those toes soaking wet. In fact, the downpour obstructed all visibility, and we relied fully on radar to see our way through the worst of it.
We had planned to head south soon anyway (at around 131-132 degrees W), but one strong squall encouraged us to head south sooner (around 130) last night. Unfortunately, that meant going to weather until we were past it.
But our tack was eventful: as we changed course, a booby fell into our cockpit. Apparently he had landed on the top of our mast without our knowledge. He must have lost his footing (webbing?) with our tack. Poor little guy was as shocked as we were. He scrambled up the sides of our cockpit sole to no avail. Luckily, he let me scoop him up and place him on the combing. From there, he flew off again.
How are these birds still out here? Where did they come from? Where are they going?
The worst of the weather occurred on Dave’s shift, so his night was much more tiring than mine. The good news is that the CAPE models were right: no lightning last night!
Then this morning, winds stalled and we motored for several hours.
We knew eventually we’d need to motor through part of the doldrums. We’ve weather routed for days, looking for the route that would provide the best winds without heading too far west. If we cross the doldrums from too west of an angle, we risk laying up Hiva Oa on a close reach once we reach the southern trades. And that wouldn’t be fun.
We prefer not to drift for too long out here; the sooner we’re out of the sea of lightning and barnacles, the better. So we anticipate some motoring in the next 2-3 days, but hopefully not much; De Novo doesn’t enjoy burning fossil fuels any more than she has to.
So far, tonight is much easier. The wind picked back up this evening, and we started sailing downwind again at about 3 knots. The seas are flat, and each ripple glistens with phosphorescence. For the first time since night 2 or 3 of this passage, the sky is clear. Countless stars above and below us. And off to port, I see constellation of Crux, the Southern Cross. Crosby, Stills, and Nash were right. This is the sweet part of the doldrums.
Day 14 Summary: Happy
Sun Mar 31 2024 14:47:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Two weeks! It feels both longer and shorter than that, like sailing in the ocean is somehow timeless. Especially today.
After motoring on and off all night, Dave finally saw some squalls behind us on our starboard aft quarter. He found that if he just hugged the periphery of it, he could “surf” it. So he loaded Rage Against the Machine on his playlist and rode it out. Once the squall passed behind us, he jibed south and rode the lingering winds until the next squall. Heck no, he’s not going to work on Maggie’s farm no more!
By late morning, our soundtrack became less 90s rage rock and more sweet island ukulele. The seas laid flat, the sky cleared, and we drifted at about a knot and a half. Sure we could turn back on the motor, but why rush through this paradise when we could swim in it? Progress smogress.
We took turns swimming so one person could always stay on the boat and watch that the other doesn’t get left behind. There is no joy like jumping into blue, equatorial water after not showering for over a week. Dave even scraped some barnacles off our (boat’s) bottom. I hung on to our swim ladder and let the boat carry me along. This is what we worked for. This is what it’s all about. Every dollar we saved, boat project, every bout of nausea or fear, every elbow-deep fix in our sewage system or muscle-aching bottom sanding job, every accidental fiberglass shard we’ve ingested, every sleepless night or week between showers–it’s all worth it.
Unquestionably.
Today was probably our only chance to swim in the doldrums. The wind is forecasted to return tomorrow, and we’re planning to carry the next system all the way to Marquesas, about 7-8 days away.
Day 15 Summary: Check in
Mon Apr 01 2024 17:37:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Another day of drifting/ bobbing/ motoring/ sailing through the doldrums. The wind arrived later than expected–at about 1700 this evening–so we motored more than we would have liked today. But we were able to catch up on some boat chores and gear checks, so we we’re thankful for the down time.
It’s raining hard now, and it’s a surprisingly cold rain. It feels more like the Oregon Coast on deck than the tropics. It’s a wonderful relief from the sauna in our cabin right now. And with squally rain comes wind, so we say bring it!
I’m going to catch a little shut eye before my shift starts in a couple hours, so I’m keeping this post short. Tomorrow morning is our big equator crossing! Next time you hear from us, we’ll be in the South Pacific!
-Miles traveled in 24 hours: 102
-Engine hours in 24 hours: 12.8
-Miles to the equator (as this posts at 1925 tonight): 55!
Day 16 Summary: Crossing the Equator!
Tue Apr 02 2024 15:07:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
At 0624 UTC-9 this morning, Dave and I passed into the waters of the South Pacific. At that point, we were no longer mere polliwogs but trusty shellbacks, a name given to all those who have sailed over the equator.
How a tadpole turns into a turtle of all things, we’ll never understand. That’s not how science works. But that is one of the great mysteries of maritime lore.
Dave roused me at 0600 this morning with news that we were within 30 minutes from crossing the equator. Together, we watched the latitude numbers count down. I’m embarrassed to say I fell back asleep before it read 0’00’00, but we crossed nonetheless!
We’re in the South Pacific!
This means we can finally get matching turtle tattoos, right Dave?
It was tempting to turn around and sail upwind past the equator and down again to say we’ve crossed it numerous times, but I’m not sure that’s how it works. But just think: three tattoos!
After I woke the second time, we performed our equatorial ceremony to ask for King Neptune’s blessing, make an offering, and toast champagne.
Our recitation:
"King Neptune, ruler of the high seas, we, the crew of SV De Novo salute you and recognize your authority here.
"Thank you for protecting the oceans and all living beings within them. To aid your efforts, we will continue to practice the values of marine conservation and stewardship.
"Thank you for granting De Novo and her crew safe passage through your North Pacific. As we cross your equator at longitude 132’39’ West, we humbly request that you grant us the same protection in your South Pacific.
"As tokens of our gratitude and subservience to your reign, we offer you food and drink. The ocean will serve as your spirit form as Dave will suffice as your corporal form.
“Long live the health of the oceans!”
Dave drank as King Neptune’s corporeal form, as himself, and as me (it was too early for me to drink beyond the initial toast). Dave’s napping.
Day 17: A Snail is a Shellback Too!
Wed Apr 03 2024 14:36:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Seaman have their own language, and I’ve spent years trying to learn it. For example, when sailors say the “conditions are sporty,” they really mean “conditions are rough, and I’d like a nap and a cookie.”
The last 24 hours have been sporty.
Thank goodness De Novo has so many handholds because it’s been all rogue-wave, gunwale-to-gunwale jerkiness. We’re going more upwind than we’d like, between a close and beam reach–and rolling in sideways seas. Our bruises are developing bruises. After several days in smooth seas, we didn’t sleep well last night.
The winds, the waves, and even the 1.5 knot current are pushing De Novo due west. But if we allow her, we’ll end up north of the Marquesan Islands, possibly bashing against worse conditions to return to them. So we’re adjusting sails for southerly progress to make things easier later.
And by later, I mean pretty soon! We’re currently planning to arrive in Hiva Oa on Sunday, April 7th! That’s four days from now! FOUR DAYS!
But today, every task onboard is a full contact sport. Even the smallest, most basic ones. Imagine pouring cereal into a bowl but it comes out sideways one way, and then immediately sideways the other. Don’t forget, you have to hold on with one hand and find places to lodge your feet in so you don’t fall sideways too. Meanwhile, the milk has spilled over and collected at the fiddle at the end of the counter. And the spoon’s on the ground, sliding down behind the companionway stairs and you consider, briefly, that you would like to join it there in the fetal position.
But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Ba dum tss. (Sorry)
And the heat! Oh the humidity! Dave’s still wearing clothes (sometimes), but he’s soaking through them within minutes of getting dressed. I, on the other hand, am just grateful we brought so much sunscreen.
Our saving graces? Our Caframo fans, cold drinks, electrolytes, and spray bottle of peppermint water in the cockpit. The simple pleasures make all the difference.
Until the conditions improve, we’re going to languish in our sluggishness, eat easy junk food, and enjoy doing the bare minimum. Maybe we’re not sluggish, maybe we’re more snail-like: we did cross the equator yesterday after all, and as our friend Alison reminded us, a snail is a shellback too.
Day 18 Summary: A Day in the Life at Sea
Thu Apr 04 2024 15:30:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
We’ve coined the term, “The day of 50 tacks” twice in our years of cruising: once when we tacked 45 miles back and forth down Jervis Inlet from Malibu Rapids to Greenway Inlet, BC; the other when we tacked back and forth 50 miles down Tracey Arm, AK. Both were fun, but incredibly intense, sailing days. We didn’t count the tacks, but it was a high number; 50 was also a high number, so it stuck.
Today joins those ranks and will forever be known as “The Day of 50 sail changes.” It started on Dave’s morning shift: first, a heavy downpour, then a squall of about 30 knots upwind, then slower downwind, then heavy rain without wind again, then a heavy squall on the beam. Soon after, the wind rotated, and we jibed. Nope, that didn’t last long, jibe again. Let’s take out the pole and run downwind. No, let’s take down the pole and go on a broad reach. Reef the main. Did the wind die again? Boy, the seas are rolly! Let’s head up to avoid the flogging of the sail. Preventer on, preventer off, rinse and repeat for hours. Normal people would have centered the main and started motoring by now, but we passed normalcy miles ago; we were committed to see this through to the end.
…Which was about a couple hours ago, when seas and winds grew consistent. We are now aimed for Hiva Oa on a gentle close reach. We couldn’t ask for better conditions.
We take 6 hour watches: Me from 2100 to 0300, and Dave from 0300 to 0900. We make up the additional hours of sleep in impromptu naps during the day.
In the northern trade winds, our shifts were relaxed. As long as we had a 15 minute timer on, we could read a book, listen to a podcast, make meals, etc. Every 15 minutes, we’d scan the horizon, check radar and AIS, check sails, and adjust Sammy (our windvane) or lines as needed. Sammy had us covered. At the end of each shift, we’d fill out our shift log. The ITCZ however, like this morning, demands much more interaction from us.
Later in the day, after we take turns napping, we start our midday tasks (see the pic, attached), ensuring that one of us is still at the helm at all times. The tasks that may need some explaining are cutting plastic and rotating eggs:
Cutting plastic: Cutting plastic is also known as “eco-bricking.” We cut any awkward, hard plastic (plastic that may take up empty space in a trash bag due to its shape, like plastic peanut butter jars or milk containers) into small pieces and put them into one large jug. One jug can last us months (see pic, attached). The same amount of inflexible plastic containers would take up several trash bags. This helps us conserve space on board and limit the volume of trash we dispose of on shore. Most Pacific islands don’t have the infrastructure to take much, if any, trash. Eco-bricking allows us to carry our waste farther. Also, by taking the time to cut everything up, we’ve grown more aware of our consumption and try to cut back as much as possible.
Rotating eggs: Unrefrigerated eggs tend to rot when the yolks adhere too long to the shell or the shell weakens. We therefore rotate our eggs every few days to keep the yolks moving. We also adhere to the “Vaseline Method” most favored by cruisers and coat the shells in petroleum jelly to strengthen them.
If we have enough solar power, we turn on Starlink for a couple hours a day to complete internet (mostly weather) tasks.
The most important tasks are downloading and analyzing weather and checking all gear.
Because we check hardware every day, Dave was able to notice yesterday a missing piece of a batten sleeve end on our mainsail and remedy it before it became an issue.
If seas are wild, like yesterday, we can save the other tasks for another day–except for spending time together: that’s a must. We have one large meal together most days, usually around sunset. Aside from reading our own books, we’re rereading “A Voyage for Madmen” together and reminding ourselves what an easy passage this is in comparison.
Day 19 Summary: Zero Deaths Onboard!
Fri Apr 05 2024 15:37:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
After writing about how demanding our recent shifts were yesterday, we went on to have one of the gentlest nights we’ve experienced on passage. No sail adjustments, no Sammy adjustments; just long, smooth, comfortable seas. Were we not heeled over, we would have thought we were at anchor. Without the rain clouds we’ve come to expect on this passage, we could finally see the rose plume of the Milky Way stretch across the sky.
We believe we’re done with the frequent squalls and lightning threats now that we’re in the calm waters of the southern trades.
And calm is perfect. We’re currently estimated to arrive in Hiva Oa before dawn on April 7th, so we could afford to slow down a knot here and there. We’d rather get in to a new port during daylight hours.
We emailed in our health form and updated our online arrival form this morning, all part of French Polynesia’s entrance formalities, so it’s starting to feel real. The field of “Number of deaths on board” and the follow up question, “Has any person died on board during the voyage otherwise than as a result of an accident?” weren’t anything we thought we’d ever have to answer. The phrase “otherwise than as a result of an accident” raises so many questions.
We were proud to mark “Zero” and to the follow up question, “No.” No foul play on De Novo. We very much lived…perhaps more now than ever.
Day 20 Summary: Almost There!
Sat Apr 06 2024 15:34:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Morale is very high aboard De Novo.
The island of Hiva Oa is almost within our sights. After 20 days at sea and many years of preparation, we’re feeling pretty emotional. Although we’re still about 70 nautical miles away, we keep looking at the horizon, half-expecting the island will emerge any moment.
De Novo’s ready too. She’s chomping at the bit to get in overnight (and we don’t blame her!), but we’d prefer anchoring in the light so we’re slowing her down.
It’s been a fantastic passage. There are so many half-completed thoughts swirling about in our minds, but they’re hard to grasp at the moment. Landfall in French Polynesia still feels too big and glittery to put into words.
We’ll return here to reflect once we’ve had a chance to let it sink in. We’ll add full passage stats then as well.
To think, we’re making landfall on only our first South Pacific Island. A vast ocean awaits. Our journey has only just begun.
Days 21+ Summary: Hiva Oa
Wed Apr 10 2024 07:02:00 GMT-0930 (Marquesas Time)
Koaha Nui dear friends,
After nearly 21 days at sea, we made landfall in Atuona on Hiva Oa, Marquesas. We arrived on the morning of April 7th, 3 days ago, but we’ve been busy settling in: sleeping, checking in to the country, exploring, making small repairs on the boat, eating more fresh fruit than our bodies could probably handle, and catching up with friends.
For so long, our world was just the two of us and our little boat. To experience the sights and sounds of a French Polynesian Island as our first landfall was nothing short of magnifique: Tall, verdant cliffs; the idyllic crowing of roosters; a morning mist hanging about the trees–oh so many trees! I loved our passage, but man, there’s nothing more comforting to our PNW blood than a rainforest.
Our friends Jeanne and Dan on SV Lucky Dog helped us secure a stern tie to shore so we’d be out of the roll and traffic of the harbor. They also brought us our first Polynesian pamplemousse. Everyone told us we would smell the fragrant fruits and flowers of Hiva Oa right away–right when we started to see land–but we didn’t. At least not until that pamplemousse. To us, nothing will ever beat a pamplemousse after a sea voyage.
We loved having crew along for earlier passages. And we’d love to have more crew in the future. But this was a passage we had to do on our own. There’s a confidence and romance to crossing an ocean with my best friend, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything, even more sleep.
Our trip stats:
-Total miles: 2,953
-Total length in time: 20 days and 18 hours
-Total engine hours: 32.8
-Total gallons of diesel used: 12
-Slowest day: 96 miles
-Fastest day: 167 miles
-Breakages:
1. our spinnaker shredded after a rogue wave submerged it and pushed us upwind, a bummer
2. VHF/AIS antenna connection at mast base (from disconnecting it too quickly when lightning appeared)
3. Boom vang clovis pin (fixed) 4. Main halyard splice broke a couple hours before arriving (fixed)
-Favorite parts: For Dave, squall surfing and hanging out with dolphins on the bow after dark; for Denise: swimming near the equator, surfing big waves of phosphorescence on night shift, and reading letters from family
Thank you for following our journey. 🩵
Comments
Post a Comment