Position: 29 degrees, 40 minutes south; 165 degrees, 47 minutes west Only a 99 mile day

Near bliss.

The wind lightening in the early morning to about 10 knots and we still had the storm sails up, so Charisma was very underpowered. At the watch change at 0230 local, we decided to put the mainsail back up. It was the first time we’ve had it up in a couple days and it was furled, packed and tied up tight for the gale, so getting it back in action on a rolling deck, in the dark wasn’t a trivial exercise (these things are always needed “in the dark”, aren’t they?). Anyway, down the storm sails and up the main! For now we’re just leaving the storm sails tied down on the deck. We’ll do the clean-up in the daylight.

Right now (about 0330) we’re on a very broad reach with a full main and jib. There’s massive “star-age”, 10 knots of gentle wind and not a light (or anything for that matter) on the horizon within a thousand miles. There’s still a bit of a residual swell for this amount of wind so it’s a bit rolly, but from time to time we get into one of those quiet, blissful grooves where Charisma is steady, you look up and can feel the wind gently caress your face and in the background is the zen garden-like sound of water peacefully burbling by the hull. If this isn’t bliss…

Hard to believe that the ocean was "snarling" just a day or so ago.

Speaking of lights, the compass light LED that allows us to see our course at night is going into failure mode. One the two LED lights inside has gone out. You can still see half the card, but the other half is very faint. I have a parts list on board and found the part number and will try and get it shipped to Tahiti. I would order it now, but the parts list doesn’t have an email on it. There’s always something to fix. If this thing goes completely out I might have to reprise the famous “Collinator Mark II” compass light that we created on the Transpac when our light went out on Shanti. Remember that Jon Eberly? This version will have to be modified though to be a binnacle instead of bulkhead mount.

All in all though, a mostly nice day. A few squalls, two cockpit showers (and a shave) and a couple more albatross sightings. Really now, what more can you ask for? Well, Sockdolager Muffins to be exact. Ann made a dozen of them today. You can’t imagine both how delicious they are and how hard it is to make them – all the ingredients, mixing, rising, rolling, cooking – on a rocking rolling boat. Wow, but worth it. And a special extra treat, she found some Barker’s Apricot Preserves. New Zealand’s finest and some of the best in the world! Oh yes, it was a good day on board Charisma.

A squall and a rainbow.

Position: 29 degrees, 53 minutes south; 167 degrees, 51 minutes west A 122 mile day.

Not a bad day’s run – an average of 5 knots. It started out pretty boisterous with evening, late night and early morning squalls with some blasting winds. We sailed all night with just the storm trys’l and storm jib. I added the regular jib this afternoon as the winds lightened.

The foulies are getting a break.

We’re in a place right now where the major force of the low has passed us and we’re now riding the remainder of the clockwise rotation – so the wind is still west quadrant. Right now, it’s SW and tonight it’s looking to shift west and then NW which would be nice since we want to stay right around the 30 degree latitude line Right now the SW wind is pushing us northwest a bit. We want to go about 90 degrees, but we’re actually going about 60 degrees. If we go higher we risk very light winds, even easterlies as there is a high above us filling in. Below the 30 degree line we can hold 15-20 knots of westerlies at least until the end of the week. If the wind doesn’t change tonight we’ll jibe in the morning and head southeast. At that point it looks like there’s a new low behind us that we’ll have to deal with. It’s just now forming above New Zealand, so too early to tell how strong it will get or exactly the path. So we plan. As far as tonight, even though the wind is getting light – in the mid-teens, we’re going to give ourselves a break and stay with this sail combo and not put the main up until tomorrow. The past week has been a lot of work and we deserve the night off from lots of sail adjustments. I think it’s going to be squally anyway, so right around midnight I’ll probably be very glad we don’t have the main up.

Along with the wind easing, we had blue skies and very large, majestic waves rolling us along. It actually was a gorgeous sailing day. Let’s see; we want to go east, the wind is pushing us east, it was a nice day. Hmm, I guess I can’t complain too much.

The other event of the day was another albatross sighting. These are just incredible sights to see. They are huge, with 80 something inch wingspans and are most graceful. There is a colony that we visited near Dunedin on the South Island and they told us there that the juveniles, upon leaving the nest go out do not touch land for two years!

Trivia for today – our weather guru in NZ emailed that the low that we were in the last couple days was just described on NZ TV as “The biggest on the planet”. It sure felt like that to us.

Position: 30 degrees, 57 minutes south; 169 degrees, 44 minutes west (We only made 64 miles today since much of it was spent hove to)

Nice to have the weather clearing.

Riding the tiger is what you have to do to go east. You get right on the edge of the big lows in the Southern Ocean and take advantage of the west winds they generate as they circulate clockwise and move east from Australia to South America. Well, sometimes you get too close! The price we pay. If we’re too far north we have headwinds from the east and can’t go forward, so we are “playing” in an area called “The Variables”. Variable winds in other words. Sounds much nicer and more benign that what we spent the last 24 hours in.

Here's the actual weather fax showing "the biggest low on the planet" according to New Zealand weather forecasters.

Today, it’s still a little blustery with WSW winds of 25 knots with occasional squally gusts, but it’s been largely blue sky and we know that winds are not building toward something ominous. So just after breakfast this morning we released the wheel, gave it a turn and headed back on our eastbound course. So nice to be sliding down waves at 6 and 7 knots. These are the leftover waves from the gale and our weather guru calls them our “gentle giants”. They are pretty impressive. 15 feet towering above, but in general what’s known as “long period” swells. Just big old rollers coming up from behind. They sound like freight trains and occasionally one smacks us good, sounding like an explosion and shaking the boat.

It was so nice today, Ann took her first shower (well, on Charisma it’s a bucket bath in the cockpit) since we left. It’s been a week and I’m told she really needed one. (Don’t tell her I said that!) Previously she had managed to wash her hair in the kitchen sink. Too cold for a shower that day.

So, on we go. We’ve been pretty lucky so far to have such an extended period of westerly winds. Looks like we have about three more days worth before we get to the end of this low. Don’t know yet, what we’ll find when it poops out – that’s part of weather planning on a voyage – looking far enough out to make a change in position that allows you to take advantage of the next favorable system, or at the very least avoid the really worst scenarios of storms and/or headwinds.

Position: 31 degrees, 37 minutes south; 170 degrees, 57 minutes west

It’s 2000 local NZ time and we have been hove to since 0600. We basically used a combination of storm sail and locking the rudder hard over to one side to stop Charisma’s forward motion, keep her facing the waves and more or less go very slowly backwards at about 1.5 knots away from the direction of the waves (In reality it’s a little closer to going sideways, but the effect is the same). The idea here is to keep Charisma going very, very slow and under control in storm conditions and not tire ourselves out wrangling an out of control boat being thrown about by large waves and high wind.

We even put a seat belt on Ann's Pukkeko.

We’ll stay this way until daybreak as it’s still very windy and the sea state is large and confused. Trying to sail downwind (no way to go upwind in these conditions) would be a bad idea for a number of reasons. So we sit and wait. Patience.

The day has been blustery to say the least. We prepared for the onslaught yesterday, so everything was well secured and ready when the wind came. Early in the day the wind was in the 30’s, but in the afternoon the storm pulled out all the stops. The waves got steep, about 15 feet and short, the wind came up measured at the deck as sustained 35 knots gusting to 45 knots and then heavy rain. In those conditions another advantage of heaving to is that we just closed the hatch and sat in the warm, comfy cabin. We’re getting a little bit of cabin fever, but it’s better than the alternative.

I think we’re now in the “passing” stage of the beast. The seas have become quite confused since the wind is shifting as the low passes by to the south of us. The barometer is up 3 mb over the last two hours to 1012 which also signifies the low is passing. Ironically enough the “ride” is the most uncomfortable right now that it’s been because the seas are so confused. Instead of big rollers all coming down from essentially the same direction, little pyramid shape waves made up of several directions are slapping us around.

Hopefully when the sun comes up and shines some light on the situation we’ll be able to see our way to “cracking off” and getting back to our easterly voyage. We will have west wind thanks to this and another low that’s rampaging about down south and we want to take advantage of the west wind while we can. Just a more gentle one please.

It’s 0600 and after close reaching with storm sails all night in decent conditions wind and sea were getting too high for comfort as we were going fast and slamming into waves. We just hove to and now we’re doing 1.5 knots in much more comfort. Peak storm should pass over about 1200 local, so we’ll just sit and wait. Maybe read a book. 😉

Getting the storm sails up before dark.

It's cooommminnnggg...

One of the weather grubs showing the low and our projected position.

 

Will update again this evening.

Position: 31 degrees, 44 minutes south; 172 degrees, 29 minutes west (126 mile day)

Little buggers! They’re lurking.

We spent the morning going through our storm checklist and making sure everything that needs doing was done and checked off. In the meantime, the gremlinss were playing tricks. The first “event” was when I turned on the radar to check on a big squall in front of us to get a sense of what direction it was going and whether we could avoid it…the radar had quit sending. Nothing. Arghh! Just when I needed it the most! I decided a reboot might help, but needed have bothered. I turned it off, then went to do something else and when I came back it had restarted itself. It still wasn’t working, but it turned itself on. It did that three more times before I decided to switch it off at the circuit breaker and have lunch. After lunch I tried it again. Now it’s working. Gremlins. Having a bit of sport.

Then, we decided it would be a good idea to run the engine and charge the batteries good and full. We’re not going to have much sun for the solar panels for the next 36 hours and one of the checklist items is to lock them down anyway, so no solar power. So, after starting the engine I noticed a funny whine. Or maybe not. It’s so faint and inconsistent. Gremlins. They are messing with me.

Sometimes people call this phenomenon “automatic rough”. When you’re getting ready for a difficult stretch “stuff” happens.

But I know better.

Other than little disruptive creatures, we’re as ready as we can be. Everything’s tied down or put away and we put the storm sails – two little sails each about the size as a Laser sail – up before sunset. Much easier than trying to subdue a flogging jib on a heaving foredeck and tucking the main away. So for now, we’re motoring until it gets either too windy or the waves get too large to comfortably motor. That is forecast to be sometime between now (just after dinner) and midnight.

Position: 33 degrees, 03 minutes south; 174 degrees, 24 minutes west (135 mile day)

When we set the after dinner watch last night we knew the wind was building for a blustery night and set a double reef in the main. We were trucking along at 6-8 knots with the double, stays’l and jib and this combo in 20-25 knots of wind works well and it gives us two more adjustments if the wind increases. In that case, we furl the jib and if that’s not enough, we can go to the triple reef. The triple reef and stays’l works great into the high 30’s.

It was Ann’s watch until 0200 and as it progressed the wind did indeed increase. She’s become quite the sailor and was able to handle the needed changes as the wind pushed into the high 20’s. As the breeze freshens the dynamics of sails change – the overall balance of boat, wind and water shifts – and unless you respond, it won’t go where you want it to!

So, Ann adjusted the wind vane on the helm – three clicks to leeward to counter increasing weather helm. Then she eased the main a bit and tweaked the wind vane itself a bit to angle us more downwind in the building waves. Finally around 0100 I awoke from a very deep sleep – hadn’t heard a thing until then – as I could hear winches turning. Ah, Ann was furling the jib. In 30 knots of wind! It’s easier to say it than to do it. By yourself, it’s kind of like patting your head and rubbing your tummy. It requires a lot of coordination and dexterity. In the dark when you can’t see a thing outside the cockpit, the boat’s rocking and rolling and it’s raining (Oh, did I mention we crossed into a front full of squally, rainy weather?) furling the jib also takes an experienced “touch”. Ease it out a bit with one hand on the starboard winch, then grind in the furling line with the other hand on the port winch. But not too much or you’ll break it! Ease, tighten, ease, tighten and ten or fifteen times until the jib is nicely tucked around the headstay. Whew!

By the time I came on deck around 0130 the wind was still increasing beyond the comfort level for the double reef. Charisma and Wilson were straining to keep course. The wind was now solidly in the mid-twenties with sustained gusts into the mid 30’s – and it’s still raining. Going up to the mast and putting in the final reef in those conditions is a whole “nother” story but for now, I’ve run out of time.

For now…Tahiti beckons.

Position: 34 degrees, 05 minutes south; 176 degrees, 45 minutes west (140 mile day)

Who would have thought that something so low tech would be so awesome! Ann bought one in NZ before we left and it’s been amazing. The Kiwis use them quite a bit, so it was easy to find one. It’s been such a nice addition to the cold night watches. You add some hot (but not scalding) water to the bottle and put it behind your back out in the cockpit. It stays warm for hours and if it gets really cold, you pull a wool blanket over the whole thing. Close your eyes and you’ll think you’re in a sauna at your favorite spa! The added benefit is that it’s cured my “tweaked” back. All the prep work, carrying heavy stuff like the dinghy engine, jerry jugs full of diesel, etc, etc left me with a pretty substantial lower back pain for about a week before we left. Two nights with the water bottle here on passage and I’m cured! Distance wise, 140 miles is worth celebrating, but 12 hours of that was motor sailing. The wind just died last night at 0200 and we need to keep our speed up to get above the low. Timing right now for that event is sometime Saturday midnight our time. For now, the wind filled in about 1400 from the west so we gybed and turned the engine off. Now it’s gone a bit southwest, I don’t think for too long, but it’s pushing us north, which is not too bad, but I’d like to get more easting in. We’re currently making about 50 degrees true. We’ll look at it in a few hours and see – maybe we’ll gybe back over for a while but while that would get us more east, we’d lost the northerly separation we need from the low. Everything out here requires a decision and is typically a compromise.

What I forgot to mention the other day is that we are getting our “sea legs” quite nicely. Neither of us felt seasick this time out and after the first day or two, we’re both sleeping really well, so at least on the physical side we’re good. And…we took baths today (Yay!). It was just barely warm enough for a cockpit shower with our friend the teapot.

For now, my day is kept fairly active around gathering weather faxes (tedious) and plotting the weather. We’re getting grib reports off the SSB and I have a weather router (Bob McDavitt) who is very well respected in these parts as a very experienced weather guru, giving us a second opinion. We stay connected via shipboard email, so I get an update from him every couple days. I’m looking forward to getting past this low so I can relax a bit and just enjoy the view!

Tonight’s supposed to get a bit blustery, so I put a double reef in at sunset, but right now the wind has died down. Did I say compromise?

Position: 34 degrees, 43 minutes south; 179 degrees, 18 minutes WEST

We’re headed across the South Pacific the way Polynesia was colonized centuries ago. More on that below, but first some other thoughts.

We crossed over the date line this afternoon. We’re now in west lattitudes. Funny, I don’t feel any different. Well, a little younger maybe. I wonder if when the ancient Polynesians did this, they had to reset their, um, oh nevermind.

We did about 120 nautical miles yesterday. One thing about cruising – you can sail the boat faster if you want to, but both you and the boat will wear out. Yesterday was a good example. We probably could have done 150 miles, but given that we use a wind vane to steer Charisma 24/7, we have to trim the boat to the “gust factor” and not to the average wind or the vane gets “overpowered” in the gusts and we go out of control. Usually this just means we “round up” and the sails shake and the rig rattles, but the wear and tear is cumulative and not desirable. In fact, I would guess that we’re only really trimmed properly for the wind about 30% of the time, which is the time we spent in the gusting range of the wind. The other 70% of the time we’re either slightly underpowered or quite underpowered in the lower ranges of the wind. Thus, with a wind vane you accept a little “wandering” and maybe you don’t go as far as if you stood out there all day long and “hand” steered. Amazingly though, even if you watch the compass and see that you can be wandering off course by 20 or more degrees at times, somehow over a hundred miles or so when you really look at where you are, you are spot on. It all averages out I guess.

So, about those Polynesian settlers. The islands from Fiji all the way east through Tahiti and north to Hawaii were populated by people who migrated eastbound against the prevailing wind by noticing the same thing we have – that even though the predominant wind in the South Pacific is easterly (flows from east to west), when a low pressure system comes through you get south and westerly winds that counter the flow. That’s how we hope to go “against” the prevailing winds to get to Tahiti. Ride the top of lows that come through. The winds go clockwise around the low over an area hundreds of miles wide, so over a large area you can get south and west winds for some days. When the low goes too far past, you have to wait for the next one to get the same boost. A tougher ride than the “milkrun” down here, but an interesting one since we’re following an ancient historic migration path.

Here's the "plan". You can just see New Zealand outlined in green on the middle left. As you go east (to the right) you can see two low pressure systems. The wind flows approximately in line with the lines defining pressure gradients. Wind circulates Clockwise around lows in the southern hemisphere, so you can see how we can "ride" a west wind to the east. Tahiti is the little "green smudge" approx 17degrees south, 150 degrees west.

Position: 35 degrees 25 minutes south; 178 degrees 15 minutes east

Day two is always a tough day. You can tell I’m tired if I can’t find a better title for this post! You aren’t in a rhythm yet, you’re not sleeping yet, getting used to the noises and the shifts, and add to that wind in the mid-30’s or so followed once we got out of the shadow of New Zealand, by 10 foot waves. Well, you get the picture. Then to add to it all, the strap that holds the wind vane steering block sheared its bolts. At 0300. In the morning. A loud POP!

Here's a picture of the jury rigged block in the daylight. You can see the three temporary lines holding in more or less in place, although "floating" in air. You can just see the broken shackle (actually the screw sheared).

At first I was resigned to a very long night hand steering. I didn’t want to wake Ann since that watch is her best opportunity for uninterrupted sleep. But as I thought about it, I figured a way to strap it – kind of in mid air- with three pieces of rope attached to various places in the cockpit. The trick was to get enough tension because that is the main turning block and has to hold the steering lines tight or they come off the wheel. Well, after a couple tries I got it fixed enough that it steered the rest of the night. After breakfast, with Ann up and able to help I got out the drill, a new spare strap, etc and fixed it. Problem solved.

New holes, new screws and the shackle holding the steering block is back where it belongs.

In the meantime it actually turned into a kind of nice day. Almost warm, some sun and the wind let up. Got a little sleep and things look better, although we sailed through a front of some kind just about Charisma time and in an instant it went from sunny and nice to clouds, rain and wind. Now we’re back to 20-30, not as bad as last night though. Double reefed main and stays’l seem to be happy sailing along more or less in the right direction at about 6 knots.

The other highlight of the day was an albatross sighting. Actually two! There’s a pair working this area and we saw them majestically soaring along the wave top search for unwary prey. The interesting thing about these birds is they never, ever flap their wings. They just glide and soar, gently rising a bit to get high enough off the water to turn, effortlessly banking their impressive six-plus foot wingspan, just feeling the water, but never really making a mark.

So, the wind is supposed to ease a bit over the next couple days, but then the gale. We’re working to figure out how best to avoid that. For now, we’re angling a bit north to get “above” it. We’ll see.

You can tell it's a bit bumpy when I have to have a special "cozy" for my lunchtime beer to keep it from flying across the cabin.