Land ho!
Monday, May 23, 2005
| permanent linkLand ho! Thanks for hanging on everyone.
We arrived in Punta del Este, Uruguay on May 10 after 57 days at sea. I first predicted we would make landfall April 19, admittedly that was fairly optimistic. I did not foresee losing our transmission’s forward gear or the Uruguayan “pamperos,” that would create winds in excess of 40 knots driving us north of our goal, 50 to 100 miles at a time. Also slowing our progress were the calms that are expected of any transatlantic passage. Though we all had things we missed - home, family and specific creature comforts - we couldn’t help but appreciate where we were and what we were doing. Not a day was wasted.
When we first started out from Cape Town, we decided on an inshore route (50 to 100 miles offshore) up the coast using the North flowing Benguela current before planning to head northwest toward St. Helena at latitude 24 degrees south. Another factor in choosing the inshore course was the insurance it provided us should we need, as it proved necessary, to stop for maintenance. After our five day stop in Luderitz, Namibia where we had the flexible coupling repaired after having coming loose on the propeller drive shaft. We left Luderitz only to be becalmed and frustrated for four days 50 miles offshore. When the wind finally picked up, we had what turned out to be our best single day advance of the passage - 181 miles - on April 19. At this point, our five knots felt like fifth gear in a convertible. Considering all the holdups, we decided to take advantage of our new found speed and skip St. Helena and make Buenos Aires our goal. Following advice from the South Atlantic almanac and Jimmy Cornell’s book, World Cruising Routes, we chose a course due west between 20 and 24 degrees south latitude. This route offered statistically the strongest chances of South Atlantic trade winds pushing us west. While we had great weather the entire journey we found that as the charts told us there was only a minimal chance of calms in the area and it seems we did a remarkable job finding them.
One of the early calms we met after altering course to Argentina we decided to motor until the wind picked up, only to find that our Hurth transmission could not find forward gear. We were forced to become purists and would have to find Argentina under sail alone. During this time we did our best to learn about the engine and why it would not work - a job that proved bigger than our tool kit and our library. Once we accepted that we would be relying solely on the wind we buckled down for what we hoped wouldn’t be a 57 day trip.
As it turned out, all things went pretty well. We had just enough books so that we always had something to read, but by the end of the trip each of us had read our entire library. And kudos to Stevo on day 54 we had filet mignon and pasta with sun dried tomatoes.
Last time I logged in, I told you about day 25, so I’ll give you a few more days beginning with day 26.
Day 26, April 8 - 21*44’s 20*29’w
Swimming in the middle of the ocean.
I believe it is Nietzsche that warns us, “if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” I don’t know where he was hanging out, when he came up with that but I was treading water with three miles of ocean below me when it occurred to me. On a hot tropical day made even hotter by the utter lack of wind we jumped overboard into the middle of the Atlantic. With a few assurances of the behavior of large fish, from fish experts Stevo and Francis, I got in the water. We dared each other to see who could swim farthest from the boat. I always kept my eyes open under water, though I never saw anything, and I would often make quick turns just in case anything were following me, nothing ever was. The novelty soon wore off as the anxiety of open water subsided.
Our chart told us that the depth in this area was more than 5,000 meters. As any one would, I first worried about the predators that would be in this depth of water, until you come to the realization that there are none. We had not caught a fish in many days. And so as your comfort level rises, you begin to take notice of your surroundings.
The immensity of the ocean doesn’t so much scare you as it comforts you. Floating in the cool pristine water, its the only time you fully relax, having to always brace yourself against the constant movement when on the sailboat. It was hard to have a care out here. Being in the open water gave me that feeling of being a kid at the beach - I didn’t want to get out.
I have mentioned the color of the water before and I don’t think I could make an accurate description of it, other than to say, there is no color. I don’t know where the blue comes from. Maybe its a reflection of the sky, maybe its the blur of the colors three miles below but it is not the water. The three of us dropped a coin overboard and watched it reflect the sun’s rays as it tumbled into the depths. We estimated the visibility to be at least 300 feet. The water was perfect. It was easy to think that no one had swum in this exact spot ever before. I don’t know where Nietzsche hung out, but an experience like this could even make a philosopher out of the likes of me.
Day 31, April 13 - 22*11’s 28*52’w
Spinnaker
The first time we tried to fly the spinnaker, a twelve foot seam tore open at the foot of the sail. It took four days to sew it. When light winds returned, we had another opportunity to “fly the kite.” And fly it we did in an eight knot apparent wind we were able to move at five knots. We had it up all day and took it down just at sunset in order to protect it from any mishaps in the dark. In keeping with Shangri-la’s motto, always outnumbered and never outgunned, we had a new weapon. The next day, still experiencing light winds we made ready to put her up again. And the blame is all mine, here, in a miscommunication from the bow to the cockpit, I trimmed in the sheet hard before Francis could untangle the spinnaker caught on the anchor windlass. I heard an agonizing tear. I was convinced our spinnaker was done for good. But Stevo, desperate to get somewhere, had other ideas. With plenty of time it was worth a try. With sail tape, a little needle and thread and a lot of contact cement, we patched the 30 foot hole. It would only be two days until we tested our work.
Day 33, April 15 - 24*07’s 31*56’w
Spinnaker blown for good
The good news is that our work held up, the bad news is that we took it for granted. Mother nature humbled us yet again. Glad to be moving in such light wind we set the spinnaker and the autopilot and settled in, each to our daily routine. With a regular sail plan, a mainsail and a head sail, we usually relied on the self steering wind vane and the balance of the sails to carry us a long steadily. Unfortunately, a spinnaker is a more delicate and temperamental sail.
Francis and I sailed with a friend, Gavin McClurg who was very careful with his new sails. Sailing in light winds, he would warn us to be careful not to let the sails snap as they collapsed and filled again. He would say, “every time the sail snaps, thousands of micro fibers are torn.” The warning was a bit over the top. I laughed it off, but I understood. We learned many things from Gavin, not least of all, taking care of your sails.
However, with our spinnaker, we got a little too comfortable on this day and didn’t give it the watchful eye that it needed. With the many repairs we had already done, we knew that this sail had been sitting in a bag unused for two years in somebody’s garage. Because of this, many of its numerous seams were weakened if not rotten so it should have been no surprise when the wind gusted to twelve knots beyond our ten knot hypothetical limit causing what will heretofore be known as the “microfiber Massacre.”
I was sitting down below and I thought we hit a whale when the sail blew. The seam at the head blew open and the force tore down both sides of the sail like a banana peeling. We all jumped on deck and could only laugh at the total destruction. There was no repairing it this time and though we never got around to it, but the only thing that sail was good for after that was maybe to make a cheesy shirt for Francis to wear in the Argentinean night clubs. God knows I would never wear a cheesy shirt.
Luke wearing what is clearly not a cheesy shirt.
Day 38, April 20 - 27*09’s 37*35’w
Yellow fin Tuna
For the last couple of days, fish had been hitting our lines. Everyday, sunrise to sunset we would troll two lines behind the boat. I think its 80lb test line and the lures looked like squids about six inches long. I don’t in any way consider myself a fisherman, but Stevo has worked on many fishing boats and Francis has a long list a credits to his young fishing career. While I participated in the fishing, I never really got that involved, I rather just relied on their expertise. I got credit for some of the dorado we pulled in simply because they hit the line during my shift at the helm. The fish that hit the line in the last couple of days were way out of my league. Off the coast of Namibia we caught some decent fish the biggest ones being two seals that went out after the lures and one large gull. (not to worry they were safely returned to the wild.) Now approaching the warmer waters of Brazil, we were truly in fish country.
The fish were obviously getting bigger as the reels didn’t just spin letting us know we had a fish, they ran hot until there was no line left at all. If you could touch the reel at all with one of these fish on you did so to apply more tension to the line and slow down the fish. In such a way we lost three lures and two hooks. Though, on three occasions fish turned toward the boat allowing us to reel in some line and begin the fight. Francis and Stevo each pulled in a large dorado well over 60 pounds. They both believed that the fish that spooled us were larger yellow fin tuna. On this day Francis got control of the spool just before all the line was spent and over the next hour and a half reeled in a yellow fin tuna that we estimated to be more than 150 pounds. We got some good footage on the movie camera as the still pictures do not reveal just how big this fish was. Twice he reeled the fish within sight only to have it run again. On camera, I asked Francis how long he thought it would take to reel this fish in, he said it could be up to four hours. I think the camera will reveal that I would have rather cut the fish loose and take advantage of the great sailing wind then waste the next four hours reeling in a fish that we would without a doubt have to release out of respect for the bounty of the ocean. We all knew this fish was too big for the three of us to eat before most of it would go bad.
I must admit it was an exciting fight and it was as important to our morale as getting many miles under our belt. After an hour and a half Francis won the day getting the fish up to the stern of the boat while Stevo removed the hook and the three of us watched this large fish swim away in amazement. This isn’t a story about the one that got away because he have it all on film! The ultimate irony was lunch this day. We opened three cans of chunk white tuna in lieu of the fresh fillets we thought we deserved.
Day 46, April 28 - 27*58’s 44*03w
Catching the football
The last few days had been fun fishing. Every time we dropped in a line, within minutes something would hit. No birds or seals like Namibia, the Brazilian current brought all fish. On this day we finally caught the football. I don’t know if that’s a common term but that’s what Stevo called it. And indeed that yellow fin was the shape and size of a football. For those of you who like sushi this was the ideal. Chef Stevo filleted the fish into four large fillets. Three we chilled for later in the ice box and one we ate within minutes with some soy and wasabi paste.
From this point on we were anticipating seeing land any day. Everyday was a case of so close yet so far. With really good wind, we thought we could be in Punta del Este, Uruguay in five days. As it turned out it took eleven days. Closer to land, the weather became more variable. We experienced two Uruguayan pameros, a name given to the storms of the region created by the opposing Brazilian and Falkland currents. The first pampero created 40 knot southeasterly winds that drove us 30 miles west but 75 miles north. While we were hove to the 40 knot winds created 15 to 20 foot seas. For those of you who don’t know, being hove to creates stability by holding your bow into the waves while you wait out the storm. It makes for a much smoother ride, but it limits forward progress. We went below for a day a half and waited out the storm eating popcorn and watching movies.
After the storm passed we were left with two days of calms after which the wind switched to our backs from the northeast driving us on SW toward our goal. In another couple of days we would experience more calms and could only guess that this meant the winds would switch back to SW with another pampero. It did, but this one did not have nearly the strength of the first, and though it was rough we sailed through it.
Since arriving in the Brazilian current more than a week earlier we knew we were close to land having seen many tankers on their way to or from Rio de la Plata. But the real sign came on May 9, day 56, when we actually smelled land. It smelled to me like burning pine. I swear, it reminded me of a burning camp fire. Maybe I was hallucinating, but damn, it smelled good.
On our way to Montevideo
It was early morning and we knew we were only 50 miles out. This is going to sound desperate and indeed it was, but the winds were so light that we turned on the engine and drove 35 miles backwards until the wind picked up and we could hoist the sails. We had to laugh at how ridiculous we would look backing into port, but hoping that anyone that saw us would gladly buy us a beer for the accomplishment. Regardless, the wind picked up and we set full main and full head sail and sailed for what turned out to be the next eight hours. We could see the Punta del Este skyline so clearly. We knew we were almost there. We figured a couple of more hours so we were cheering loudly thinking we would be on land just in time to go out for the night like sailors on leave. We were ready for the land experience.
Coming from the east we needed to round the point and navigate around a small island to pull into the port of Punta del Este on the west side of the point. We soon realized with the wind direction and no engine it would be safer to swing wide around Gorriti island and approach the port from due west. As we did we heard though did not see fireworks. The local stadium was having a celebration for the elections of the local mayor. We thought we were either sailing into a revolution or this place parties as hard as we dreamed. Our many hours of premature celebrations of our own arrival were tiring us out. We furled the head sail and got ready to blow the main as we navigated through a mine field of boats and moorings to pick up a buoy nearest the docks.
We decided it was most likely a revolution as there was not a soul around and not a business open in sight. Typical of a Sunday night in a Catholic country. It was 2am. Our guidebook says this is when things just get going in South America, but as it turns out, Punta del Este in the off season is a weekend town and being 2am late Sunday night did not bode well for our party plans. Just as well, as our adrenaline had long since burned out. And so we crashed to explore with fresh heads the next day.