Day 25
Apologies, faithful reader, yesterday did not hold a lot of inspiration, just a lot of wind and rain and choppy seas. As David put it, “we are paying penance to reach paradise.”
Some figures:
The wind averaged 20 knots, gusting to 30.
Our speed averaged 7 knots (to be generous). More on that later.
Seas averaged 7-9 feet, or moderate, with chop.
Things started well enough. The wind, as predicted, picked up mid-morning as we passed Iles du Disappointement, and after lunch the rain kicked in. Rather like Arsenal’s Bukayo Saka or Brooks Firestone Jr. at the MLS Next tournament, it didn’t stop kicking till it scored, soaking the aft deck, the cockpit, and my cocoon thanks to a poorly closed hatch. Strangely enough, Jeff’s nap just happened to coincide with the live action, so he had to settle for our post-game analysis.
Just because the rain left us, the fun didn’t stop. Eagle-eyed David saw his beloved downwind runner start to spontaneously unfurl. Returning from the scramble to take the sail down and stuff back in its locker, he laughed and yelled, “This is living!”
David thrives on the chaos, insisting on making dinner, ensuring we are as comfortable as possible, cracking dad jokes, and debating different courses with Jeff. The wilderness prophet look suits him.
Let’s talk wind. There are two ways to measure wind: true and apparent. Jeff explained it with vectors and degrees and angles, but given my high school physics grade, you know how well that went down. The Physics of Sailing Explained book has a two-page description, using iceboats and dogs hanging out car windows as examples. Much as I love any images of dogs, I think Georgie summed it up best: true wind is the actual, actual speed of the wind, all on its own, and apparent wind is what you feel on the boat, a combination of the true wind speed, the speed the boat is going, and the angle the wind is hitting the boat.
Apparent wind is really all you need to know.
A useful diagram if you didn’t get my grade in HS physics.
To calculate it, according to Wikipedia, the apparent wind is a vector sum of the velocity of the true wind minus the velocity of the object. What the f*** is a vector sum? Did Lucky Jack Aubrey or Richard Henry Dana know what a vector sum is?
Seriously, huge gratitude to all the brilliant engineers and mathematicians out there who do know what it is and have created the wonderful technology that allows me to continue on in blissful ignorance.
Overnight proved exciting as well. Given the conditions, David and Jeff decided to divide the night watches between them, sending Georgie and me below. I tried to sleep in the forward cabin, giving Georgie my now-mostly-dry cocoon, but I didn’t last long. As I lay there on the lovely comfy mattress, I found myself feeling each wave under Leona and periodically experiencing The Drop. I don’t mean the Coachella/Glastonbury drop where the DJ builds and builds and then pauses, coming in with a bass beat as the audience screams and yells and starts to jump up and down. I’m not even talking about the drop you feel as the roller coaster peaks, crests and hurtles downward, knowing that you are going to fly around yet another corner. I’m talking the drop you feel when your horse Max goes all four feet in the air, twists, and sends you airborne, knowing that the ground is about to meet you. The arena sand is soft, but you still feel the impact shudder throughout.
So I moved.
The reason we kept our speed relatively slow yesterday was to time our arrival at Makemo so that it occurs in daylight and as the tide shifts the current. The coral atolls have passes that allow boats entrance to their interior lagoons, but currents and hidden coral reeflets or “bommies” test the pilot’s skill. Jeff plots way points according to historical data on the bommies, Georgie in the bow scouts for new ones that might have emerged recently, and David delicately threads Leona through this maze. I keep out of the way.
Currents, winds, and hidden bommies boil the sea and make for an exciting passage into the lagoon.
Most bommies do not have markers.
This atoll is a world away from the Marquesas. There you have intimidatingly massive cliffs daring a voyager to come close; here you have a sea-level strip of palms and sand delicately perched on an enormous ring of coral. Turquoise water collides with crashing white rollers where the reef meets the ocean, and despite the grey skies and wind, we sit comfortably level in this protected piece of paradise.
