Log
Day 33
Often at the end of a course of instruction, there is some sort of test to ensure that the material has left its mark. But for you, my brilliant readers, there will be no pop quiz, final exam or term paper. I trust that your conversation will be peppered with words like sallopet, stan, and faff, that you will know the difference between a jib and a jibe, and that you will never anchor off a lee shore. I need no multiple choice questions to tell me that you will always clip in to a jack line on your night watches, that cabbage will always be a staple in your galley, and that you know all the myths regarding the origins of the Milky Way are true.
Day 32
As predicted, the lights of Papeete appeared on the horizon in the wee small hours of the morning, a cruel reminder that all too soon we will be back in the land of schedules and deadlines. We turned away from the lights and headed toward the quieter climes of Mo’orea, slipping into the glassy surfaced Cook’s Bay, intoxicated by the scents of the island: the woodsmoke and greenery and damp earth.
Day 31
Our final open-water passage is about as ideal as you could wish.
Current conditions:
Wind is from the east at 14 knots on our port quarter.
Seas are on the quarter with a 2-3 foot swell.
Speed over ground averages 7.5 knots.
The sun was shining, with scattered thunderheads creating a dramatic skyline, but slowly the clouds have taken over.
Day 30
Brace yourselves, I may get a little soppy here.
For four weeks this happy crew, or Team Tahiti as we call ourselves, has lived cheek by jowl. On the very first day, aware of the tight quarters we had chosen to occupy, we established a safe word, something we could say that would tell everyone else to walk away, drop the conversation, give space, etc. For reasons best left unsaid we chose “Andy.”
Day 29
The second largest of the Tuamotu atolls, Fakarava’s lagoon belies the name. Not a sweet palm-tree-lined, sky-blue, inland salt-water pond, it resembles one of the Great Lakes. Yet where a Chicago skyscraper might loom, there stretches an underwater wall of the most incredible coral.
Day 27
After giving us the perfect day in paradise, Makemo sent us on our way in a style certain to bring us back down to reality. We started with a morning of rain showers, admin, provision inventory, and crepes, before picking our way among the bommies to Pouheva, the solitary town, in hopes of adding more fresh food to the hammocks and stacker. Unfortunately our timing was just off, as everything was closed for lunch (a two hour affair). We did manage to offload our garbage and stretch our legs through the colorful streets.
Day 26
Makemo has given us everything we could desire. Sapphire-azure-turquoise water, white sand beaches littered with hermit crabs, blue coral and black-tipped reef sharks, and a breeze keeping everything just cool enough. We slept in the cockpit, and when I woke in the middle of the night (as is my wont) the waxing moon peeped through a perfect smattering of cloud.
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.
Day 23
After an easy night watch, with wave-tops painted silver by the half-moon, I woke up in a slightly blue-ish mood. Was I tired? Dehydrated? Seasick? Then I saw the chart screen and discovered our next way-point is….wait for it…Iles du Desappointement.
Day 22
Georgie’s decision to jump sharks yesterday kept us anchored for longer than originally planned, but no regrets. I lay on the bow under the slowly darkening sky, watching the moon play peekaboo behind the furled foresails. The cliffs made a bowl of the the bay, brimming with the gold and pink of the setting sun. Time to reflect on all the day had brought.
Day 21
Dearest reader, I’m in a bit of quandary. This log was supposed to be a way to keep friends and family notified of our progress as we sailed across the Pacific. However, we made the crossing much faster than expected. I recognize that looking at slides of a random beach or bunch of trees as your crazy aunt drones on about her vacation tops nobody’s bucket list, but we are still on our Pacific adventure.
So I will keep posting highly technical sailing tidbits and delicious galley tips. There will probably be an anecdote or two about Leona’s intrepid crew and maybe some island musings. I hope you will tag along.
Day 20
A rainy day, no sailing and a temperamental computer do not add up to a successful log. I’ll be back tomorrow.
Day 19
Our first sighting of the Marquesas proved as perfect as the rest of this passage. Georgie and I sat in the bow, drinking in the sight of cloud-drenched cliffs and wine-dark seas. Outcroppings, towers, terraces…I wish I knew all the names for the fantastical remnants of whatever geological battle occurred all those eons ago.
Day 18
Lying here on the saloon bench out of the tropical sun, feet braced against the galley cabinet, and under the swinging hammocks still full of lemons, limes and jicama, I can hear Jeff and David debate the pros and cons of the two different foresails. Jeff likes the jib for its nimble ability to tack. David likes the speed and strength of the genoa. They both want the same thing however: to allow Leona the best chance of reaching Nuku Hiva in time for that bottle of champagne we’ve been saving. It will be this evening, that’s for sure.
Day 17
The official overnight marine report:
“It wasn’t as boisterous.”
Jeff Taylor
This morning’s status shows clear skies, a moderate sea, and a 13-knot wind, east by northeast. This means the waves are more aft of the beam and Leona is back to her happy rocking-horse moves. She continues to eat up the miles: less than 250 to go at an average of 7.5 knots.
Day 16
An Ode to the Wrap
The wrap, that perfect trap,
Anything goes, fill it till it overflows.
Meat and veg, cheese and wedge,
A sprinkle of dressing concludes the messing.
And best of all, no dishes to haul.
Cheers,
DW
Day 15
When you see the Southern Cross for the first time…
Three more pollywogs joined the ranks of King Neptune’s shellbacks this morning.
At approximately 7:45 in the morning (at least according to the time stamp on my iphone), Leona crossed the equator and we hove to. Georgie, David and I donned pink pirate bandanas* and leapt overboard while smashing eggs onto our heads. Yes, things took a turn for the weird here again.
Day 14
At 4:00am, things took a turn for the weird. After falling into my cocoon at midnight, not bothering to stow the 12-pack of Cali Squeeze that somehow ended up on the bunk, I woke convinced that a shower of flying fish had invaded the boat and found myself nestled up with several multi-colored cans of beer. Faintly reminiscent of college days.
Day 13
Yesterday morning’s downpour cleared to sunshine and calm seas, allowing another round of fridge sorting and floor cleaning. I attacked the hell drawer and vertical stacker with a Marie Kondo-like vigor, letting go of those veggies that did not spark joy (surprisingly few), organizing condiments and dairy in a pleasing fashion, and ensuring that the precious Cadbury’s Dairy Milk retained its happy snap.
Day 12
Daybreak finds us nearing the Doldrums, that melting pot of shifting winds, currents, and clouds officially entitled the Intertropical Convergence Zone. It’s the meeting point of the southeastern and northeastern trade winds near the equator, where hot sun and warm water combine to fill the sky with clouds and squalls. The two wind gangs are in a permanent throw-down, vying to control this global stretch of turf. Or water, rather. This gangland war can result in a stand-off and days of glassy swells, or a swirl of shifting gusts as opposing sides test the other’s defenses.
Day 11
As my big brother observed, it’s all small dramas: potato-coolant salad, the hell drawer, chafe patches.
Yesterday was no different.
In putting up the downwind runner, we discovered a case of crossed lines, and not the kind where David is calling out from the bow and Georgie is winching from the stern and Jeff is chipping in from the beam. In this case, the lines attached to either side of the runner somehow tangled and wound up on the wrong winches.
Day 10
Oh Lady of rare earth, Muse of Technology,
skipping through the ether on slender feet of silicone
and binding the world together with ribbons of information,
we bow our heads to and over you.
Send my song across the water to devices in friendly hands.
Let not errant fingers find their way to Delete buttons
nor an unsuspecting Exit wipe out hours of work.
Aid Leona’s passage by finding fairest winds and clearest course.
Lift our hearts with music and series streamed from far.
Brightest, quickest, youngest of the Sisters,
loose not your mischief on gentle Leona,
but show the world your brilliance and beneficence.
Day 9
Everything takes a little bit longer on Leona. Making coffee, getting dressed, walking up to the bow: everything is tuned to the pitch and roll. When opening a cupboard, one needs to take a second to check the timing, as rogue jars of salsa or tubes of toothpaste can pose an aerial threat. One learns to manage single-handed, as the other is holding on for dear life (either to a handle or a cup of tea/coffee/beverage of your choice).
Life on a slack-line.
Day 8
David concluded his night watch by making us all breakfast burritos: a wonderful way to start the day.
Note to self: next time we sail across the Pacific, double up on the flour tortillas. They pack easily, last a long time, and eliminate the need for a plate. David may have professed a deep dislike for wraps when on land; on the ocean he sings their praises.
Day 7
Even before my morning coffee, we were hard at work tightening lines, loosening sheets, and lifting poles in preparation for our first jibe*. With the genoa out on a pole, it is a little more complicated than your common or garden jibe. And if the jib sheet ends up on the wrong side of the genoa pole (I cannot confirm nor deny that happened), you have to do it twice.
Day 6
After almost three days of hard sailing, the wind settled considerably last night, dropping to 12-14 knots and shifting even further aft. Luckily I was on watch with Georgie as that happened, who confidently adjusted our heading by a few degrees to keep the main sail happy and Leona tootling along.
This morning Georgie, David and Jeff put the genoa on a pole out to starboard, so that we can catch all that lovely aft wind and ride the waves in a smoother flow. We now have all three sails out, and even with the lighter winds we are averaging 8 knots.
Day 5
When I joined David for sunrise at the end of his watch, he found a visitor on deck. Did you know Exocet missiles are named after these little Exocoetidae or flying fish?
Given that yesterday all we saw were tankers and container ships (including one that clearly thought Leona was so beautiful he altered course to avoid a collision), it is wonderful to remember there is a world below us.
.
Day 4
Leona continues to fly. We covered 200 miles from noon yesterday to noon today. As David said, “she was born for this: a sea dragon shouldn’t be cooped up in a marina, but spreading her wings and soaring across the waves.” Yes, he was waxing rhapsodic. Do you see why I called Leona his mistress?
Day 3
“The wind on the nose and lumpy seas,” said David. Glimpses of sunshine, steel-grey water, and a playful pod of little dolphins marked our departure at 5:45. E haere ana'e!
Day 2
San Diego followed Santa Barbara’s lead and welcomed us with positively English skies. Luckily the folks at the San Diego Yacht Club were much sunnier, letting us shower, swim in the pool, and eat at their restaurant. Thank goodness for Grandad Brooks’ insistence on “procuring” a Santa Barbara Yacht Club “burgee” or pennant for Leona: SDYC requires all visitors to fly their club colors.
Day 1
It’s here.
The moment of truth.
The day we’ve been planning for.
Under a blanket of marine layer we loaded the final bits and bags (personal items, the eggs carefully donated by Zaca Creek Ranch and Maddie’s chickens, a jar of salad dressing) and moved Leona to the public dock for a final farewell.
Prepping
Apparently Mercury has been in retrograde recently. That explains a lot; mostly why David has been running around with his hair on end as he tears back and forth from the marina, trying to get Leona ready for her Pacific outing. It explains why unique bolts that can only be sourced from a tiny factory in Germany throw themselves overboard. It explains why a beautiful new Danish sail tears the first time it is unfurled. It explains why the exotic new drive shaft couplings request a conscious un-coupling and the stern thrusters throw a tantrum.
Provisioning
Given that I can’t tell a sheet from a line, a jib from a jibe, I was assigned to Provisioning for this adventure. That means making sure that all four us have enough sustenance to keep us going for a minimum of three weeks of open water and a week of island hopping. Or as one cook described it: “How to survive 28 days at sea without killing your crew.”