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LOG ENTRY DATE: November 18, 2003 Departed Santa Cruz on Saturday, November 15, promptly at 0800. Nat Henshaw arrived at the boat at 1530 the day before, so our crew was complete. I wish we could have stayed on the island for longer, giving Ed and Nat a chance to see it better, but we are pushing a deadline to get them to Antigua by December 7th. Tom and Ed did the shopping for our last-minute staples and fresh food. Not to mention a whole new load of bottled water, which lives in a variety of places under the floorboards. Despite its necessity to augment the water supply for 3 weeks, there's something that I just don't like about filling the bilges with water just before heading offshore! We also laid in a few new items: 150 feet of 3/8" chain (to replace the length that was lost in the Guadiana River), and a 50 watt solar panel. The latter was added to provide us with some more battery-charging power while crossing the Atlantic, given that we can only carry 80 gallons of fuel (enough for about 150 hours of steaming and charging), and because our predominantly downwind course will mean less wind (or less apparent wind, as the true wind speed—which will come from behind us—is lessened on the boat itself, by the speed with which we are traveling downwind) for the wind generator. Unlike our crossing in June, where we pretty much followed the rhumb line (or direct) course to the Azores, the sailing plan for the Caribbean is a little different. Because the trade winds blow pretty consistently from the east (and stay that way all the way to the Caribbean), once you get below 22 degrees north latitude or so, it makes sense to sail out of the more variable wind conditions experienced in the Canaries at their position of 28 north, and to head south as quickly as possible. But, since no sailor likes to sail too much out of his way, and because sailing due south will put you on a collision course with the Cape Verde Islands, the tradition is to sail west-southwest to a point on the map (about 20N, 30W), and then turn to west towards the Caribbean from there. Max and Lynnie (waiting to leave La Gomera on Juanona) agreed on that waypoint, and we decided to try and meet on the way. I'd like to think that the omen of hooking a big dorado while only about 10 miles out of Santa Cruz was a good one. I'd also like to think that losing it just before it came on board was not a bad one. Regardless, as when we left Rota, it felt great to be moving, and back at sea again. In fact, this crossing is really the Big One. . . all the other sailing seems to have been in anticipation of this long, and very traditional route. And, although the end of the trip looms close for me, it's good to be heading homeward. . . less than four weeks from now I'll have the dubious good fortune of getting back to a Maine climate that's gearing up for winter. In the meantime, though, the pleasures of the ocean have come back to us. The first night out, Tom and I heard the blowing of porpoises nearby, and realized we could see them swimming underwater by the phosphorescence their bodies agitated. They were clearly visible as they streaked by, leaving luminous wakes on both sides of the boat. To add to that performance, one lifted itself at least ten feet out of the water, to splash down near us. . . it was a remarkable sight to see, backlit by the half moon. The first three days offshore have been used to get settled into things, to get to know each other (Tom and Nat and Ed are newly-mets), and to—as usual—fix things. The most critical problem has been a rip in the genoa, which occurred on the leech (the outside edge), and carried in about 1 foot. It's not too surprising, though, as the wind has been shifting a lot, and we've been running downwind with a variety of sail combinations: wing on wing, twin headsails, genoa alone, main alone, genoa with main poled out to leeward. phew! a lot of sail changes, a lot of new angles for the sails to experience, and thus plenty of potential for new stress areas and rips. However, Ed and I patched it with a long series of herringbone stitches, followed on top with several layers of sticky-back sail patch. So far, so good. . . if our old genoa does give up the ghost entirely, though, it will certainly cost us some time, as our back-up sail is a smaller #2 genoa—and we won't have the same option to fly twin headsails. We've also been hard at work on other projects (I think it's important to keep the crew busy, as it keeps them from brawling and carrying on), such as the installation of the solar panel, and learning how to balance the boat's sail plan so the Monitor wind vane can steer her without using any power. We continue to track Juanona—who is currently 25 miles ahead of us— through a single sideband "net", that includes a number of boats both on their way to the Caribbean, and those who will be leaving soon. In fact, we've exchanged recipies with them, and wished Max a happy birthday on the 17th. Equally impressive with the sideband: I've been able to raise my friend Tom Woodruff, who is on board Cimarron, just south of Bermuda and bound for Tortola. Amazing what the radio can do to link people up—especially over a distance of 2300 miles! Today's progress is pretty slow, given a light northeast wind directly behind us. I've calculated that at 5.5 knots, we'll get into Antigua 17 days from now; at 6.5 knots, we'll cut that time down to 15 days! So, a half-knot average makes a large difference over the course of the entire passage. With that in mind, I continue to flog the crew for their optimum performance, and to provide the discipline that is so obviously missing from their lives. . . it is my belief that they will thrive, eventually, under these conditions |
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