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LOG ENTRY DATE: December 4, 2003 In my mind, I can see Nathan Sanborn (our webmaster for this wonderful site) sticking those pins into the map on the website and thinking: "what are those guys doing out there? I'm gonna run out of cyberpins for them before they get to Antigua!" Of the last four days since my last log, three and one-half have been essentially windless. The forecasts have called for 10 knot winds, but even those seldom appear. When they do, we hoist the sail, move the boat speed up to 4.5 or so, and then watch as it gradually diminishes over the next few hours, forcing us to start the engine again, just to keep up some semblance of making speed (4.4 knots or so) and distance. Fortunately, today, Thursday, December 4, the wind has picked up from the more traditional (tradewind-wise) direction of northeast, at 10-15 knots. The math for the rest of the trip goes something like this: 550 miles left to go. Our current supply of fuel is 24 gallons, which (at a slow but effecient 1400 rpms and moving at 4.3 knots) will last us 55 hours, or about 250 miles. So, there is no doubt about the fact that we must sail the boat—without the engine—at least 300 miles. . . we simply don't have enough fuel to motor any further. Still, things could be worse: when we tuned into one of the single sideband weather nets a couple of nights ago, we heard two boats in our area that had run their fuel supplies down to emergency levels, and who were simply drifting and baking in the (very) hot Caribbean sun. One good thing that would normally come from all this lack of wind would be reduced stress and strain on the boat. Certainly this has been true regarding the rig, but we have had a challenge or two in the mechanical sides of things. One problem was the fact that we—literally—blew up our muffler early in the morning hours a couple of days ago. On Chase, we installed a huge valve at the end of the exhaust line—where it exits the boat—that enables us to close off that line, and thus prevent water from backing up into the engine during heavy following seas. Fortunately, it's become a habit to close that valve each time the engine is turned off. Unfortunately, it's possible to forget to open it back up again before starting the engine. . . which is exactly what happened, forcing enough back pressure into the system so that it blew up the muffler with a very distinct sound—sort of like popping a really large plastic bag full of air. Anyway, after the initial moments of despair—the muffler is a critical part of the exhaust system, as both hot gasses and cooling water move through it—everyone set to work to repair it. I un-installed it, Ed and Tom cleaned up the pieces so that they were like new, and then we all epoxied (thank God for the large cans of West System I decided to carry on board) the pieces back together. The result was a muffler that I suspect is stronger than the original—which worries me in terms of where the system will blow up the next time we forget about the valve! The other mechanical issue is our wind generator, which is down for the count. We ran into a massive squall (about 12 miles in diameter on the radar) one night, that surprised us with winds of over 34 knots. We were unable to stop the generator before it went up to self-destructive rpms, cracking a blade and making it too dangerous to use from here on in. This is disappointing, as we counted on it to produce a fair amount of energy, meaning we ad been able to run the engine less to make up for our electrical consumption—no small consideration given our current predicament. However, we still have the solar panel, which allows us (on sunny days) to keep even with our relatively low power consumption during the day, so that helps. There is another benefit to the weather conditions that merit mention: the sea state is so calm, that we have observed far, far more wildlife than on any of my other trips in the Atlantic. The fish are particularly amazing: since there are no waves to hide their actions, we see flying fish by the hundreds, often followed by splashing predatory fish (mostly skipjacks) as they lift out of the water. These clashes go on all day, very close to the boat, and are fascinating to watch. We are also convinced that the shiny stainless steel rudder on our Monitor self-steering rig attracts fish, having been visited by a number of them, including tuna, dorado, and even two large marlins—their bills visible as they kept pace alongside Chase for a few minutes. And, while swimming today, we were joined by several good-sized (4 feet long or so) yellow-fin tuna, who hung around just below us and allowed us to see, up close, the incredible design and power of their swimming-machine bodies. Tom and Nat even had a visitor from the air during their watches on Monday night: a tired white heron, at least 700 miles from the nearest land, stopped on the boat for a rest. He moved around on a variety of perches— the mainsail, the Lifesling, the wind generator—and then took flight again that morning. Since there are no sails to really tend to—other than our futile periodic raising and lowering of various sail combinations—we tend to look for other things to do, such as talking, reading, and (my favorite) eating. We have a pretty good stock of food on board which, when combined with the cooking talent we have, can produce some pretty good meals. Of course, the fish we've caught have been very tasty, served blackened, poached with sherry, and even as fishcakes the other night. Yesterday, we made our own pizza dough, and covered two pizzas with pesto, cheese, lots of artichokes, olives, and meats—yum! We've kept eggs well, so we are also able to make cornbread and brownies. Starving we are not—in fact there is a general worry about being somewhat portly when we hit dry land after three weeks of being caged up and fed like veal calves! We are also kept amused by our radio schedule, which includes a daily attempt to contact Tom Woodruff at home in Falmouth (usually unsuccessful, unfortunately, as it was great fun to talk with him while he was enroute to Tortola a week ago), a noon contact with Max Fletcher on Juanona, and our twice daily check-ins with "the net" that we're part of. For those of that don't understand radio parlance, a net is a group of short-wave radio "stations" (i.e. boats, in this case) who join together to talk for specific reasons at a specific time. Our net (which we joined through Juanona) is a group of 8 transatlantic boats, spread out between the coast of Africa and the Caribbean Basin, giving each other their positions, weather conditions, and other general news on board. So, we get to hear what's happening on other boats (maddening, in some cases, as they all seem to have wind when we don't), and they are forced to listen to our tales. The best one so far was the whole muffler problem, which generated all sorts of advice from this group of self-sufficient sailors. So much so that, in the end, I felt obligated to tell the group that we had used almost all of their suggestions—ranging from special clamping methods to liberal "gunking" with 3M's 5200 caulking—when in fact our simple gluing sufficed. . . had we actually used them all, the muffler would have been too big to fit in the engine compartment, and would have looked like some sort of alien intruder! We had one final diversion yesterday: we saw and contacted a sailboat that was passing us quickly to starboard. Turned out to be one of Chase's brethren—a new Swan 80 called White Swan. The informed us that they had left France on November 15th (the same day we left the Canaries!), that they had made a stop in Gran Canaria on the way, and that they were due in Antigua on Friday, December 5. So, France to Antigua—a distance probably 1200 miles greater than ours, combined with a stop in the Canaries, and a finish 3 days ahead of us. . .. sigh! I can hear the pregnant pause in my conversation with Katie now: "what if I can find a really cheap 65 footer that will be faster and more comfortable. . ..?" |
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