As we wait for the Alenuihaha channel to calm down a bit, we've been exploring Kona. Remember the rivalry I mentioned before between Hilo and Kona over which side has "more aloha"? Well, the Kona side wins, hands down!
We've met so many great people in the harbor, in town, in the surrounding beaches...that it boggles the mind. A few days we've headed into town, only to return to the boat later to find gifts left on the boat by friendly locals. Avocados, limes, a giant 20 pound stalk of bananas, and a pack of cigarettes (even though neither of us smoke) have accumulated over the past week. The generosity never ceases to amaze.
Jon's parents flew in and spent a few days with us. We met up with some friends, both new and old, and were welcomed into a local home for the most amazing ono and pork with rice. It's an awesome feeling to be wholeheartedly welcomed into a home by people who've only known you for a few days!
The water is warm and clear, and provides wonderful snorkeling. Check out the new pics and videos on the site. In the meantime, we're waiting until Friday and Saturday to move on north, and finally cross the dreaded channel that I've been fearing.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Leeward Big Island
Nothing is as bad as when you are living in "that moment." For me, rounding South Point was an ordeal. More than 25 knots of wind behind us, 13 foot swell, and several squalls greeted us that night. There is definitely a reason why there are huge wind mills in the area. This reminded me of everything I disliked about the passage...
But then, all at once, we round the end of the island and start to head northward. The wind dies abruptly, the sun comes out, and the ocean begins to resemble a placid lake. The residual exhaustion is still there, but at least the worst is over!
So then we were anchored in Honomalino Bay near the sleepy fishing village of Miloli'i. This was still a bit of an uncomfortable position, as there was a bit of a swell coming into the area. We put out our "flopper stoppers," which look like a series of orange parking cones placed vertically on a line, with a heavy weight at the bottom. These are strung overboard on each side of the boat, and helps resist the back-and-forth swaying when we're broadsided. We still had a rocky night, but at least we were out of the hell that was South Point!
By this time we had already called Honokohau harbor twice to see if there were any slips open. Both times, the answer was yes. So, we decided to hit Kealakekua Bay in the morning, on our way up to the tranquil harbor. In Kealakekua, you'll find the Captain Cook monument in the area where he was killed. The base of this monument is a coral reef, with some of the best snorkeling you can find in the entire island chain. I was excited to finally experience the warm water with a pair of fins and my mask!
After anchoring in the area, we were greeted by a pair of sea turtles. They must of admired how well Jon set the hook. We then hopped in the dinghy and motored over to the monument. If you ever visit the big island, you NEED to come here. Check out the latest photos to see how crystal clear the water is, and the plethora of sea life teeming in the reef. My favorite was a neon-blue accented trevally, and a parrot fish with the most brilliant greens, blues and purples I have ever seen on an animal.
We decided it was time to move on, to get one of those slips in Honokohau. We finally motored up to the harbor, and started to fuel up at the dock. But, when calling the harbor master, we were told there were no more slips available. A little annoyed and sleep deprived, we'd have to backtrack to Kailua Bay, which is infamous for being rolly, rocky, and noisy as it's in downtown Kona.
Reluctantly, we headed back and set the anchor. We attempted the flopper stoppers, but they did little to help. An uncomfortable night was laid out for us.
In the morning, we made a big breakfast to try and compensate for lack of sleep. A phone call to Honokohau miraculously revealed that a slip or two was now open. I felt relieved and a bit angry, because I knew that they were probably available last night, but the dudes in the office probably didn't feel like dealing with us...but we were on our way.
The harbor master said to call him when we arrived. We did. Nobody picked up. We tried again. No luck. Ugh. I enjoy the laid-back Hawaiian style as much as the next person, but this was just ridiculous. Finally, we had contact, and were directed to an open slip.
This harbor has the most crystal clear water. We've seen four sea turtles, tons of tropical fish, two bat rays and have heard about the infamous 15 foot tiger shark that hangs out to munch on fisherman's scraps...and two unfortunate surfers during the last week. That somehow deters me from wanting to snorkel the pretty little beach at the harbor entrance.
We're going to hang out for at least a week, until the Alenuihaha channel calms down so we can cross over to Molokini, Maui, Lanai and Molokai. Everybody here is so damn friendly with rides, hitchhiking, and bar tabs, that we may not ever leave.
But then, all at once, we round the end of the island and start to head northward. The wind dies abruptly, the sun comes out, and the ocean begins to resemble a placid lake. The residual exhaustion is still there, but at least the worst is over!
So then we were anchored in Honomalino Bay near the sleepy fishing village of Miloli'i. This was still a bit of an uncomfortable position, as there was a bit of a swell coming into the area. We put out our "flopper stoppers," which look like a series of orange parking cones placed vertically on a line, with a heavy weight at the bottom. These are strung overboard on each side of the boat, and helps resist the back-and-forth swaying when we're broadsided. We still had a rocky night, but at least we were out of the hell that was South Point!
By this time we had already called Honokohau harbor twice to see if there were any slips open. Both times, the answer was yes. So, we decided to hit Kealakekua Bay in the morning, on our way up to the tranquil harbor. In Kealakekua, you'll find the Captain Cook monument in the area where he was killed. The base of this monument is a coral reef, with some of the best snorkeling you can find in the entire island chain. I was excited to finally experience the warm water with a pair of fins and my mask!
After anchoring in the area, we were greeted by a pair of sea turtles. They must of admired how well Jon set the hook. We then hopped in the dinghy and motored over to the monument. If you ever visit the big island, you NEED to come here. Check out the latest photos to see how crystal clear the water is, and the plethora of sea life teeming in the reef. My favorite was a neon-blue accented trevally, and a parrot fish with the most brilliant greens, blues and purples I have ever seen on an animal.
We decided it was time to move on, to get one of those slips in Honokohau. We finally motored up to the harbor, and started to fuel up at the dock. But, when calling the harbor master, we were told there were no more slips available. A little annoyed and sleep deprived, we'd have to backtrack to Kailua Bay, which is infamous for being rolly, rocky, and noisy as it's in downtown Kona.
Reluctantly, we headed back and set the anchor. We attempted the flopper stoppers, but they did little to help. An uncomfortable night was laid out for us.
In the morning, we made a big breakfast to try and compensate for lack of sleep. A phone call to Honokohau miraculously revealed that a slip or two was now open. I felt relieved and a bit angry, because I knew that they were probably available last night, but the dudes in the office probably didn't feel like dealing with us...but we were on our way.
The harbor master said to call him when we arrived. We did. Nobody picked up. We tried again. No luck. Ugh. I enjoy the laid-back Hawaiian style as much as the next person, but this was just ridiculous. Finally, we had contact, and were directed to an open slip.
This harbor has the most crystal clear water. We've seen four sea turtles, tons of tropical fish, two bat rays and have heard about the infamous 15 foot tiger shark that hangs out to munch on fisherman's scraps...and two unfortunate surfers during the last week. That somehow deters me from wanting to snorkel the pretty little beach at the harbor entrance.
We're going to hang out for at least a week, until the Alenuihaha channel calms down so we can cross over to Molokini, Maui, Lanai and Molokai. Everybody here is so damn friendly with rides, hitchhiking, and bar tabs, that we may not ever leave.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Off to Kona
Time to move on, we're off to the Kona side. We need to go down around South Point and up to our first anchorage, Honomalino Bay. We visited it by car yesterday, and it's a gorgeous black and white sand beach lined with coconut palms and a pod of Spinner dolphins hanging out in the center of the bay.
It's about 125 miles away, so we'll hopefully arrive in about 24 hours. The winds down at South Point were pretty vicious when we visited by car yesterday to see the Green Sand Beach. Hopefully, since the wind will be predominantly behind us, this will be a drama-free passage. Then again, this is Shenanigans, so you never know!
We had a lot of fun swapping stories at the cruiser's pot luck last Sunday night. Everyone is so friendly and willing to help their fellow yachtsman. We hope to see many of the boats anchored here in Radio Bay elsewhere in Hawaii. We are one of the last ones to get here, and now since we've pretty much seen all of Hilo, we're the first of the group to leave! Maybe we don't get this whole "relax, you're in Hawaii" business, but I'd rather like to think we have a limited time here, and want to see as much as possible in the 5 weeks we still have left.
We stocked up on food and have cleaned up the boat and ourselves, since we may not have facilities for a long time. If we can eventually get a spot in Honokohau, that would be best. But, from what we hear from the other cruisers, that may be a bit of a gamble...and that's why many of them are not leaving here yet. They feel that this is probably the most comfortable spot for us transient boats here in all of Hawaii, as far as amenities go.
Well, see you on the other side!
It's about 125 miles away, so we'll hopefully arrive in about 24 hours. The winds down at South Point were pretty vicious when we visited by car yesterday to see the Green Sand Beach. Hopefully, since the wind will be predominantly behind us, this will be a drama-free passage. Then again, this is Shenanigans, so you never know!
We had a lot of fun swapping stories at the cruiser's pot luck last Sunday night. Everyone is so friendly and willing to help their fellow yachtsman. We hope to see many of the boats anchored here in Radio Bay elsewhere in Hawaii. We are one of the last ones to get here, and now since we've pretty much seen all of Hilo, we're the first of the group to leave! Maybe we don't get this whole "relax, you're in Hawaii" business, but I'd rather like to think we have a limited time here, and want to see as much as possible in the 5 weeks we still have left.
We stocked up on food and have cleaned up the boat and ourselves, since we may not have facilities for a long time. If we can eventually get a spot in Honokohau, that would be best. But, from what we hear from the other cruisers, that may be a bit of a gamble...and that's why many of them are not leaving here yet. They feel that this is probably the most comfortable spot for us transient boats here in all of Hawaii, as far as amenities go.
Well, see you on the other side!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Volcanoes, Nude Hippies, and Black Sand
This place never ceases to amaze. Once you think you've seen the general stereotype, something different comes around the corner!
We were really looking forward to a "secret" hike that wasn't well known, even to locals, to Pu'u O'o, the vent that is the source of lava for Kilauea. To get there, you have to hike through miles of muddy wild rain forest. When we got to the trail head, however, there was a big sign that said "Trail Closed due to Extreme Volcanic Activity: Sulfur Dioxide Warning!" So apparently the island had different plans. We headed to Volcanoes National Park instead to check out their trails around Kilauea crater.
The dead, stark landscape is so alien when compared to surrounding lush rain forest. There is no flowing observable lava at the moment, but you can still appreciate the mass destruction that must occur when the real magma is present. The resulting black sand beaches that arise after the lava meets the ocean are an absolute dream.
On our one of our quests for the next hike, we saw a couple free-spirited hipsters on the side of the road with their thumbs out. We figured they looked pretty harmless, and picking up some hitchhikers may be kinda fun. They were on their way to Kehena Beach to chill out, so we decided to join them. On the way, we learned that this couple pretty much just lived wherever, worked whenever, and were part of a huge hippy following that tends to reside in the Puna (southeastern area) of the big island. Apparently, it's not difficult to get by in paradise.
We got to Kehena beach, and were greeted with pitch black sand in sharp contrast with foaming white and turquoise of the sea. Tons of people frolicked in the surf, all with huge smiles on their faces, and naked as the day they were born. Our new hippy buddy just turned to us and said "Hey man, welcome to Hawaii." Sweet.
Kapoho tide pools were similar, in that massive black slabs of lava meet the pounding surf. However, between these slabs, huge tide pools form, and are big enough to snorkel and dive in. Very beautiful.
We decided to finally med-moor to the wall, which was an experience in itself! Not too crazy, but backing the boat up to a concrete wall between two million dollar yachts can be a bit nerve-wracking. Our neighbor Brian, a Hilo native, was way cool in helping us out, and is a really friendly guy. Our other neighbors, from Portland, may not be as cool or friendly, and were worried about us knocking their boat....but at least they invited us to the cruiser's pot-luck tomorrow night.
Hilo has been good to us, but we are running out of things to do! We may leave earlier for Kona than we thought. Instead of rounding South Point on Wednesday, we may take off on Monday. Still not sure, but a possibility!
Check out the picture section for new updates.
We were really looking forward to a "secret" hike that wasn't well known, even to locals, to Pu'u O'o, the vent that is the source of lava for Kilauea. To get there, you have to hike through miles of muddy wild rain forest. When we got to the trail head, however, there was a big sign that said "Trail Closed due to Extreme Volcanic Activity: Sulfur Dioxide Warning!" So apparently the island had different plans. We headed to Volcanoes National Park instead to check out their trails around Kilauea crater.
The dead, stark landscape is so alien when compared to surrounding lush rain forest. There is no flowing observable lava at the moment, but you can still appreciate the mass destruction that must occur when the real magma is present. The resulting black sand beaches that arise after the lava meets the ocean are an absolute dream.
On our one of our quests for the next hike, we saw a couple free-spirited hipsters on the side of the road with their thumbs out. We figured they looked pretty harmless, and picking up some hitchhikers may be kinda fun. They were on their way to Kehena Beach to chill out, so we decided to join them. On the way, we learned that this couple pretty much just lived wherever, worked whenever, and were part of a huge hippy following that tends to reside in the Puna (southeastern area) of the big island. Apparently, it's not difficult to get by in paradise.
We got to Kehena beach, and were greeted with pitch black sand in sharp contrast with foaming white and turquoise of the sea. Tons of people frolicked in the surf, all with huge smiles on their faces, and naked as the day they were born. Our new hippy buddy just turned to us and said "Hey man, welcome to Hawaii." Sweet.
Kapoho tide pools were similar, in that massive black slabs of lava meet the pounding surf. However, between these slabs, huge tide pools form, and are big enough to snorkel and dive in. Very beautiful.
We decided to finally med-moor to the wall, which was an experience in itself! Not too crazy, but backing the boat up to a concrete wall between two million dollar yachts can be a bit nerve-wracking. Our neighbor Brian, a Hilo native, was way cool in helping us out, and is a really friendly guy. Our other neighbors, from Portland, may not be as cool or friendly, and were worried about us knocking their boat....but at least they invited us to the cruiser's pot-luck tomorrow night.
Hilo has been good to us, but we are running out of things to do! We may leave earlier for Kona than we thought. Instead of rounding South Point on Wednesday, we may take off on Monday. Still not sure, but a possibility!
Check out the picture section for new updates.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Hilo
What a quaint little town! Everybody has been so friendly. The local security guards who have to escort us out of the Radio Bay area have been a huge help in arranging where we should eat, what rental car company to go with, etc. They are so laid back here; we had to pretty much beg the Agricultural inspector to come down and check us out. We cruised the dinghy around the entire Hilo bay, and admired all the jagged black lava rock juxtaposed with the graceful thin coconut trees sprouting between them. Quite a beautiful place.
Jon's brother Chris is here, he flew into Hilo yesterday. After we get some pesky little errands done like laundry and maybe a few boat repairs, we're going to start on all those splendid hikes we've been excited to check out.
Lots of the other cruisers med-moored to the back wall have so many years of experience, it makes us look like newbies. They've been to Mexico, sailed the South Pacific, New Zealand...many of them are still on one huge continuous trip. All have been super friendly and genuinely want to help out. What camaraderie exists amongst those who live a life on the water!
The "rivalry" (if you could even call it that, Hawaiians are the definition of mellow) between Kona and Hilo is pretty funny. It seems whomever is from one side of the island claims that the other side is really "lacking aloha." We will find out on the 25th, when we plan to cruise over to Kona by rounding South Point.
More pictures are in our album area below, if you'd like to see some shots from the passage and a couple here from Radio Bay.
Jon's brother Chris is here, he flew into Hilo yesterday. After we get some pesky little errands done like laundry and maybe a few boat repairs, we're going to start on all those splendid hikes we've been excited to check out.
Lots of the other cruisers med-moored to the back wall have so many years of experience, it makes us look like newbies. They've been to Mexico, sailed the South Pacific, New Zealand...many of them are still on one huge continuous trip. All have been super friendly and genuinely want to help out. What camaraderie exists amongst those who live a life on the water!
The "rivalry" (if you could even call it that, Hawaiians are the definition of mellow) between Kona and Hilo is pretty funny. It seems whomever is from one side of the island claims that the other side is really "lacking aloha." We will find out on the 25th, when we plan to cruise over to Kona by rounding South Point.
More pictures are in our album area below, if you'd like to see some shots from the passage and a couple here from Radio Bay.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Island in the clouds
Imagine sailing to a remote location. As you near your destination, you would expect to eventually see it on the horizon, correct? Well, the big island was playing hide and seek with us all day, until we finally caught up with it!
The entire surface of the island was obscured by thick cloud cover, even though the rest of the environment on the ocean was looking pretty clear and sunny. I started to doubt myself; maybe I entered the coordinates incorrectly into the GPS, and this whole time we've been sailing into nothingness! But no, we were on track. As the sun started to set, we had a welcoming committee. A monster whale surfaced near us, and just the exposed part of its back was the size of our boat. I thought we had seen some pretty sizeable leviathans back home near Santa Cruz island, but this one definitely takes the cake as the single biggest living thing I have ever seen.
As night fell and the miles left whittled down, we noticed the twinkling lights of the coastal cities off on the horizon. The lights reflected up on the thick cloud cover above, conveniently acting like big "Steer Here!" signs. Once we got close to Hilo Bay, we participated in a bit of a bad habit amongst cruisers--we sailed into an unknown harbor at night. Usually, it's best to just wait it out until morning, so that you may more clearly navigate all the quirks that you've yet to experience. But we were both excited to be here, stubbornly over-confident, and (once again) ignoring our intense sleep-deprivation.
The actual bay of Hilo has a massive underwater reef that protects it from the incoming swell. This, of course, needs to be clearly marked with bright lights, or else there will be a giant pile of wrecked boats. Unfortunately, though, the background for us was the city of Hilo, all lit up like Vegas! (Ok, maybe not that obnoxious, but sleep-deprivation, remember?). So, judging where to turn and to what degree was a bit tricky, but we managed through the major parts of the harbor until we squeaked back into Radio Bay.
What a cute little spot for transient boats! As the sun rises, we can see the wall in the back for "med-mooring," which is sort of like backing your car into a parking spot, and then climbing up a ladder onto the dock. Or, there is a larger middle area where you can just drop your bow anchor normally. That's what we decided to do, and were rewarded with the tranquilly flat water of a swimming pool, some personal palm trees off to the side of us, and a little chorus of those Hawaiian frogs that make a high pitched chirping sound. Now we will blow up our inflatable dinghy to get to the dock.
So, naturally, we are too excited to sleep! We'd rather go take a shower, clear up with the agriculture department and harbor master, and go get some grub. Oh yeah, and reteach ourselves how to walk--as we stand on a totally stable boat without movement, we still shimmy and lean and sway as if we're doing some kind of stupid dance. We look like two drunk toddlers, haha!
Later on we can put up some pictures of the passage, and maybe some final thoughts about what we learned from our trip over and how we can improve on our journey back. That trip back isn't until July, though, so until then we are off to explore this tropical paradise. I'm already in love with Hilo, and I haven't even left the boat yet.
Final Transit Time from Channel Islands Harbor, CA to Hilo, HI: 18 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes
Total Miles Traveled: 2346 (a few extra than necessary, but sailing isn't always in a direct line!)
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Friendly Brit
We are so close, we can smell the pineapple in the air! Not really, the wind is blowing us toward the island, but you get the idea. We are getting very impatient and looking forward to being safely anchored in Radio Bay to regroup and fix minor issues with the boat. Most of all, can't wait to GET A FULL NIGHT OF SLEEP! We have about 200 miles left, so we are hoping to arrive Wednesday morning, if all goes well.
The other night I was sailing along at the helm and the AIS system went off again. Jon woke up and looked at it with me. We saw a tiny blip only moving 5.3 knots or so toward our stern. There was no real danger upon us, so we kind of ignored it and continued on with our night.
A few minutes later, an English chap hailed us on the radio. It ends up the other vessel, S/V Nomad, had just one guy aboard coming from Panama on his way to Honolulu. He was 36 days out on his trip, and we were the first people he had talked to that entire time! After Honolulu, he said he planned to sail on to Alaska to visit some friends.
This man shared with us that he had already circumnavigated the globe solo once before, and said he "just doesn't want to go back to Europe right now." He has been cruising like this for 11 years, all by himself on his 34 foot boat. He was eager to talk and did so for almost the entire 3:00-4:00 am shift! I can't say that I blame him though, everybody needs somebody to chat with now and then, and we were probably the first chance he had to ramble.
He asked why were we going back to California so soon, and we replied that we still had to work/go to school for a living. He chuckled and said he had forgotten the meaning of the word "work." What a life!
We have been running the kite during the day, and dutifully taking it down at night (See? We really did learn our lesson from last time!) We have a slight tear in the spinnaker that needs to be fixed, and the after-guy (one of the connection points between spinnaker and boat) has almost totally chafed through. Quite the steep learning curve when it comes to figuring out the exact wear and tear on using gear long term.
We picked our spirits up by starting to plan all of the hiking trails we will visit on the big island. Of course we will check out some waterfalls, rain forests, and hopefully flowing lava. One of the hikes will be through a lava tube that is so pristine, only a park ranger can escort you there. They want to keep its exact location hush-hush, I guess.
And, of course, I am excited to pick out the restaurants that we may stop by.
We miss everybody and we miss land.
The other night I was sailing along at the helm and the AIS system went off again. Jon woke up and looked at it with me. We saw a tiny blip only moving 5.3 knots or so toward our stern. There was no real danger upon us, so we kind of ignored it and continued on with our night.
A few minutes later, an English chap hailed us on the radio. It ends up the other vessel, S/V Nomad, had just one guy aboard coming from Panama on his way to Honolulu. He was 36 days out on his trip, and we were the first people he had talked to that entire time! After Honolulu, he said he planned to sail on to Alaska to visit some friends.
This man shared with us that he had already circumnavigated the globe solo once before, and said he "just doesn't want to go back to Europe right now." He has been cruising like this for 11 years, all by himself on his 34 foot boat. He was eager to talk and did so for almost the entire 3:00-4:00 am shift! I can't say that I blame him though, everybody needs somebody to chat with now and then, and we were probably the first chance he had to ramble.
He asked why were we going back to California so soon, and we replied that we still had to work/go to school for a living. He chuckled and said he had forgotten the meaning of the word "work." What a life!
We have been running the kite during the day, and dutifully taking it down at night (See? We really did learn our lesson from last time!) We have a slight tear in the spinnaker that needs to be fixed, and the after-guy (one of the connection points between spinnaker and boat) has almost totally chafed through. Quite the steep learning curve when it comes to figuring out the exact wear and tear on using gear long term.
We picked our spirits up by starting to plan all of the hiking trails we will visit on the big island. Of course we will check out some waterfalls, rain forests, and hopefully flowing lava. One of the hikes will be through a lava tube that is so pristine, only a park ranger can escort you there. They want to keep its exact location hush-hush, I guess.
And, of course, I am excited to pick out the restaurants that we may stop by.
We miss everybody and we miss land.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Don't let the weather get you down!
The last few nights have been rough. One day recently we set our record distance of 154 miles in a 24 hour period, but that was an arduous task. The rain, swells, and sometimes weird gusty winds pick up at night and make us look forward to the sunrise more and more with each passing hour.
While you are living these moments, they are pretty much the worst ever experienced in your life. But in the morning, after eating some breakfast and looking back at what happened, the truth is it isn't all that bad. Like last night we made the mistake of keeping the spinnaker up far longer than what was comfortable for the conditions: the wind had really, really picked up. I mentioned before that you can reef a sail to decrease its surface area, keeping the boat moving but still manageable in stronger winds. Well, that's true of the headsail and the main, but not the spinnaker! The kite is attached at three points, and is constantly exposed to the wind coming behind you, dragging you forward--so you can see that if this goes crazy, the spinnaker will either cause you to careen around like a maniac, flip your boat on its side, or totally tear itself into pieces. There is no way to reef this kind of sail, it just has to come down IMMEDIATELY.
So, when I was napping before my shift on the helm, and Jon told me what had to be done, I noticed the strain in his voice. This was not going to be fun. I started steering so that he could go up and gather the kite as soon as two of those three connection points had been doused. The plan was to shove the sail as quickly as possible down the hatch that leads to our V-berth (room with a V-shaped bed at the bow) without losing the sail into the ocean, flinging Jonny overboard with it into the ocean, or letting the lines whip around like crazy and maybe tangling in other gear. Good times, right?
The steering was so overpowered it was squirrely. Every touch to the helm sent us flying in that direction. At one point, Jon was standing on the side rail and his toes were in the water! He doused his connection point, I doused mine, and luckily the kite flew off slightly to the right of the bow. It reminded me of seeing an untied, full balloon being let go and zooming around until it empties of air and drops. Oh, except this "balloon" is three stories tall and attached to the boat. Jon shoved the mess down the hatch, along with five gallons of saltwater, on top of our bed.
We learned our lesson. We are going to invest in a spinnaker sock as soon as we get to Hawaii. This is exactly what it sounds like, a sort of sock tucked at the top of the spinnaker. When you pull a line, it drops, and swallows the kite on the way down. No fuss, no people on deck, no stress! Also, as soon as we start to see signs of too much wind, the kite is coming down that instant!
Then the nonstop rain...it gets old. So do the wacky washing machine swells that we are getting hit with from every direction. I realize we are only a few days out (only 400 miles to go!) but it's pretty hard sometimes to stay positive. But the more I think about sailing Hawaii on our own boat for the next 5 weeks allows me to keep my head up. Also, when I dream about the first big breakfast I order at Ken's House of Pancakes with two extra sides of bacon, that always brings a smile to my face!
While you are living these moments, they are pretty much the worst ever experienced in your life. But in the morning, after eating some breakfast and looking back at what happened, the truth is it isn't all that bad. Like last night we made the mistake of keeping the spinnaker up far longer than what was comfortable for the conditions: the wind had really, really picked up. I mentioned before that you can reef a sail to decrease its surface area, keeping the boat moving but still manageable in stronger winds. Well, that's true of the headsail and the main, but not the spinnaker! The kite is attached at three points, and is constantly exposed to the wind coming behind you, dragging you forward--so you can see that if this goes crazy, the spinnaker will either cause you to careen around like a maniac, flip your boat on its side, or totally tear itself into pieces. There is no way to reef this kind of sail, it just has to come down IMMEDIATELY.
So, when I was napping before my shift on the helm, and Jon told me what had to be done, I noticed the strain in his voice. This was not going to be fun. I started steering so that he could go up and gather the kite as soon as two of those three connection points had been doused. The plan was to shove the sail as quickly as possible down the hatch that leads to our V-berth (room with a V-shaped bed at the bow) without losing the sail into the ocean, flinging Jonny overboard with it into the ocean, or letting the lines whip around like crazy and maybe tangling in other gear. Good times, right?
The steering was so overpowered it was squirrely. Every touch to the helm sent us flying in that direction. At one point, Jon was standing on the side rail and his toes were in the water! He doused his connection point, I doused mine, and luckily the kite flew off slightly to the right of the bow. It reminded me of seeing an untied, full balloon being let go and zooming around until it empties of air and drops. Oh, except this "balloon" is three stories tall and attached to the boat. Jon shoved the mess down the hatch, along with five gallons of saltwater, on top of our bed.
We learned our lesson. We are going to invest in a spinnaker sock as soon as we get to Hawaii. This is exactly what it sounds like, a sort of sock tucked at the top of the spinnaker. When you pull a line, it drops, and swallows the kite on the way down. No fuss, no people on deck, no stress! Also, as soon as we start to see signs of too much wind, the kite is coming down that instant!
Then the nonstop rain...it gets old. So do the wacky washing machine swells that we are getting hit with from every direction. I realize we are only a few days out (only 400 miles to go!) but it's pretty hard sometimes to stay positive. But the more I think about sailing Hawaii on our own boat for the next 5 weeks allows me to keep my head up. Also, when I dream about the first big breakfast I order at Ken's House of Pancakes with two extra sides of bacon, that always brings a smile to my face!
Friday, May 13, 2011
Hobo tents and night sailing
Brizo II has died. So, we will be hand steering around the clock non-stop for the next 700 miles until landfall. Thankfully, Jon's dad has already got the ball rolling on finding replacement parts, and we'll be able to reconstruct our autopilot once in harbor (thanks again, Paul!).
So yesterday when Jon was done with his shift on the helm from like 4 to 6:30 in the morning, he went down below for a well deserved nap. I took over and watched the sunrise with a hot mug of coffee. The sun always turns the morning cumulus clouds rosy pink with goldish accents, it's gorgeous. Anyway, a bird that looked like a white tern with a very long and slender tail flapped alongside the boat, going the same speed as us. He kept looking down and squawking at me. Then he would circle around and do it again. Did he want me to stop the boat so he could land more easily and take a break...?
I realized he was waiting for me to serve him breakfast. We kept scaring up flying fish that morning, and my new buddy was there to take advantage. He would swoop down to scoop up whatever fleeing little fishy made the mistake of breaking the surface of the water. I wonder if only that individual bird has learned that trick, or the whole species knows instinctively to look for something that would result in an opportunistic meal?
The rest of the day involved a lot motoring and looking for wind. Finally, we were rewarded with some beautiful downwind sailing in the late afternoon. We hoisted the spinnaker and cruised, but expected to have to bring it down after sunset, as that is when the wind normally dies. But not this night! The waxing moon came out, bright as a beacon, and so did the millions of stars. Scattered cumulus clouds were well illuminated, and the winds just kept on pushing behind us, along with the swell. The air was warm and no jackets were really necessary.
I haven't talked much about how I normally hate the nights, since they are quite monotonous and difficult to stay awake and focused (especially when the other person is sleeping and you have nobody to talk to). This night, however, made me forget the general feeling of annoyance with our usual night process. If every night included the feeling of the entire ocean willing us toward the tropics, with a full spinnaker and bright moon to steer by, then this might very well turn out to be our favorite part of the trip over!
We have come to the conclusion that as we approach latitude 19 N, the sun is trying to melt our flesh off. We have been applying sunscreen non-stop and have yet to get burned, but that doesn't stop the heat. Shenanigans has some custom Sunbrella material to cover the cockpit for times like these. However, we haven't really figured out how to put it all together. So, when we lash all the cloth over the cockpit, we kind of look like we have a shanty-town hobo tent propped up. Funny looking, but functional! One day we'll solve the puzzle...
It feels great to have 1400 miles behind us and only about 700 left to go. I'm definitely craving some fatty junk food. I think an extra large pizza topped with an In-n-Out burger with a hot pastrami and swiss on rye sounds about right!
So yesterday when Jon was done with his shift on the helm from like 4 to 6:30 in the morning, he went down below for a well deserved nap. I took over and watched the sunrise with a hot mug of coffee. The sun always turns the morning cumulus clouds rosy pink with goldish accents, it's gorgeous. Anyway, a bird that looked like a white tern with a very long and slender tail flapped alongside the boat, going the same speed as us. He kept looking down and squawking at me. Then he would circle around and do it again. Did he want me to stop the boat so he could land more easily and take a break...?
I realized he was waiting for me to serve him breakfast. We kept scaring up flying fish that morning, and my new buddy was there to take advantage. He would swoop down to scoop up whatever fleeing little fishy made the mistake of breaking the surface of the water. I wonder if only that individual bird has learned that trick, or the whole species knows instinctively to look for something that would result in an opportunistic meal?
The rest of the day involved a lot motoring and looking for wind. Finally, we were rewarded with some beautiful downwind sailing in the late afternoon. We hoisted the spinnaker and cruised, but expected to have to bring it down after sunset, as that is when the wind normally dies. But not this night! The waxing moon came out, bright as a beacon, and so did the millions of stars. Scattered cumulus clouds were well illuminated, and the winds just kept on pushing behind us, along with the swell. The air was warm and no jackets were really necessary.
I haven't talked much about how I normally hate the nights, since they are quite monotonous and difficult to stay awake and focused (especially when the other person is sleeping and you have nobody to talk to). This night, however, made me forget the general feeling of annoyance with our usual night process. If every night included the feeling of the entire ocean willing us toward the tropics, with a full spinnaker and bright moon to steer by, then this might very well turn out to be our favorite part of the trip over!
We have come to the conclusion that as we approach latitude 19 N, the sun is trying to melt our flesh off. We have been applying sunscreen non-stop and have yet to get burned, but that doesn't stop the heat. Shenanigans has some custom Sunbrella material to cover the cockpit for times like these. However, we haven't really figured out how to put it all together. So, when we lash all the cloth over the cockpit, we kind of look like we have a shanty-town hobo tent propped up. Funny looking, but functional! One day we'll solve the puzzle...
It feels great to have 1400 miles behind us and only about 700 left to go. I'm definitely craving some fatty junk food. I think an extra large pizza topped with an In-n-Out burger with a hot pastrami and swiss on rye sounds about right!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Day 11
We've heard through the grapevine that a few people have been leaving comments and questions for us on this blog. Thanks for all your support and interest in our adventure! Unfortunately though, we can't surf the internet from the boat, only upload blogs via email. Therefore, we can't get back to you guys until we're in Hilo and have found a stable internet connection. Thanks again, and don't feel like we're ignoring you.
It's a bit disturbing how much trash we see floating randomly. Every 20 minutes or so we see something plastic or styrofoam bob by. It's crazy that 900 miles out from the closest land, you can still see the effect that man can have on this planet. One of those effects conveniently woke us up with a startle around midnight two days ago.
The engine was running, and we were both catching some shut-eye while Brizo II was doing all the work. Suddenly, a loud repetitious thunking noise jolted us awake. Jon hit the kill switch for the motor, and went to the engine room to investigate. Thankfully, nothing went wrong mechanically on our end--it was the massive 30 foot long nylon fishing net that was now wrapped around our propeller that caused the commotion. Peering overboard at it, you can see rotting fish carcasses and old bones of past victims that also couldn't get out of its way.
The idea of jumping overboard in the middle of nowhere with just a flashlight and a knife to cut away the tangled mass on our prop about 3 feet under the waterline did not sound like much fun to either of us. We grabbed our gaff (big hook on a stick for retrieving fish on deck) and decided to hack off as much as possible, for tonight, anyway. We would deal with the rest in the morning when we could actually see.
As we wrestled and hacked at the net that night, we had a bit of an audience. Some bioluminescent squid were acting like little neon green cheerleaders, lighting up and flashing every time we made any jerky movements. Even though the situation was frustrating, that was pretty cool.
After drifting til sunrise (no wind and no engine means no go!) we were able to unhook the rest of the net from the prop just by using the gaff from on deck. These kind of issues are much easier to deal with when you can actually see what the hell you're doing!
Very light winds are making the last half of our journey tough. We keep motoring until we find wind, sail, then repeat when the wind dies. We did however, experience our first squall last night. The sky grew dark, swells increased in size, and winds picked up just a bit. But it only lasted a few minutes, and wasn't all that bad. So, maybe this was just a weak one, or we are yet to experience the true squalls that many sailors fear.
Ever see a flying fish? They look pretty funny while trying to get out of the boat's way. They beat their tails frantically and try to soar just a few inches above the water with their super long fins out like wings. Luckily, none have decided to commit suicide on our decks like those pesky squid.
It's a bit disturbing how much trash we see floating randomly. Every 20 minutes or so we see something plastic or styrofoam bob by. It's crazy that 900 miles out from the closest land, you can still see the effect that man can have on this planet. One of those effects conveniently woke us up with a startle around midnight two days ago.
The engine was running, and we were both catching some shut-eye while Brizo II was doing all the work. Suddenly, a loud repetitious thunking noise jolted us awake. Jon hit the kill switch for the motor, and went to the engine room to investigate. Thankfully, nothing went wrong mechanically on our end--it was the massive 30 foot long nylon fishing net that was now wrapped around our propeller that caused the commotion. Peering overboard at it, you can see rotting fish carcasses and old bones of past victims that also couldn't get out of its way.
The idea of jumping overboard in the middle of nowhere with just a flashlight and a knife to cut away the tangled mass on our prop about 3 feet under the waterline did not sound like much fun to either of us. We grabbed our gaff (big hook on a stick for retrieving fish on deck) and decided to hack off as much as possible, for tonight, anyway. We would deal with the rest in the morning when we could actually see.
As we wrestled and hacked at the net that night, we had a bit of an audience. Some bioluminescent squid were acting like little neon green cheerleaders, lighting up and flashing every time we made any jerky movements. Even though the situation was frustrating, that was pretty cool.
After drifting til sunrise (no wind and no engine means no go!) we were able to unhook the rest of the net from the prop just by using the gaff from on deck. These kind of issues are much easier to deal with when you can actually see what the hell you're doing!
Very light winds are making the last half of our journey tough. We keep motoring until we find wind, sail, then repeat when the wind dies. We did however, experience our first squall last night. The sky grew dark, swells increased in size, and winds picked up just a bit. But it only lasted a few minutes, and wasn't all that bad. So, maybe this was just a weak one, or we are yet to experience the true squalls that many sailors fear.
Ever see a flying fish? They look pretty funny while trying to get out of the boat's way. They beat their tails frantically and try to soar just a few inches above the water with their super long fins out like wings. Luckily, none have decided to commit suicide on our decks like those pesky squid.
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, Dream. Discover.” Mark Twain
I admire and am so proud of you two for going after your dream and making it work!
Love, MOM
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Spinnakers, sushi, and suicidal squid
The wind and wave direction has finally merged enough for us to be in perfect conditions for downwind sailing. We busted out our spinnaker, which, for those of you not really familiar with sailing, is a monstrous three story tall kite that we lash to the very front of the boat. While using this bad boy, we can essentially kite surf our way to Hawaii over the next 9 days or so.
Of course, this would be the case if it weren't for all the pesky details!
Firstly, I've never used a spinnaker before. Jon has in his racing days, but always in a group. So what better environment to test out Shenanigans' downwind set-up than 1000 miles offshore? Getting the whole system to work out properly took a few hours, since we were a little rusty at first. This kind of put a damper on our daily mileage of around 130 that we were hitting consistently. But once we finally got the kite to cooperate, we were surfing at about 7.5 knots! And as a bonus, the ride feels like a city bus instead of a heeling crazy boat in the swells; we are still moving around, but at least you can cook without holding on for dear life!
The only issue now is that we cheated a bit too close to the Pacific high pressure "parking lot." We can only run the kite for a couple hours before the wind fizzles out. So unfortunately, we are currently motoring south in search of a good 12-20 knots that can push us straight into Hilo. Thank goodness for our 157 gallon fuel tank capacity with the trusty Perkins that would rather sip than guzzle!
The other day we spooked a school of squid that panicked and jetted out of our way. A couple must have misjudged their aim, because they ended up on our deck! However, we only noticed this a few hours later, so that when we found them, they were pretty much squid jerky glued to the deck. Mmmm!
So, while scraping squid cement off our pretty blue deck, we turned around to see something flopping and splashing wildly behind the boat. We caught a fish! And not just any fish: a scrumptious albacore tuna. After subduing him, he weighed in at 12 pounds. Not too shabby for our first catch of the passage. We had amazing sushi that night, then used some for curry last night. We still have more to get through, so needless to say, we stopped fishing until we run out of all this fresh meat. Waste not, want not.
Thanks to Michael for the handlines and lures, and thanks to Bill and Brenna for the filleting tips!
Today is just about the halfway mark, so I think we will bake a cake or brownies to celebrate.
Happy Mother's Day to Vicki and Judy, and any other moms that are reading!
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Of course, this would be the case if it weren't for all the pesky details!
Firstly, I've never used a spinnaker before. Jon has in his racing days, but always in a group. So what better environment to test out Shenanigans' downwind set-up than 1000 miles offshore? Getting the whole system to work out properly took a few hours, since we were a little rusty at first. This kind of put a damper on our daily mileage of around 130 that we were hitting consistently. But once we finally got the kite to cooperate, we were surfing at about 7.5 knots! And as a bonus, the ride feels like a city bus instead of a heeling crazy boat in the swells; we are still moving around, but at least you can cook without holding on for dear life!
The only issue now is that we cheated a bit too close to the Pacific high pressure "parking lot." We can only run the kite for a couple hours before the wind fizzles out. So unfortunately, we are currently motoring south in search of a good 12-20 knots that can push us straight into Hilo. Thank goodness for our 157 gallon fuel tank capacity with the trusty Perkins that would rather sip than guzzle!
The other day we spooked a school of squid that panicked and jetted out of our way. A couple must have misjudged their aim, because they ended up on our deck! However, we only noticed this a few hours later, so that when we found them, they were pretty much squid jerky glued to the deck. Mmmm!
So, while scraping squid cement off our pretty blue deck, we turned around to see something flopping and splashing wildly behind the boat. We caught a fish! And not just any fish: a scrumptious albacore tuna. After subduing him, he weighed in at 12 pounds. Not too shabby for our first catch of the passage. We had amazing sushi that night, then used some for curry last night. We still have more to get through, so needless to say, we stopped fishing until we run out of all this fresh meat. Waste not, want not.
Thanks to Michael for the handlines and lures, and thanks to Bill and Brenna for the filleting tips!
Today is just about the halfway mark, so I think we will bake a cake or brownies to celebrate.
Happy Mother's Day to Vicki and Judy, and any other moms that are reading!
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Friday, May 6, 2011
Trade winds and paranoia
Ah, the trade winds! Sunny clear days, and 15-20 knots of a steady breeze at our back. Only very rarely do we have to turn on the engine and motor for a bit, if the wind fizzles out at night. Conditions right now would be absolutely perfect if only the swell could finally assimilate behind us; we could pretty much just surf our way to Hawaii. Hot days while sailing guarantee that our laundry load to wash while in port will be slightly smaller than anticipated, as those days are clothing optional! Ha!
So, we have an AIS system on board, which receives signals from boats over 60 feet that are required to transmit their location, heading, and speed. One night we heard the AIS alarm go off, so for the first time in a week we knew we were within 10 miles of another vessel. We scanned the horizon and thought we saw it way off in the distance, even though it was hard to know for certain due to the swell. About a minute later, the vessel changed their heading to come straight at us, and at 19 knots no less. This would easily outrun our 6 knot cruising speed. Well, I'm not sure if sleep deprivation was kicking in, or just our paranoia of being hundreds of miles from help in the middle of nowhere, but Jon and I freaked out!
Thoughts like "why would pirates have an AIS aboard?!" or "aren't we too far from Mexico to worry about those drug boats!?" or "where did I put my spear gun?" shot back and forth. We stared at the AIS and the horizon, trying to figure out what this guy was going to do. Eventually, he just ended up going parallel to our course. It turns out, he must of had radar aboard, saw our heading, and figured that was probably the best course of action to get through the swells somewhat comfortably. Let this be a lesson kids: get your sleep, or you may talk yourself into a panic for a totally absurd reason!
Speaking of sleep, we gave our autopilot too heavy of a load while we were trying to catch up on some. It turns out that Brizo couldn't handle the direction of the swells along with the amount of wind that night, so a few of her gears were pretty much chewed up. Luckily, Jon still had the old wheel-drive unit that came on our boat originally. We switched it out yesterday, and are back with a functional "3rd person" on the watch cycle. Brizo II will be looked after a bit more carefully.
We've been trying some fishing, but no luck so far!
Only 1300 nautical miles to go...assuming we head in a straight line. We are hoping to be in Hilo in 10-11 days. Everybody take care, we miss you all back home!
So, we have an AIS system on board, which receives signals from boats over 60 feet that are required to transmit their location, heading, and speed. One night we heard the AIS alarm go off, so for the first time in a week we knew we were within 10 miles of another vessel. We scanned the horizon and thought we saw it way off in the distance, even though it was hard to know for certain due to the swell. About a minute later, the vessel changed their heading to come straight at us, and at 19 knots no less. This would easily outrun our 6 knot cruising speed. Well, I'm not sure if sleep deprivation was kicking in, or just our paranoia of being hundreds of miles from help in the middle of nowhere, but Jon and I freaked out!
Thoughts like "why would pirates have an AIS aboard?!" or "aren't we too far from Mexico to worry about those drug boats!?" or "where did I put my spear gun?" shot back and forth. We stared at the AIS and the horizon, trying to figure out what this guy was going to do. Eventually, he just ended up going parallel to our course. It turns out, he must of had radar aboard, saw our heading, and figured that was probably the best course of action to get through the swells somewhat comfortably. Let this be a lesson kids: get your sleep, or you may talk yourself into a panic for a totally absurd reason!
Speaking of sleep, we gave our autopilot too heavy of a load while we were trying to catch up on some. It turns out that Brizo couldn't handle the direction of the swells along with the amount of wind that night, so a few of her gears were pretty much chewed up. Luckily, Jon still had the old wheel-drive unit that came on our boat originally. We switched it out yesterday, and are back with a functional "3rd person" on the watch cycle. Brizo II will be looked after a bit more carefully.
We've been trying some fishing, but no luck so far!
Only 1300 nautical miles to go...assuming we head in a straight line. We are hoping to be in Hilo in 10-11 days. Everybody take care, we miss you all back home!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Getting the hang of it
Today is the fifth day of our passage, and things are finally starting to feel "normal." The days just kind of roll along...if you're a Pink Floyd fan, it's kind of like the mellow riff of the song "Pigs," with the same mildly ominous undertones. With only about 1600 nm to go, the daily routine is pretty much like this:
Morning snack, steer for a few hours, nap for a few hours, lunch, steer, nap, dinner, steer, nap.
That last part is tricky. Nobody wants to be outside, wet and cold when the wind is howling and it's pitch black. We were spoiled the night of our second day, as the conditions were perfect for letting our autopilot, Brizo, do all the work. (Brizo is named after the Greek goddess who overlooked the safety of sailors and navigators--we figured it fit pretty well.) It ends up that many nights out here are too tough for Brizo to tackle alone, so Jon and I alternate hours of sleeping and freezing our buns off. C'est la vie, this is all a part of the ocean crossing experience, and I'm still glad to be a part of it!
There is, however, one redeeming point about the nights out here. Once your eyes adjust, it feels like you can see every single star in the universe. Just CLOUDS of them. It's amazingly humbling: our insignificant speck of a boat, the infinite sky, and the infinite water that cradles us.
My favorite part so far is laying on the deck in the sun, swaying along with the big 10 foot rollers, and staring up into the sky. Some days you can literally watch clouds being born. Little patches of what looks like fog will lazily rise up into the sky from the water, then expand into massive white cotton balls.
We haven't heard chatter on the radio in at least 3 days. It's quite the contrast to our first day, when it felt like we were being hailed non-stop by the Navy and a cargo vessel asking us what our planned itinerary was. The captain must have been bored, and wondered what a little sailboat was doing so far from land.
Morning snack, steer for a few hours, nap for a few hours, lunch, steer, nap, dinner, steer, nap.
That last part is tricky. Nobody wants to be outside, wet and cold when the wind is howling and it's pitch black. We were spoiled the night of our second day, as the conditions were perfect for letting our autopilot, Brizo, do all the work. (Brizo is named after the Greek goddess who overlooked the safety of sailors and navigators--we figured it fit pretty well.) It ends up that many nights out here are too tough for Brizo to tackle alone, so Jon and I alternate hours of sleeping and freezing our buns off. C'est la vie, this is all a part of the ocean crossing experience, and I'm still glad to be a part of it!
There is, however, one redeeming point about the nights out here. Once your eyes adjust, it feels like you can see every single star in the universe. Just CLOUDS of them. It's amazingly humbling: our insignificant speck of a boat, the infinite sky, and the infinite water that cradles us.
My favorite part so far is laying on the deck in the sun, swaying along with the big 10 foot rollers, and staring up into the sky. Some days you can literally watch clouds being born. Little patches of what looks like fog will lazily rise up into the sky from the water, then expand into massive white cotton balls.
We haven't heard chatter on the radio in at least 3 days. It's quite the contrast to our first day, when it felt like we were being hailed non-stop by the Navy and a cargo vessel asking us what our planned itinerary was. The captain must have been bored, and wondered what a little sailboat was doing so far from land.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Better weather, plus some visitors
I wish I could post a picture of the water color out here. As I type, we are 312 nautical miles into our trip, with 1816 nm remaining. The deep, dark navy blue that we are used to seeing in our home waters has lightened to a shade approaching turquoise. The sun is shining brilliantly, with some slight haze on the horizon. The wind is only 15-18 knots out of the west, and keeping us moving at a steady 6 knots. Best of all, the swells have decreased to only a couple feet from the north, with a long duration between.
Needless to say, Jon and I feel much better! It's nice to finally be able to eat without wanting to vomit afterwards. Which, by the way, if anybody wants a sure way to lose weight, just hop on a sailboat to Hawaii and let the magic begin. Plus, we've been catching up on sleep lost that first horrible night out. Luckily, the worst conditions we will encounter on this journey will probably be just those first 50 miles from home. It's all mellow from here on out.
We've had a few visitors lately. A pod of two or three whales cruised by, with spouts and dorsal fins that look similar to blue whales. However, they were much smaller and more of a silver color than what we've seen on blues...maybe it was a group of their smaller cousins, Minke whales?
Also, we have spotted a few sea birds with a huge wingspan, like 5 or 6 feet across. I would say they were albatross, but they are a dark brown color, with a hooked black beak, so I'm not sure. They make flying look so effortless, as they literally just glide along the sea breezes without barely moving a muscle.
The most interesting visitor we had was a teeny tiny sparrow or finch that had no earthly reason for being out on the ocean. This poor little bird, which was barely the size of the palm of my hand, was flapping furiously towards us. It wanted desperately to land, and tried on our stainless steel handrails. It kept slipping off, but found our backstay to be a better diameter to hold on to. It landed about eye level with Jon, who was sitting at the stern. It stared at him for awhile, so he offered it some crumbs from his sandwich. The bird just stared at those too, then back at Jon. After a few seconds, it took off again. I wish it had stayed longer, to recharge after what must have been a long journey.
Needless to say, Jon and I feel much better! It's nice to finally be able to eat without wanting to vomit afterwards. Which, by the way, if anybody wants a sure way to lose weight, just hop on a sailboat to Hawaii and let the magic begin. Plus, we've been catching up on sleep lost that first horrible night out. Luckily, the worst conditions we will encounter on this journey will probably be just those first 50 miles from home. It's all mellow from here on out.
We've had a few visitors lately. A pod of two or three whales cruised by, with spouts and dorsal fins that look similar to blue whales. However, they were much smaller and more of a silver color than what we've seen on blues...maybe it was a group of their smaller cousins, Minke whales?
Also, we have spotted a few sea birds with a huge wingspan, like 5 or 6 feet across. I would say they were albatross, but they are a dark brown color, with a hooked black beak, so I'm not sure. They make flying look so effortless, as they literally just glide along the sea breezes without barely moving a muscle.
The most interesting visitor we had was a teeny tiny sparrow or finch that had no earthly reason for being out on the ocean. This poor little bird, which was barely the size of the palm of my hand, was flapping furiously towards us. It wanted desperately to land, and tried on our stainless steel handrails. It kept slipping off, but found our backstay to be a better diameter to hold on to. It landed about eye level with Jon, who was sitting at the stern. It stared at him for awhile, so he offered it some crumbs from his sandwich. The bird just stared at those too, then back at Jon. After a few seconds, it took off again. I wish it had stayed longer, to recharge after what must have been a long journey.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Days 1 and 2: Rude Reminder
We were able to cover 133 miles yesterday, which is pretty good for an old boat and two people new to blue water cruising. That came at a price, however, as yesterday was far from comfortable or how we anticipated the weather to be.
First, a stiff 25 knot breeze pushed us out of the harbor toward Anacapa. That wasn't so bad because it was behind us, but 6 foot swells were coming at us from the opposite direction. Then the wind shifted, and made for some entertainment as we tried to reef (decrease the surface area of our sails so that we can maintain control) while getting slapped in the face with swells rolling straight into the cockpit!
We almost crossed into a Navy live fire range, yet we were hailed on the radio by the vessel "Swiss Ladder," requesting that we alter course to pretty much retrace our progress for the last 7 nautical miles. Ugh.
The icing on the cake was the combination of gales (30-35 knots of wind) outside of the test range, and the fact that Jon and I were having difficulty keeping any food down or even staying awake. So, as you can see our first day was a bit of a bummer, but we are keeping positive and looking forward to the warmer days that lay ahead of us, along with the more organized swells and comfortable direction of the trade winds. We've already seen a few beginning signs of this today, so at least we are on the right heading!
First, a stiff 25 knot breeze pushed us out of the harbor toward Anacapa. That wasn't so bad because it was behind us, but 6 foot swells were coming at us from the opposite direction. Then the wind shifted, and made for some entertainment as we tried to reef (decrease the surface area of our sails so that we can maintain control) while getting slapped in the face with swells rolling straight into the cockpit!
We almost crossed into a Navy live fire range, yet we were hailed on the radio by the vessel "Swiss Ladder," requesting that we alter course to pretty much retrace our progress for the last 7 nautical miles. Ugh.
The icing on the cake was the combination of gales (30-35 knots of wind) outside of the test range, and the fact that Jon and I were having difficulty keeping any food down or even staying awake. So, as you can see our first day was a bit of a bummer, but we are keeping positive and looking forward to the warmer days that lay ahead of us, along with the more organized swells and comfortable direction of the trade winds. We've already seen a few beginning signs of this today, so at least we are on the right heading!
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