A bumpy night and the hitchhiker.
We had a bumpy night. We knew it would be.
After our delicious dinner of Iberian ham steaks (imagine pork chops… just better) and pesto gnocchi we settled into our watch schedule knowing we would be sailing close-hauled into building seas and stronger winds.
Close hauled out here isn’t really close-hauled. We manage our course to get the boat moving comfortably in the given wind and sea state. Flatwater, sure… we’re doing true wind angles (TWA’s) around 50 degrees, but once the seas and the winds kick up, we manage a TWA of 65 most comfortably and with a good turn of speed. Given that we were sailing toward an expected shift that would head us away from our goal - I didn’t mind being a little lower and faster in the hopes of greeting it sooner.
Overnight we met squalls that were shifting the winds through 30 degrees or more at times and there was plenty of rain. Wind velocity would jump to the high 20’s in anticipation of the squall and reefing would happen - easy to do from the comfort of the wheel house. Then the squall would pass and we would unfurl the sails and get the boat moving again. Our radar did a nice job of helping us “see in the dark” and anticipate approaching squalls and know roughly how intense they would be.
Boats bang in big seas and Chris had to come out of the comfort of the forward berth because his dreams of levitation seemed a bit too real. I happened to be on watch as the sun rose above the horizon adding a strange blue light to the scene and underlighting the big towering clouds of squalls that were in our rearview.
We have been sailing for a big shift in the winds that would allow us to tack and put the Caribbean back in our crosshairs. I’m patient, but admittedly I had doubts that it would come. I pulled weather files that promised the change and every degree the wind shifted I was sure it was the harbinger of change. And then the wind would be back again. Dang, it!
We did have a pleasant surprise yesterday. The crew saw a bird. Now that might not sound like much, but out here you don’t see much at all. No fish, no turtles, no birds. Nothing. Vast empty wilderness. But the bird actually landed on the bow of the boat and stayed a while before a slamming wave sent it skyward. Around 0300, while shifting down from the reefed genoa to the staysail for a particularly nasty squall, we poked our heads around the cockpit enclosure to check our set-up and found that our bird—our hitchhiker—was resting in the lee of our cabin house. I’m not clear on what it was but they were welcome to stay as long as needed. We were in this together.
Around 1000, while I was sleeping our radio crackled. It was another vessel calling us to say hello. We explained pleasantries and they shared that they were a catamaran, hove-to, and waiting for these unpleasant headwinds to pass. After a few hello’s and how are you doings were exchanged we both switched back to channel 16. But there was a teachable moment here. The boat wasn’t painting on our AIS or our radar. Where were they? How far away? Was that a sign that our AIS wasn’t working, or maybe there’s wasn’t? They were hove-to, but if this storm didn’t abate and in a few days and we were told of a Mayday call, could we provide good information on their last position? Did they know something about the weather that we didn’t know? Did we know something that could help them? So we rang them back up to share all we could think of and learned that in fact, they could receive AIS, but not send it. They were a delivery crew and that this was a new boat. They were happy and well and we felt much better knowing more.
About the same time, the wind shifted. Finally! I think the crew was losing faith in me, but now we are pointed at the target, ripping at great speed, and comfortable. Sheets are eased and the sun is coming soon. Now we race to the trade winds.
Safe watch. kb OUT.