It's finally starting to feel like the end is in sight. Yesterday we celebrated crossing below 1000 miles to go. We expect to make out first landfall in Kinsale Ireland next Saturday or Sunday. The plan is to spend a day or maybe 2 there, and then sail the remaining day and a half back to Les and Ali's home port in Wales.
Since my last update, the weather has changed considerably. SE of Newfoundland there is a large area where the Labrador current mixes with the Gulf stream. Sea temp dropped from around 16 degrees to around 5 in the space of an hour, and we spent much of the next 2 1/2 days in thick fog. We had a couple of days of sunshine after that, and then we sailed into cloud and rain, where we've been for a couple of days now. The winds have been generally very good for the past week, with maybe 12 hours of motoring in total.
I will be glad to see the other side for sure. There is a definite monotony to the ocean - I don't think anyone does a trip like this for the views. We are seeing dolphin every few days, and a big ship with about the same frequency. The sea birds come around a bit more often, and they are interesting to watch as they skim the waves. Other than that, its water, water everywhere. I suppose it feels a bit more like a job than a vacation at this point. Not at all unpleasant, but it will be nice to have a day or 2 off.
My watch last night was rainy and very dark. About the only light came from the waves stirring up the bio luminescence in the water. It was strangely enjoyable driving along in the near-dark, feeling the rhythm of the waves, and feeling the boat rock beneath my feet. For some reason I found myself thinking about a heavy wooden rowboat we on Columbia Lake when I was a kid. I suppose that is my first memory of boating, and I recall feeling pretty good about myself when I learned to row it on my own.
I suppose the enjoyment in crossing an ocean isn't so much the day to day pleasures, but in the satisfaction of undertaking a huge task and working through it step by step. Or, maybe it's as Water Rat explains to Mole in the WInd in the Willows: "...there is NOTHING - absolutely nothing - half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats".
Monday, June 27, 2016
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
The Right Direction
20 days out from Panama and we are finally headed in what feels like the right direction. The right direction! I am sure anyone watching our position track has been thinking we're lost, as we have carved a huge reverse-z Zorro slash up the north Atlantic.
We had such a good plan as we passed Bermuda, and (we thought) the weather to go with it. A slowly rising line would carry us straight to the Azores, where a couple of days of shore leave would leave us well rested for the final week back to the UK. Then, about 5 days ago, the so-called Azores High, which drives much of the weather in this part of the Atlantic, jumped about 500 miles to the west. Overnight, we were confronted by a huge region of either no winds, or east winds, that effectively blocked our route. It was as if a huge gate slammed shut in front of us. Clunk.
The only way past it was 500 miles north, where the westerlies blow more or less consistently. However, our forecast showed basically no wind between us and where we needed to be, and getting there would take all our remaining diesel fuel. It was very much looking like we were going to need to divert to Newfoundland to re-fuel, which could easily have delayed my arrival in the UK until after Sara and Emily are to arrive. Not good.
With little choice, we turned north. Fortunately, there was enough wind to push us along, and even though it was taking us back west a bit, we were making important miles to the north. Amazingly, the wind gods continued to smile on us for the next 3 days, and we made good steady progress, without burning valuable diesel. Yesterday we finally turned the corner and are now pointed more or less directly at SW Ireland, where we plan on making landfall. We are currently just under 1800 nm away, which we hope to cover in around 12 days, assuming of course the wind continues to cooperate.
For now, we are moving nicely along, under blue skies, and smooth seas. And every mile is pointed at the finish line.
We had such a good plan as we passed Bermuda, and (we thought) the weather to go with it. A slowly rising line would carry us straight to the Azores, where a couple of days of shore leave would leave us well rested for the final week back to the UK. Then, about 5 days ago, the so-called Azores High, which drives much of the weather in this part of the Atlantic, jumped about 500 miles to the west. Overnight, we were confronted by a huge region of either no winds, or east winds, that effectively blocked our route. It was as if a huge gate slammed shut in front of us. Clunk.
The only way past it was 500 miles north, where the westerlies blow more or less consistently. However, our forecast showed basically no wind between us and where we needed to be, and getting there would take all our remaining diesel fuel. It was very much looking like we were going to need to divert to Newfoundland to re-fuel, which could easily have delayed my arrival in the UK until after Sara and Emily are to arrive. Not good.
With little choice, we turned north. Fortunately, there was enough wind to push us along, and even though it was taking us back west a bit, we were making important miles to the north. Amazingly, the wind gods continued to smile on us for the next 3 days, and we made good steady progress, without burning valuable diesel. Yesterday we finally turned the corner and are now pointed more or less directly at SW Ireland, where we plan on making landfall. We are currently just under 1800 nm away, which we hope to cover in around 12 days, assuming of course the wind continues to cooperate.
For now, we are moving nicely along, under blue skies, and smooth seas. And every mile is pointed at the finish line.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Atlantic Passage - 2 weeks in
Today marks 2 full weeks since leaving Panama. We passed Bermuda yesterday, and are currently planning on stopping in the Azores, before finishing the final leg to the UK. We headed North after leaving the Caribbean, since the westerly winds we need to take us across the Atlantic don't really start until north of Bermuda. From here on, we will be making ground to the east, and slowly working our way north. We receive a new weather map daily, and adjust our course somewhat, based on what we see.
My main impression so far is of the vast emptiness of the ocean. There have been only a handful of ships sighted in the last week, although oddly, one was on a direct nose to nose collision course with us when it came into view. The rules of the sea give sailing vessels priority, and the huge tanker nicely diverted her course around us.
A typical day so far looks like:
- 5:50 alarm
- 6:00 - 8:00 on watch. If we're sailing, this means steering the boat. If we are motoring, it means keeping an eye on things while the autopilot steers. Usually we eat breakfast during this watch.
- 8:00 - noon. reading, napping, and some instruction in celestial navigation by Les. Take a morning sextant sight of the sun.
- noonish. Take the "noon sight" when the sun is directly south of us, and plot the position we think we are, based only on the sun. Today was my best day yet - within about 8 miles of actual. (I don't think I'll be giving up the GPS anytime soon)
- 2:00 - 4:00 on watch
- 4:00 - 6:00 reading napping etc
- 6:00 dinner with all crew
- 8:00 - 10:00 reading, sleeping
- 10:00 - midnight on watch, struggling to stay awake
I am getting lots of time to research and document various aspects of the boat, and am also trying to make the most of my time reading other related books I have with me. I am feeling confident that I will be ready to operate the boat on my own once this passage is over.
2000 miles down, 3000 or so to go. We should be in the Azores in 10 - 12 days.
My main impression so far is of the vast emptiness of the ocean. There have been only a handful of ships sighted in the last week, although oddly, one was on a direct nose to nose collision course with us when it came into view. The rules of the sea give sailing vessels priority, and the huge tanker nicely diverted her course around us.
A typical day so far looks like:
- 5:50 alarm
- 6:00 - 8:00 on watch. If we're sailing, this means steering the boat. If we are motoring, it means keeping an eye on things while the autopilot steers. Usually we eat breakfast during this watch.
- 8:00 - noon. reading, napping, and some instruction in celestial navigation by Les. Take a morning sextant sight of the sun.
- noonish. Take the "noon sight" when the sun is directly south of us, and plot the position we think we are, based only on the sun. Today was my best day yet - within about 8 miles of actual. (I don't think I'll be giving up the GPS anytime soon)
- 2:00 - 4:00 on watch
- 4:00 - 6:00 reading napping etc
- 6:00 dinner with all crew
- 8:00 - 10:00 reading, sleeping
- 10:00 - midnight on watch, struggling to stay awake
I am getting lots of time to research and document various aspects of the boat, and am also trying to make the most of my time reading other related books I have with me. I am feeling confident that I will be ready to operate the boat on my own once this passage is over.
2000 miles down, 3000 or so to go. We should be in the Azores in 10 - 12 days.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Atlantic Passage part 1 - the Caribbean
6 days out from Panama, and we are clear of the Caribbean Sea. It has been a bit of a tough slog, with uncomfortable seas and intense heat dominating. Things have definitely improved over the last couple of days though, and spirits are good.
After finishing the canal transit, we stopped at Shelter Bay Marina to fuel up, have lunch, and do some last internet related business. The Marina manager took one look at Arctic Tern as we came in, and commented that he doesn't see many boats that look as strong and capable. Nice to hear before a 5000 mile ocean crossing!
We cast off the docklines at around 3:00, and set off generally east, motoring through a band of low winds, intending on picking up the easterlies north of Caragena Colombia, which would take us up between Haiti and Cuba. With 4 on board, Les proposed a rotation of 2 hour watches, so each of us would have 3 watches, where we are in charge of driving the vessel, per day. My watches are 6 to 8 AM, 2 - 4 PM, and 10PM til midnight.
I was startled on my first night watch by a wheezing breath a few feet behind me. I jerked my head around reflexively, and within a few seconds realized I was accompanied by several dolphins. The bioluminescence in the seawater made them light up underwater, and I watched them play in the bow wave and dart alongside the boat for 15 minutes before heading off. A beautiful thing to see.
By early morning on the 3rd day, we had made the 200 miles or so we wanted to make east, and made the turn north. We put the sails up to help us along, but our primary driver was still the diesel. By dawn, there was enough wind to shut off the engine. A wonderful thing both for the sound and vibration, but also the heat the diesel generates. The wind increased as we travelled further north, which was expected, but the seas unfortunately developed a very confused pattern (actually, lack of pattern), which made our upwind sail rather uncomfortable. Within a day, the wind was strong enough that we needed to take down the Bimini (a tarp covering the cockpit) which took away our shade during the day, which really made things unpleasant.
Arctic Tern has spent her life up to this point in northern latitudes, and little consideration has been given to comfort in the tropics. The big windows that provide such great visibility from the upper salon make it into a floating greenhouse in these climates. There are going to need to be a few upgrades (fans primarily) before we turn her south again.
All was not heat and misery though. My 6 am watches were particularly enjoyable, driving the boat with the rest of the crew asleep, before the day got too hot. Dolphins seemed particularly active this time of day, and one morning, I found myself in the midst of what seemed like 50 or so racing along side. Driving along with them leaping all around me, I wished I knew how to maneuver the 18 tons of Arctic Tern into a few happy leaps just to join in the fun.
Thankfully, Haiti came into sight yesterday morning, and with it, lower winds, smaller and more organized seas, and the replacement of the Bimini. Shade never felt so good!
Early this morning, we passed by the eastern tip of Cuba, and started working our way up through the outer corner of the Bahamas. From here, we'll be heading up towards Bermuda, before heading east across the Atlantic. There is a chance we might stop in to Bermuda, if the winds work out favorably, which will be in another week or so. Otherwise, we are slightly ahead of the pace we need for a 35 day crossing to the UK. Lots could change though...
After finishing the canal transit, we stopped at Shelter Bay Marina to fuel up, have lunch, and do some last internet related business. The Marina manager took one look at Arctic Tern as we came in, and commented that he doesn't see many boats that look as strong and capable. Nice to hear before a 5000 mile ocean crossing!
We cast off the docklines at around 3:00, and set off generally east, motoring through a band of low winds, intending on picking up the easterlies north of Caragena Colombia, which would take us up between Haiti and Cuba. With 4 on board, Les proposed a rotation of 2 hour watches, so each of us would have 3 watches, where we are in charge of driving the vessel, per day. My watches are 6 to 8 AM, 2 - 4 PM, and 10PM til midnight.
I was startled on my first night watch by a wheezing breath a few feet behind me. I jerked my head around reflexively, and within a few seconds realized I was accompanied by several dolphins. The bioluminescence in the seawater made them light up underwater, and I watched them play in the bow wave and dart alongside the boat for 15 minutes before heading off. A beautiful thing to see.
By early morning on the 3rd day, we had made the 200 miles or so we wanted to make east, and made the turn north. We put the sails up to help us along, but our primary driver was still the diesel. By dawn, there was enough wind to shut off the engine. A wonderful thing both for the sound and vibration, but also the heat the diesel generates. The wind increased as we travelled further north, which was expected, but the seas unfortunately developed a very confused pattern (actually, lack of pattern), which made our upwind sail rather uncomfortable. Within a day, the wind was strong enough that we needed to take down the Bimini (a tarp covering the cockpit) which took away our shade during the day, which really made things unpleasant.
Arctic Tern has spent her life up to this point in northern latitudes, and little consideration has been given to comfort in the tropics. The big windows that provide such great visibility from the upper salon make it into a floating greenhouse in these climates. There are going to need to be a few upgrades (fans primarily) before we turn her south again.
All was not heat and misery though. My 6 am watches were particularly enjoyable, driving the boat with the rest of the crew asleep, before the day got too hot. Dolphins seemed particularly active this time of day, and one morning, I found myself in the midst of what seemed like 50 or so racing along side. Driving along with them leaping all around me, I wished I knew how to maneuver the 18 tons of Arctic Tern into a few happy leaps just to join in the fun.
Thankfully, Haiti came into sight yesterday morning, and with it, lower winds, smaller and more organized seas, and the replacement of the Bimini. Shade never felt so good!
Early this morning, we passed by the eastern tip of Cuba, and started working our way up through the outer corner of the Bahamas. From here, we'll be heading up towards Bermuda, before heading east across the Atlantic. There is a chance we might stop in to Bermuda, if the winds work out favorably, which will be in another week or so. Otherwise, we are slightly ahead of the pace we need for a 35 day crossing to the UK. Lots could change though...
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Through the ditch
We received our schedule late Monday, for our Tuesday
transit. Our agent was to arrive at 6:30
AM with the 2 line handlers we had hired, and our canal advisor was to arrive
at 7:30. We were supposed to enter the
first of the locks at 9:26. It all
sounded very precise.
The agent dropped off the line handlers at around 7:00, and
the advisor showed up at around 8:00.
Then we sat around for a long time, waiting for the other boats we were
to transit with. Eventually the 57’
catamaran we were to raft together with arrived from another marina, and we
motored under the Bridge of the Americas (one of 2 bridges over the canal as it
turns out), towards the Miraflores locks.
 |
| Arrival of the lines and their handlers |
 |
| BOA to be replaced with higher one needed by modern ships |
 |
| Ship maneuvering into first lock |
 |
| Does this lock make my butt look fat? |
By this time we had rafted up with a 57’ catamaran,
effectively making us a single vessel.
We slowly motored into the first lock behind the Nikkei Progresso. Once inside the lock, 4 thin lines were
tossed down by 4 men on the sides of the Canal, to which 4 large lines were
tied, and pulled back up and looped over anchors on the sides of the
canal. There were 2 lines tied directly
to Arctic Tern (bow and stern), and 2 similarly tied to the catamaran. Once we were in our desired position, these
lines were cleated firmly in place.
 |
| Nice throw! |
 |
| Good-bye Pacific |
As the lock filled with water, the line handlers took up the
slack, keeping up in position. It was
all a very smooth process, until the upper gate opened, and the Nikkei
Progresso started turning its propellers.
The lines strained mightily, keeping us and the catamaran off the walls.
There were 2 stages to the Miraflores locks, and then we
motored across a small lake, to get to the 3rd lock before Lake
Gatun. Once we had done the 3rd
uphill lock, we had 25 or so miles to go through the Culebra cut, and across
Lake Gatun.
Our canal advisor functioned as a bit of a tour guide, and
had many stories relating to the construction of the canal. In one section of particularly mountainous
terrain, the French, who were trying to build it at the time, planted small
amounts of gold in the ground, and started a rumour of a Panamanian gold
rush. One way to solicit free labour!
 |
| “Gold mountain” in the Culebra cut |
We were hit by a bit of a storm for an hour or so crossing
the lake, with 30 kn winds and driving (but warm) rain. Not very pleasant, but it did cool us down a
bit.
We had assumed by our early start that we would be getting
all the way through in a single day.
However, as we were approaching the Gatun locks for the trip down, our
advisor directed us to a mooring buoy and informed us that we were done for the
day. We couldn’t really understand why,
other that perhaps to justify another day’s pay for a canal advisor.
Our advisor was picked up by a motor launch shortly after,
leaving the crew and the 2 line handlers to have dinner, and spend the night tied
to the mooring ball.
 |
| Sunrise on Lake Gatun |
Our day 2 advisor showed up shortly after the 7:30 scheduled
time, and we were moving within 5 minutes.
Once again we rafted with the cat, but this time we entered the locks
first, with a large cargo ship coming in behind us. I was expecting a somewhat scary situation
with the ship coming directly before us, but it moved very slowly, and was
precisely controlled by lines running to specialized rail cars on each side of
the canal.
 |
| top lock before draining |
 |
| After draining |
 |
| Ali enjoying breakfast atop the boom |
 |
| Beyond these gates lies the Caribbean, and freedom |
After an uneventful series of 3 locks, we were finally in
the Caribbean. Due to losing a night
during the transit, we are planning on a quick stop in Colon, to fill up fuel
and water tanks, and then setting off for Wales.
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