5/5/12

Noon Position: 47 01' S, 158 49' E, SOG 6, COG 100, Day's Run 138.
We're moving along almost close hauled under triple reefed main, a scrap
of jib, and the staysail windward sheeted hard as if Odyssey were a
15,000 lb 420, shaking and slamming and shuddering our way through,
over, up, and down a snotty 5 to 6 foot sea. I am, as Tanya Aebi so
aptly described it, "living on the walls", with the boat heeled a steady
20 to 30 degrees, interrupted only by the occasional rush of water down
the lee deck as we take roll rail under, the intermittent series of
rig-shaking slams that announce the arrival of a particularly steep or
short-spaced set of waves, and the occasional earthquake as the jib
luffs in a gust before the windvane can correct, shaking everything from
the sloppily loose forestay all the way aft to my tea mug hanging in the
galley. I've become even more of a hermit than usual, trapped below by
the near constant procession of waves and spray over the deck,
restricted to my leeward bunk by the heel. Moving about is a always
exciting challenge, swinging from one handhold to the next, trying to
time my motions so that the movement of the hull propels me forward
instead of swinging me into the nearest corner. To get to sleep I have
to pretend to be senseless, trying my hardest to ignore the slamming
and luffing and shaking and pounding, telling myself over and over that
at least we're heading in the right direction, that to reduce sail would
inevitably lead to sagging to leeward as well as a less abusive motion,
trying not to cringe every time we pound off a wave or lurch sideways
with a slight sensation of weightlessness in my stomach.