S/V Odyssey

3/3/12

2012-03-04T13:26:00.000Z

Noon Position: 47 40'S, 11 54' W, SOG 5.9, COG 145, Day's Run 98nm.
The breeze gradually died all night, and I woke up this morning to a
dead calm, which is always nice to take advantage of for little
maintenance projects. In the course of my meanderings about the deck I
discovered a half cracked weld on the bracket that holds the clutch pin
on the monitor wheel adapter, which connects my windvane for self
steering to the wheel. Needless to say, I am not impressed - I'm glad I
caught it now, instead of suddenly losing steering in the midst of a
gale, but I spent the morning swearing under my breath and muttering
dire imprecations towards the good folks at Monitor and their rugged
offshore capable products. 3 hours later, with the help of two custom
made semi-countersunk machine screws and one impromptu rivet made from a
broken tap, I'm back sailing again, this time in a building easterly
wind. It seems like every time I've done a project in the last few days
I end up bleeding and swearing at various inanimate objects. Needless
to say, today was not an exception.

3/2/12 (really)

2012-03-02T13:25:00.000Z

Noon Position: 47 18'S 17 35'W, COG 090, SOG 5.8, Day's Run 140nm. So I learned yesterday afternoon about this weird phenomenon knows as the "leap year," where apparently February has 29 days instead of 28... being at sea really leaves me out of touch with the world of calendars, among other things. I'm back to reading "The Grapes of Wrath" on my kindle again, after taking a brief sojourn into the world of real books with "Midnight's Children" and a rehashing of "Thurber: Writings and Drawings," whose short stories and essays are just about the right length to read 1 or 2 between squalls. Unlike almost everyone I've ever met, I never had to read "The Grapes of Wrath" in high school, and I always wondered what I was missing in this quintessential 11th grade english novel. I'm beginning to suspect that it's place in the canon may be more due to subject matter than to any inherent brilliance. So far I have to say I'm not very impressed - I came into the book with very high hopes from reading "Cannery Row" and "East of Eden," but it seems to me so far to be less powerful and certainly less captivating than either of those other works. A bit too heavy-handed or preachy, with the mini 3rd person lecture chapters which should serve to help set the scene detracting from my enjoyment of the story. I still have 2/3 of the book to go and I'm hoping for redemption - if not for me, than at least for my respect for the book selection of high school english classes. One nice advantage of going back to the kindle is that once I've peeled a glove off to get a fingernail into the little slide-y power switch, which otherwise resists all my advances, I can turn the pages just by mashing a button, which I greatly appreciate after awkwardly pawing at two stuck together pages with my gloved fingers on what seemed like every third page of "Midnight's Children." (which I greatly enjoyed, gloved page-turning notwithstanding) I've also discovered that in the cold, the kindle likes to warn me that the battery is dead about two days before it actually dies - I assume the temperature messes with it's sensing somehow. As of last night Odyssey is now more than halfway from Cape Horn to the Cape of Good Hope - here's hoping that the second half of the seemingly endless South Atlantic is as good to us as the first half.

3/2/12

2012-03-01T13:54:00.000Z

Noon Position: 47 27' S, 21 14' W, SOG 6.6, COG 080, Day's Run 119m,
Week's run 871nm. We're back on the wagon again - the last three days
have seen 30 kt easterlies, 8 foot seas, 5kt easterlies (still with 8 ft
seas), and now finally 25kts from the S - perfect weather to start
making up some of the distance we sailed N & S as this last system went
over. The big news on board today (besides the fact that Odyssey is
pointed in the right direction again) is that I actually managed to
catch a useful amount of rainwater last night - 3 gallons into the tank,
plus a tea-cup's worth to warm me up after 3 hours of shuttling back and
forth in 2am drizzle. Odyssey has (had?) 3 water tanks, a plastic 26
gallon hard tank plus 2 45 gallon bladder tanks. I say had because both
bladder tanks immediately started voiding their contents into the bilge
upon being flung forcibly against the bolts on the inside of their
compartments when we were knocked down off the coast of Chile. And, of
course, the nice weather that the south atlantic first greeted me with
was a double edged sword - it's hard to catch much rain when it's clear
and sunny. So, all in all, despite the small puddle sloshing about on
the floor, threatening my slippers with every roll, and the rivulets of
condensation streaming down every possible surface (and some that seem a
bit impossible), life is looking up.

2/26/12

2012-02-26T14:13:00.000Z

Noon Position: 48 49' S, 30 11' W, SOG 5.5, COG 090, Day's Run 149nm.
This morning's entertainment has been a pleasing mixture of 20kts of
wind with scattered clouds and hourly 40kt squalls, the contents of
which would euphemistically described in New England as "wintry mix."
Here in the South Atlantic, I prefer to just call it snow... followed by
very cold rain... followed by snow. I've been up and down all morning,
furling and unfurling the jib, trying to catch a bit of rainwater
(snow-water?). This valiant effort on my behalf over the last 6 hours
has yielded me a grand total of one mug of tea's worth of liquid -
melted snow greatly diminishes in volume. On the other hand, we had a
fast night of bean reaching in 20-30kts of wind, which let us pull of
the best day's run since Valparaiso. Of course, the 6 foot beam seas we
were reaching in were full of all sorts of joy, not the least of which
was throwing me across the cabin while I was cooking dinner, leaving me
with a nice bruise on my arm, and, inexplicably, bits and pieces of
corned beef and potato all over the wall near my imapct zone.
Inexplicable because both the pan and the fork I was stirring with
remained on the stove, and we certainly didn't roll far enough for
anything other than me to get launched that far. Odd...

2/23/12

2012-02-23T17:16:00.000Z

Noon Position: 49 03' S, 39 58' W, SOG 3.5, COG 035, Day's Run 128nm,
Weeks' Run 917nm. I've been thinking about the day that I rounded Cape
Horn. It was such a focal point of the trip up that point, all my
energy aimed towards it. Then suddenly there it was, rearing up dead
ahead out of the dawn. It seemed like such an appropriate way to round
the Horn - a gale the day before, clearing to beautiful skies as I
passed Tierra del Fuego. And then, all day long, the procession of
island and mountains to port, rising up out of the sea in turn like
dragon's teeth capped in snow. It was a vibrant day, full of life - the
seas alive with birds, albatrosses and cormorants and petrels,
everywhere circling and diving. Even alive with people - a fishing boat
the night before, a cruise ship and fishing boat headed to Ushuaia as we
left the clouds and land behind. Even the land seemed to quiver with
energy, spawning immense sheets of rain that drifted to sea in dismal
rows, obliterating the sun beneath a wall of darkness. And then, at
last, a final sunset to bid it all farewell, watching the sun sink over
Tierra del Fuego, just as it had risen over the Horn, and it was gone.
The next morning nothing remained to een hint at what had passed, no
birds, no land, just the unbroken horizon, stretching ahead 3500 miles
to Africa. South America may as well have been a dream, and was as
unobtainable, carried as Odyssey was on the rushing wind. Now there's
nothing, 9 days out and it might as well be a hundred, just an endless
blur of sun and squalls and wind and waves, receding down our wake into
memory.

2/21/12

2012-02-21T17:32:00.000Z

Noon Position: 51 11' S, 44 44' W, SOG 6.5, COG 070, Day's Run 128nm.
It's a cold one today - the olive oil regained it's robust consistency
overnight, and even now, 1400 local, my toes and fingers are stiff with
cold despite the warm sun. Odyssey is rolling her way cheerfully
downwind wing-on-wing before WSW breeze, accompanied by a looming line
of darkness about two miles to the north, which seems to be content to
drift slowly parallel to us as it obliterates the horizon. In all other
directions, of course, there's not a cloud in the sky, and the solar
panels are soaking in the sun's rays, oblivious to the torrential
downpour just a few miles away. Sailing wing-on is not the fastest
point of sail, nor is it the most comfortable - the lack of stability
that reaching provides has Odyssey rolling consistently through about 20
degrees either side of vertical, but once the breeze gets up enough to
hit hull speed, it's certainly better than broad reaching 30 or 40
degrees off my desired course. The rolling makes moving about on deck
interesting - certainly not as bad as during a gale, when with just a
scrap of headsail up Odyssey seems to be rolling both rails underwater
at the same time as I crawl forward to secure some banging halyard, but
enough to make me appreciate being clipped in when working to leeward.
When on deck in anything but a flat calm I wear a webbing chest harness
with a pair of tethers, one 3 feet long and the other 6. Normally this
would be incorporated into an inflatable PFD of some sort, but with no
one else on board, if I get separated from the boat the extra flotation
wouldn't matter, so to save bulk and reduce snagging on various objects,
it's just a harness. On it I have a fixed blade sheath knife and a
winch handle on a carabiner, which lets carry it with both hands free.
In the cockpit are 3 padeyes to clip into, 2 at the forward end within
reach of the companionway, so I can clip in before going on deck, and
one by the wheel for working aft. For working forward, I've run a pair
of jacklines made of 3/16ths dyneema inside 1" nylon webbing. The
jacklines start at the bow cleats, cross just aft of the mast, then
terminate at the padeyes for the running-backstays near the forward end
of the cockpit. having the jacklines switch sides aft of the mast is a
bit of a pain, since it means I need to reclip to work on the fore-deck,
but the benefits are that if I'm on the 3 foot tether, I can't end up
over the side because the jacklines are near the centerline. The aft
end of the jacklines are far enough forward so that even on the 6 foot
tether, if I were to fall overboard I wouldn't drag behind the boat and
could still get myself back on board. The other important safety
feature that I've added is to connect the two lower shrouds on each side
with a piece of wood at the height of my lower back - this gives me
something to lean against while working at the mast, particularly if I
have to go to leeward, and goes a long way towards keeping me on my
feet. A last, unforeseen benefit that I gained by removing the canvas
dodger and building the small hard "hutch" over the companionway is that
it makes going forward a lot safer and easier - instead of having to
swing outboard of the running backstays with precious little room
between me and the rail, or jam myself through the narrow gap between
the runners and dodger, I can now just move forward over the cabin top,
with handrails to hang onto. I didn't really focus on it at the time
of construction, but this makes getting around the deck a lot easier -
I'm really glad to have ditched the dodger.

2/19/12

2012-02-19T21:33:00.000Z

Noon Position: 52 32' S, 50 52' W, SOG 4.8, COG 080, Day's Run 118nm.
The South Atlantic has chosen to smile upon me - yet another glorious
sunny day. If it wasn't for the cold, the view from Odyssey's
companionway this morning could have been mistaken for a nice day in the
trade winds - crisp blue sky, puffy white clouds, rich ocean flecked
with foam. Of course, it is cold, so theres not much risk of making
that mistake. Yesterday afternoon I thawed out my Olive Oil and soap in
the sun, and by extremely accurate and scientific observations, I have
discovered that last night, while cold, was not as cold as it was off of
Cape Horn. The oil only partially congealed overnight, but was still
pourable, while the dish soap has fully re-acquired its most frozen
consistency. Interestingly enough, I believe the water temperature is
warmer than the air temperature, at least at night, since the soap that
I store in the bilge, which due to proximity mimics the temperature of
the surrounding sea, has yet to congeal into the foamy white goo that
the soap in the galley has done. Complaining about temperature out of
the way, it truly has been a glorious few days since cape horn - only
one day was really miserable, with drizzle and clouds, and for the most
part it's been beautiful and sunny. It makes me wish I had an Open 60
and could stay with the nice weather a bit longer, but I'm content to
plod along at 5 kts and enjoy the sun while I can.

2/18/12

2012-02-18T19:48:00.000Z

Noon Position: 53 36' S, 53 27' W, SOG 5, COG 090, Day's Run 120nm. A cousin of mine from Chicago found a website, http://www.thedeepradioshow.com/Pages/circumnavigation.html, which lists present and past solo circumnavigation attempts. The webmaster offered to include me on the list, but kindly requested "a short paragraph explaining his mission or motivation for the journey." Seeing as how I've been enjoying a lovely string of weather, with not much to do but sail fast, dry out wet charts, sails, and potatoes, and smear grease liberally on anything that's even thinking about chafing, I thought I might oblige, since I realize that I never really posted anything along those lines in the first place. The lack of such a statement is due to a combination of the fact that it seemed largely self evident to me why anyone would want to sail around the world, and that I didn't really have the time or motivation for any such vaguely public introspection before I left. There are a number of reasons behind this journey, some of them which have faded into relative obscurity at sea. Why Alone? One of my goals was (and is) to really live life, to fully experience the highs and lows, to actually accomplish something difficult. My life on shore, or even the relatively "civilized" life afloat that I led prior to this trip, is cushy and insulated. I was rotting slowly from the inside, and didn't recognize the rot. There were some hard moments, difficult times, but in many regards they were more the exception that proves the rule, and in some cases the bad moments are enabled by the slackness that that life allowed. I can't afford to screw up and do something stupid out here - Even if I do everything right, the sea can still kill me. There's certainly grandeur and glory here, but it's tinged with and heightened by the ever present threat of the sea. I need to be functioning at 100% just to break even and keep things together. So much of what I found myself valuing ashore, whether wealth, success, power, is wiped away by a single day alone at sea. Whether I have a car, or money in the bank, or the respect and adulation of friends and peers doesn't do a damn bit of good if the furling line chafes through, or a breaking wave puts the spreaders in the water. There's a purity out here, which makes the living all the sweeter - the highs are higher, the depths are deeper, and every day I learn a little bit more. I went to sea to save my soul, and this circumnavigation provides a powerful setting to do so. I'm living richly, fully experiencing the grandeur and the terror of the sea. On a slightly less grandiose scale, I've always wanted to sail around the world, and also to round Cape Horn, ever since I heard my first sea story as a wee young lad, so combining both into a Southern Ocean circumnavigation seemed like a good way of killing two birds with one stone. How's that for a daily dose of melodrama? ; )

2/15/12

2012-02-15T22:22:00.000Z

Noon Position: 55 42' S, 62 35' W, SOG 6, COG 070, Day's Run 130nm. I
had a delightful early morning wakeup by the always popular 6 AM
hailstorm, Cape Horn reaching out to remind me that I'm not beyond its
arms yet. Not that I'd be likely to forget with the cold - Through some
judicious research into the state changes of olive oil, I've discovered
that the temperature down below has reached at least 40 F. I've also
learned that when cold, Nutella gains a delicious, fudge-y consistency,
and Dawn soap turns into a weird foamy paste when both chilled and
agitated for several weeks on end. I've had a pair of brilliant sunny
days, perfect for drying things out and recharging my batteries, and
with the sun out it becomes downright pleasant between the hours of
about 2PM and 8PM. After that, of course, the temperature plummets and
keeps my olive oil a inaccessible cube at the bottom of the bottle, and
my toes turn back into something resembling icicles. I just finished
reading Richard Byrd's "Alone", about the antarctic winter he spent
alone at a weather station at 80S, and I must admit that as much as I
like complaining about how cold I am, all I need to do is think about
how excited Byrd was on the rare occasions when the inside temperature
was high enough to keep the ice from creeping up the walls of his heated
shack. So I can't complain too much about a little bit of early morning
hail.

2/12/2012 addendum [Delayed Attachment: IMG_0159.jpg]

2012-02-14T23:18:00.001Z

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2/14/12

2012-02-14T23:06:00.000Z

Noon Position: 55 45' S, 66 09' W, SOG 8, COG 050, Day's Run 145nm.
Those of you who are particularly cunning, or at least possessed of mad
Google Earth skillz, may notice something interesting about today's
position information. I awoke this morning to a wave breaking over the
boat, and popped my head on deck to discover the wind had shifted to the
SW and Odyssey was pointed straight at Cape Horn, about 5 miles off.
Two minutes later my alarm clock went off. I listened to Beethoven's
9th symphony as the dawn slowly broke over the lonely peak of the horn,
and raised a silent toast. I stayed in the hutch, clutching my drink,
ignoring the bitter cold that bit at my ears and fingers until the sun
finally lit Cabo de Hornos before going back below to warm up over the
stove. That moment was what the trip up to now has been all about -
focused on reaching the Horn, rounding the Horn, seeing the Horn,
feeling the Horn. Now I sail Northeast and east for thousands of miles
and months, with no sight of land, no immediate goal, just me and the sea.

2/13/12

2012-02-13T22:48:00.000Z

Noon Position: 56 09' S, 70 24' W, SOG 5, COG 075, Day's Run 138nm.
I'm coming out the backside of this depression now - it blew fairly hard
last night, probably topping out around 45 (at least that's what the
forecast called for), but wasn't as strong as the gale that knocked me
down. I know that I could get more mileage out of this weather,
especially now that it's improving as the depression passes, but it's
very hard to push the boat when it's so cold. I'm currently wearing,
from bottom to top, 2 pairs of wool socks, 2 pairs wool long underwear
pants, 1 pair fleece pants, 2 pairs wool long underwear tops, 1 fleece
vest, 2 fleece sweaters, and my foul weather pants on top, and I'm
comfortable to a bit warm during the day. When I was planning this
trip, I didn't really appreciate the temperature - thank goodness my mom
decided to mother me on the point of bringing enough warm clothes. If I
had heat on board I'd be fine with a lot less, just for going on deck
when you're active enough to stay warm, but with no chance to ever warm
up, every bit of clothing helps. At night the temperature drops
painfully - It's all I can do to sleep curled up in my blanket cocoon,
so it's really hard to convince myself it's worth carrying more sail,
when if a squall rolls through I'll have to go up in the freezing cold
and take it in... So I sail a little slowly. It seems every time I try
to put up more sail the wind builds in response - yesterday and today I
went to full jib after the wind dropped, only to have the wind suddenly
pick back up to 30-35 knots again, leaving me surfing a zig-zag course
down the front of waves as the windvane struggled to keep the boat in
control. So I sail a little slowly. I hadn't fully appreciated how
hard it blows down here - Between LA and Valparaiso, the least sail I
ever carried was a triple reefed main (bigger than what I have now) and
my big staysail, and even then was underpowered. Here, I haven't had
the main up for 2 days, and consider it light air when I can carry the
triple reefed main with the storm jib.

2/12/2012

2012-02-12T22:00:00.000Z

Noon Position: 55 17' S, 74 09' W, SOG 4.5, COG 120, Day's Run 128nm.
I've spent hours today watching the sea, hanging on by my fingertips at
the chart table as Odyssey rolls her way down 10 foot breaking waves. I
watched the progression of weather pass over, spots of sunlight amidst
thick layers of clouds, with a scattering of ominous dark squalls just
to mix things up. I watched as the seas built from gentle, playful
tumblings, gurgling their way around the globe, into vertiginous, slab
sided rollers, toppling over into brilliant blue froth as they spill
forward. I've listened as the noise of the boat grew, the normal creaks
and groans getting louder and more frequent, waves began hissing
alongside, the wind grew from an inaudible whisper to a hooting groan.
I've felt my toes grow steadily icier, despite all that two layers of
gore-tex and wool could do, each time I ventured on deck. Also, I
almost lost my tea because the damn stove fell off again while I was
boiling water.

2/12/2012 [Delayed Attachment: IMG_0154.jpg]

2012-02-11T23:38:00.001Z

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2/10/12

2012-02-10T15:28:00.000Z

Noon Position: 52 27' S, 77 54' W, COG 180, SOG 5.5, Day's Run 90nm.
Well, my first southern Ocean gale was brief and nasty. I'm not even
really sure how to describe it, other than a vaguely technical blow by
blow. It was absolutely terrifying, like riding a horrifying roller
coaster without seatbelts, not knowing when the car's going to come off
the track. I spent my time either down below, anxiously worrying and
hoping nothing would break or go wrong, or frantically working to get
something done before diving back into the (relative) shelter of the
cabin. And in less than 12 hours, it was over - I'm not even sure if it
qualifies as a gale, being so short. Today I'm sailing in 15 knots out
of the NW under Sunny skies - if it wasn't for the cold and the big
lumpy swell, it could almost be in the trades. I even passed a pair of
sea lions sunning themselves this morning - I'm not sure what they're
doing this far offshore, but they looked far more comfortable in the icy
water than I would be. I've got everything that I can fit up on deck
trying to dry things out a bit before it gets unpleasant again, which it
looks like will happen tonight. On thursday evening I did my nightly
email connection at 2000, as usual, and had just shortened down to storm
jib in what was a solid 35 knots or so, but was running smoothly and
comfortably. Almost as soon as I hit the send button it started getting
nasty - the wind quickly built to probably 40, with stronger gusts, and
the seas suddenly went from smooth and happy to big and ugly very very
quickly. There was a strong NW wave train from the wind on top of the
omnipresent W swell, both of which were big. When the wind picked up it
was like flicking a switch - suddenly the tops of the waves were
tumbling over themselves with a rumbling, hissing sound, reaching out to
Odyssey with white fingers of foam. I quickly struck the storm jib and
switched to a scrap of roller furled real jib - one thing I regret
already is not having a real small - 20 or 25 sq ft - storm jib - my
smallest is 65, which is too big once the breeze gets above 40 or so. I
got the boat settled down again, careening down the faces of the NW
waves, still running to the south, with the occasional straggler
slapping in at an angle and throwing us off course, while I waited,
breathless, hoping that the windvane would get the bow back downwind
before another wave caught us beam on for a real hit. Everything seemed
to be going well, and I had just settled in at the chart table,
nervously watching the gps numbers as we rumbled down wave faces at 12
or 14 knots, when there was a tremendous, dull thud, everything went
dark, and the boat swiftly leaned over as the giant, gentle hand of a
wave caught us on the starboard beam. Before I realized what had
happened we were back upright again, coming back with a jerk that
surprised me after the smooth hit, and everything was a shambles. A
gallon of sea water poured down my back, the frying pan that had been in
the sink bounced off my head on it's way for the back of the chart
table, jars of pepperoncinis from the fridge were everywhere, one of the
floorboard for the bilge was in my bunk. One of the sneaky west swells
had gotten lucky and broken right underneath us, knocking Odyssey flat.
On deck, everything was a shambles - port solar panel missing, lines
and wire trailing overboard, stern pulpit a mangled mess, cockpit knee
deep in water. I altered course more to the east to take the W swell
more on the stern and went back below, where I spent the rest of the
night in my bunk in full foulies, listening with apprehension to every
rumble, hiss, moan, and roar.

2/9/12

2012-02-09T22:48:00.000Z

Noon Position: 51' S, 78 15' W, SOG 4 kts, COG 150, Day's Run 120nm.
Yesterday and last night the other shoe dropped... First full gale,
first horizontal knockdown, first sail damage. Of course, today I'm
drifting around in 10' seas with no wind and miserable drizzle.
everything is sopping wet, with a combination of condensation and leaks,
and I've got about 4 hours of sewing still to do, so I'm going to keep
this one short, since I want to get some sleep before it starts blowing
again tomorrow.

2/7/12

2012-02-07T22:58:00.000Z

Noon Position: 47 32' S 78 35' W, SOG 2.5, COG 125, (hove to) Day's
Run 120nm. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like the
Southern Ocean is teasing me, warning me, just playing with me. A
stupendous run yesterday (surfing at 7-8 knots with 20-25kts wind from
the NW) was rudely interrupted this morning by the wind shifting
straight West and building to 30-35. The west swell, which had been
present all night, suddenly went from smooth and easygoing to jagged and
lumpy, and I was awakened at 5am by rush of water and an inexorable
sense of being pressed into my bunk, as one of the waves caught Odyssey
just right and spun her out, rolling us further over than I've ever
been. Not a knockdown, by any means, but probably a roll to 50 degrees
or so. I stumbled out of bed and into my foulies and got us headed
downwind to calm things down, then went below for a cup of cocoa to
think things over. I discovered that my feet had been saved from some
serious abuse at the hands of a drill from the starboard seatback
lockers only by the leecloth on the starboard bunk, which fortunately
had held everything back. Normally I keep the storm jib hanked onto the
inner forestay on deck, but I'd had it off yesterday to add some chafing
gear, so I spent the better part of the morning getting it back on
again, getting the mainsail fully lashed down and the halyards to stop
slamming the rig, and sorting out the furling gear (again) When I put
the small jib back up, I apparently didn't quite get the measure on the
furling line right, so I couldn't get the last foot or so to roll up, so
I ventured to the bow again to get things sorted out. kneeling on the
slippery deck, sliding back and forth as the boat rolled down waves
trying to get the sail fully stowed when Odyssey took off on a
tremendous swell, roaring down the face of a wave so fast that I swore
we were going to keep on going straight through the trough and into the
next wave. Clearly, that was not to be countenanced, so I ended up
heaving to for most of the afternoon while things settled down, and now
this evening I'm back underway, chugging to the south at 4.5kts under
storm jib and triple reefed main.

2/5/12

2012-02-05T23:18:00.000Z

Noon Position: 43 46' S, 78 55' W, COG 195, SOG 5.7, Day's Run 120nm.
My old friend the the stove is up to his old tricks again - immediately
out of Valparaiso the squeaking began, but I'd learned it's tricks, and
after suffering for an hour in the middle of then night, hoping it would
fix itself, I finally forced myself out of bed and quickly quieted the
offender with some grease. Thus silenced, I returned to sleep, secure
in the knowledge that I had once again struck a blow for justice and
sanity. Little did I realize that my enemy was up to new tricks, and
had recruited conspirators as well. Four days ago it struck it's first
blow - the squeaking started again as we were crashing upwind, and I lay
in bed, hating the swedish and Bulgarian production team that produced
the devilish creature. But suddenly my muttered imprecations were
answered! We went off a particularly loud wave, and the squeaking
stopped! Hah, (I thought), it must have shocked it back into
quiescence. The next morning I awoke, looking forward to a delicious
breakfast of scrambled eggs, and discovered what had really been going
on last night. The squeaking had stopped, sure, but only because the
entire forward gimbal had unscrewed itself and the front of the stove
had fallen off the bulkhead to which it was mounted, managing to jam
itself beneath it's mounting bracket and the food storage bin below.
Much swearing and bending of flimsy sheet metal later, the stove was
back on its mounts, and all was well. Clearly this was an escalation,
but the extent of the increase in hostilities was only evident
yesterday, when I got a lunchtime surprise from the stove's
co-conspirator - We took a big roll, and an entire bottle of canola oil
shot out of the cupboard, bounced once on the counter, then exploded all
over the companionway steps, coating everything (including the genoa in
its sailbag) with a nice heavy film. This was clearly a declaration of
war, and any doubts that I had were immediately put to rest when the
stove once again unscrewed it's forward end that night and fell off,
this time managing to punch a quarter sized hole in the top of my food
bin. I'm not sure what I've done to arouse such enmity, but clearly I
need to do something to pacify the stove before it recruits any more
galley components to it's nefarious war on my sanity.

2/3/12

2012-02-03T23:34:00.000Z

Noon Position: 41 32' S, 77 37' W, SOG 3, COG 345, Day's Run 110nm.
I've been building 40 S up in my mind as some sort of magic wall, a line
in the sand, that once crossed suddenly the weather becomes crazy.
Yesterday as I was approaching 40S I felt a kind of apprehension, as if
the very moment I hit the line the wind would suddenly start blowing 50,
the seas would suddenly become mountainous, snow and hail would start
pelting my ice covered deck. Luckily, I was wrong. For better or for
worse, right now the High pressure system is parked around 45 S, which
does a number of things. The depressions rolling through are all very
far south, so I get more distance and better weather, but because in the
southern hemisphere wind goes counter-clockwise around a high, I get
prevailing Southerlies as I sit to the East and North of it. Another
frontal system associated with a depression rolled through last night
and today - I went to bed yesterday under full main and jib, chugging
along at 5 knots, and by 1:30AM was up putting in a double reef. The
wind kept building, happily out of the NW, so pushing me in the right
direction, and by 6:30 this morning I was charging along on a beam reach
under triple reefed main and partial jib doing a fairly solid 7 knots.
The seas were a bit confused, with a remnant W swell underneath a
building NNW swell, and the occasional big W swell would catch me off
guard, rolling the bottom lifeline underwater and luffing me up hard,
making the windvane struggle for a minute or two to get me back on
course. Finally I decided to just dump the main to balance the sail
plan a bit more, which made a huge difference - no main and more jib
helped keep the bow down and the speed up - I wish I could have that
breeze for another few days. Unfortunately, right around noon some
heavy rain rolled through, and in the midst of it a 130 degree wind
shift in the course of about 3 minutes - one minute I was charging along
at 200T doing 7 knots, the next I was sailing 070. For the rest of the
day I've been loafing generally E for a smoother ride in the now S swell
and to try to get my self back offshore again. There wasn't a huge
amount of wind with this system - just before the wind went hard SW it
was pushing 40 in the gusts, but the majority of the wind was in the
25-35 kt range. In other news, I finally seem to have managed to start
picking up Valparaiso weatherfaxes, CBV, which is very nice, since it
saves me on sat phone time to download weather files. The Chilean
weatherfax broadcasts aren't very impressive - a very weak signal, and
only broadcast during the day, when reception is bad, but theres a set
of surface analyses and wind forecasts that I can now pick up right
before sunset, which is very nice.

2/1/12

2012-02-01T23:01:00.000Z

Noon Position: 38 41' S, 077 52' W, SOG 5.3, COG 140, day's run 86nm.
Today, I learned from the newspaper wrapping a tomato that on Halloween,
Anthony Weiner played a hockey game with his team and that his uniform
is #1. An avocado informed me that the number of geriatricians is
shrinking in relation to the number of geriatrics, and I learned from a
lime that a deadly fungus, Ceratocystis platani, is killing European
trees. Also, I have discovered that my fuzzy slippers from target are
most excellent.

1/31/12

2012-01-31T23:00:00.000Z

Noon Position 37 37' S, 79 11'W, COG 245, SOG 5.3, Day's Run 95nm. A
frontal system rolled through this weekend, with the warm front passing
sunday afternoon and the following cold front early yesterday morning.
Whatever low was kicking them out must have been pretty far south and/or
fairly weak, since I only saw 15-20kts in the squalls as the front came
through, but unfortunately it put an end to the wonderful west wind that
let me drive pretty much straight south, leaving me beating against a
slow current into light air - frustrating, especially last night when
the breeze was cycling between 0 and 10 knots with a period of about an
hour. I got some midnight entertainment when I got up in the middle of
the night to roll the genoa to save chafe during a calm, only to
discover that the furler had decided to vomit forth various screws and
bolts all over the deck and into the ocean, rendering it entirely
useless. Midnight roller furling repair is not entirely my idea of a
good time, but at least it was calm when it happened - it would have
been truly atrocious to have discovered the failure in the midst of a
big squall and be stuck trying to wrestle the genoa onto the deck and
out of the sea. Today I took advantage of the calm weather to swap from
the genoa down to the 95% jib, which I plan on having up for the
duration - I'm now down to my "small" suit of sails. Also got to take
care of some minor leakproofing of a few spots that we missed or didn't
quite do a perfect job on in Valparaiso, got the storm jib on deck, and
generally continued to sort the boat out. Also of note is that I cooked
my first actual meal of this leg tonight, (sweet?) potatoes and onions
and garlic in the pressure cooker. I've been really impressed by how
well things have kept - the potatoes and garlic were both from
California, and looked in better shape than their equivalents that I
stocked up on in Chile. At some point I'll put together a blog about
food preservation and longevity, but the key so far seems to be wrapping
almost everything in newspaper and keeping it dry. Onwards to the south!

1/28/12

2012-01-28T22:39:00.000Z

Noon Position 33 29.8'S, 075 17'W, SOG 3.8, COG 207, Day's Run 95nm.
Things are going much better today - My cold seems to be dissipating, my
toe doesn't hurt, and I haven't puked since yesterday morning! In fact,
any and all nausea seems to have gone away. I think it was largely due
to not having eaten much for 24 hours on top of being in the lazarette,
topped off by the cold. Today the weather is shining, and we're sailing
SW in a light westerly, which is far more pleasant than the strong
Southerly breeze we could be facing. I anticipate some calms ahead as
we get back into the high pressure, but it makes for a nice ride at the
moment. It gave myself another haircut today and the new inverter
didn't even cough, which was wonderful, although I seem to have a
tendency to give myself unfortunate haircuts - this time the entire back
of my head is longer than the rest, sort of a buzz-mullet, if such a
thing exists. Fortunately I can only see the back of my head with some
effort, so the crew of Odyssey will not be offended by the sight. I've
really been appreciating the work that we did on Odyssey in Higuerrillas
- the new hard dodger is very nice, and rebedding all the cabin top
hardware and re-sealing the forward hatch have both made significant
improvements for the drier in my life, and the mast is rock solid with a
new spar-tite collar and set screws installed this time. I switched to
the small main (a cut-down Catalina 38 sail) in Chile, and while the
canvas and stitching are both in good shape, the sail shape leaves quite
a bit to be desired. My real mainsail was a bit too full, but at least
it had a shape - this sail seems to consist mostly of wrinkles, but I
can deal with that until I start heading downwind, where the deeper
third reef in this main will make my life a lot happier. I now just
need to watch the weather and pick a good window to swap back down to my
small jib before hitting anything unpleasant and we'll be set.

1/27/12

2012-01-27T22:03:00.000Z

Noon Position: 33 04' S, 73 22' W, COG 235, SOG 5kts, Day's run 90nm.
Last night wasn't pretty. I was in a nasty funk of self-pity,
congestion and sneezing, chills, and nausea, so I decided that
discretion was the better part of valor and rolled the jib down to a
scrap for the night to ease the boat's motion, pumped myself full of
drugs, and watched my weekly wednesday episode of Dr. Who (a day late)
before passing out for a night of troubled rest. This morning Odyssey
had clearly decided that I'd spent enough time malingering and feeling
sorry for myself - "Hey You, the anchor's still on the bow, you didn't
tighten the lowers enough when the mast went back in, and the inner
forestay needs to be set up! Take care of me or I won't take care of
you!" I felt a lot better than last night, so I hauled myself into
foulies and onto the bow after turning downwind to get a bit of a
smoother ride. Not quite far enough, however, but a few waves down my
pants and one smack upside the head from the anchor locker lid later I
was back in the cockpit, feeling pleased with myself for having gotten
something done. I unrolled the jib, set the windvane back to close
hauled, and headed below for a much anticipated cup of hot tea that had
been brewing all the while, only to hear the whisper-thud of the the
genoa, then the main, gybing as the boat turned exactly the opposite
direction that I wanted. "Damnit boat, not something else!" "Ha, you
think that was enough?! One of the blocks on the windvane just broke,
you bum, and you were too lazy and shore-bound to even notice it! Get
back up here and take care of me! This is what you get for being such a
sad sack last night!" Tea delayed once more, I headed back on deck to
pull off one of my two Garhauer double cheek blocks that lead the the
steering lines from the windvane to the wheel - the rivet going through
the middle of the blocks had sheared off at the lower end. I'm not
quite sure why, but I do know that this particular block has always had
a disturbing amount of wiggle and play in it, where my spares don't move
at all - I think it may have been badly riveted from the beginning. A
rummage through the spares locker and several laz dives later, I emerged
back on deck from the bowels of the stern to the sound of an immense
breaking wave, and found myself staring straight down the blowholes of a
tremendous whale, so close that if I'd had a boat hook on deck I could
have reached out and touched it. "Look, look what good comes of taking
care of me!" I could hear Odyssey snickering to itself, as the whale
surfaced a second time then disappeared into the depths as I got under
way. My tea was, of course, by this time, lukewarm, and to add insult
to injury I promptly puked it back up all over the cockpit. I normally
don't get seasick, and I hadn't been feeling bad this morning, so I'm
not sure what's going on - the combination of a cold with being back at
sea again after too long on land? Either way, we're sailing again, at
least somewhat in the the right direction.

An interview with Eric who is on his way, again!

2012-01-27T19:40:00.000Z

Repairs completed and restocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, Eric departed Concon, Chile, Thursday morning about 11:30 after having gotten clearance for his departure from the Chilean authorities late Wednesday afternoon. Before his departure, he spoke by Skype with Len Edgerly of the weekly podcast, The Kindle Chronicles, about his voyage so far. The terrific interview and show notes can be found at: http://www.thekindlechronicles.com/2012/01/27/tkc-182-eric-loss/.

For those readers who missed Eric's first interview with Len a week prior to departing Los Angeles last November, it is fascinating to listen to Eric talk about his expectations for his solo circumnavigation of the globe and compare them to his experiences 70 days into his voyage: http://www.thekindlechronicles.com/2011/11/04/tkc-170-eric-loss/

Eric's family also wishes to thank all those who helped Eric during his stay in Chile as well as the far-flung network of sailors and others who gave us invaluable advice and help in the period of time leading up to his landing in Chile. We also very much appreciate the many loyal readers of this blog who continue to support Eric and follow his voyage.

1/26/12

2012-01-26T22:32:00.000Z

1923 Local, 2323 UTC Position: 32 52' S 72 02' W, COG 250, SOG 5kts.
I got off the dock around 10:30 this morning, after much fussing and
chasing about to finally convince the marina manager that I should, in
fact, be allowed to pay him (but only cash, apparently). Right now the
wind is pretty aggressively SW, so I'm sailing more west than South,
just to get offshore and away from traffic for the night. I thought
that leaving again this time would be easier, but it wasn't - in some
ways it was harder. I delayed from leaving yesterday afternoon until
this morning, ostensibly to deal with a few last minute boat things, but
in reality I probably could have left 4 days ago - I was really just
delaying. The last two weeks in Higuerillas have been golden, now I'm
back to sailing upwind, getting wet, and feeling sorry for myself. I
know that this will of course go away in a few days, but it changes
little at the moment. Shore was both kind and unkind to me - while I am
mentally in a mostly good place, I'm phyisically in worse shape -
snuffles and allergies from being on land again finally developed into
what I suspect is going to be a lingering cold, leaving me stuffed up
and unable to breathe, my nose is sunburned from an afternoon's
indiscretion, and two days ago I stubbed the living daylights out of the
same toe that I split back in LA in November - the 4th toe of my left
foot apparently is a harbinger of sailing. I lanced the nasty blood
blister that manifested itself and that seems to have relieved the
pressure, I can now walk and get into a sleeping bag without wincing in
pain. Just one last parting gift from shore, I suppose.

1/24/12

2012-01-24T23:32:00.000Z

As of this morning I still hadn't gotten any response to the request for
clearance that the marina sent in to the Armada for me last week, so on
the advice of Joloc & Keke, two spanish cruisers who are the only other
visitorts here at the yacht club, Shanley and I took the bus into
Valparaiso to charge into the Lion's Den, the Capitania. An hour later
I emerged, victorious, with the knowledge that tomorrow afternoon the
navy followed by the whole train of officials would come visit to grant
me a zarpe and to clear customs. The zarpe seems to be a weirdly
Chilean document - as far as I can tell it's essentially a cruising
permit, but taken to extremes. If you're planning to go anywhere within
Chile, you need a zarpe, and to spell out your itinerary on it in
advance, complete with ETAs at the various destinations. While I know
the US has somewhat similar requirements for foreign yachts, Chile also
requires it of Chilean yachts. Daniel, the skipper of a Chilean flagged
power yacht docked next to me, had to get a zarpe in order to sail from
here to Porto Montt, about 500 miles south, and back. I'm not sure if
theres a minimum trip distance or anything, but the whole concept seems
a bit extreme. Anyway, if all goes well and everyone shows up on time,
by this time tomorrow I should be offshore and bound somewhat South
again. Today we put the finishing touches on what we've taken to
calling the hutch, which is a sort of hard dodger - It's going to be a
lot nicer than the old canvas dodger, much drier and sturdier. A few
other things I learned in the course of the day - Haribo Brix candy is
disturbingly, puckeringly sour, Jehovah's witnesses from Wisconsin
apparently come to Chile to escape the cold and bring English copies of
"The Watchtower" with them. Also, the produce ladies at the grocery
store do not appeciate having to weigh an entire cartload of tomatoes,
oranges, grapefruit, mangoes, pears, peaches, lemons, and limes, when
one is a trainee and the other's scale is broken. Who knew?

1/21/12

2012-01-21T23:09:00.001Z

Saturday afternoon finds Odyssey still docked at Higuerillas. The combination of daylight savings time with the fact that all of Chile is in a single time zone, which is too far east for the coast, means that the sun doesn't set until 9:30 or so at night. I've slowly fallen under the spell of the clocks, which has resulted in going to sleep at midnight (which only feels like 10PM or so) and then sleeping in until 9 or 10 in the morning, aided by the sun being hidden behind the hills inland of us and the morning weather, which reminds me of nothing so much as the "June Gloom" of Southern California. I've decided now to try to get out of here Tuesday or Wednesday, authorities permitting - I had been operating under the assumption that I only needed a day or two of lead time to get clearance, but on Thursday discovered it could take up to a week from the date that I put in the request, so I optimistically asked to be cleared by Wednesday, but we'll see how things go with the progression of navy, immigration, customs, and agriculture. Saturday seems to be the busy day here - the rest of the week the yacht club seems like a ghost town, inhabited by far more seagulls and pelicans than people.

1/18/12

2012-01-18T23:18:00.001Z

Today was a big day in the life of Odyssey - the mast went back in! After much poking and prodding, hammering and smashing, we determined that the mast step was in fact solid - the looseness that I had been attributing to the step was in fact from the spartite collar at the partners where the mast passes through the deck working itself loose and then being slightly eroded by the motion of the mast. While it may or may not say something about my mental processes to sail over 30 days and 2000+ miles over something which could have been fixed at sea in about 30 minutes, I do feel a lot more confident in my rigging now, which very important. I'm going to regard the first 70 days of this trip as a 6700 mile shakedown cruise. With the mast back in today we cranked on rig tension and everything was solid, so I'm feeling much bettter about that situation. It's been good to take care of a few random jobs and bits of maintenance on the dock as well, and we're in the midst of building a small hard dodger to cover the companionway, since I discovered on the way down here that the canvas dodger has an unfortunate habit of letting the larger waves through it and into the galley. So far Chile has been great. We're docked at what I think is one of the nicest yacht clubs in Chile, Club de Yates de Higuerillas (I don't think that's quite right, but it's close) in ConCon, which is a summer vacation town about 10 miles north of Valparaiso. The area reminds me a lof of Southern California - not just the beaches and summer tourists, which there are plenty of, but in the landscape and wildlife as well. You could take just about any picture here and be hard pressed to tell whether it was in SoCal or Chile. The biggest difference is the size of the birds - the pelicans and seagulls here are abnormally (well, I guess normally for Chile, but...) large. Any one of these birds could definitely win against 2 to 1 odds in a birdfight with the variety from California. They also seem to have a predilection for finding human targets upon which to deposit their guano, and if there are no people about they seem to take great joy in going after sidewalks, boats, umbrellas, or whatever is the most likely to cause umbrage. My spanish has been slowly improving too, although I still have a tendency to stare panic-stricken at people when they speak at a normal speed, I tell myself at least that I'm competent enough to go to a restaurant and order a meal with a minimum of pointing and sign language, which, of course, gives me no end of pride when comparing Spanish skills with Shanley. One thing that is less than ideal here is the wifi access - there are only certain spots in the club where you can get a signal, and then your chances of actually being able to connect to the internet are at best 50/50, and service has a nasty tendency to cut out whenever I'm in the middle of writing an email or trying to download anything. I'm going to head back to the boat now for some dinner, it's almost sunset and the air is starting to get a bit chilly.

1/12/12

2012-01-13T00:49:00.000Z

Noon Position: 32 55' S, 071 32' W, COG NA, SOG 0, Day's Run 0! I
docked at Higuerillas Yacht at 10:30 tuesday, and set about clearing
customs into the country. This turned out be a more time consuming
process than I have experienced in the past - first, at noon, the
Chilean Coast Guard arrived to give my boat clearance to be in Chilean
Waters. By 3, Immigration had finally arrived to give me clearance to
be on Chilean Land. Around 5:30 a woman from customs swung by, to make
sure I wasn't smuggling anything, and finally at 7:00 the inspector from
Agriculture came aboard. The only thing I had that was a problem was
honey - apparently there's a bacteria in American bees that they're
trying to keep out of Chile, so all of my honey was sealed in Dept. of
Agriculture packing tape, not to be opened until after departure. This
was all a bit exciting, since my spanish is almost nonexistant, and most
of officialdom, while speaking fairly good english, seemed embarassed
that they weren't fluent, so our conversations were a bit awkward.
Still, it was very nice to have everyone come to the boat instead of
having to traipse around to various government offices, if a bit of a
long day. It seemed like the various clearance officers must drive a
circuit to cover various ports, hence the long afternoon. This, of
course, is entirely conjecture, since my lack of spanish limited our
conversation primarily to business matters. So far everyone at the
Yacht club has been very helpful - I'm going to get the mast out
tomorrow, and then make a determination of what is needed in terms of
repair. Being back ashore is overwhelming - the combination of little
sleep the night monday night, walking 2 miles, and dealing with people
(and in a foreign language) after being alone for 70 days has me feeling
a bit out of sorts. I think it will be a few more days before I'm fully
sorted out. I'm going to be posting less frequently now that I'm ashore
- I'm focusing now on getting the boat back together and ready to sail
again, but I'll try to update occasionally.

1/10/12

2012-01-10T11:50:00.000Z

Moored this morning!

1/9/12

2012-01-09T15:26:00.000Z

Noon Position: 32 43' S, 072 30' W, SOG 4, COG 115 T, days run 100nm,
week's run 628nm. Noon today finds Odyssey creeping across a smoothly
undulating sea towards Valparaiso, still 54nm ahead. I've been giving
my light air sails a serious workout the last few days - I've only had
the jib up for probably 6 hours out of the last 3 days. The
weather,while light, is a whole lot better than the week before, when I
had no wind. I've been impressed with how well the boat sails in this
light stuff - as long as there's a hint of wind she'll keep moving. I
was hoping to be into dock before dark (9pm or so) tonight, but unless
something surprising happens that's not going to happen. I really only
need about 3 knots more wind to make it in tonight, but we'll see what
happens. As I get back towards shore, after something like 10 weeks at
sea, I have mixed feelings. I'm excited to be able to sleep without
worrying about squalls and get the boat sorted out, especially after
slogging along in the variables for the last 2000 miles. Still, theres
a bit of reluctance, too - reluctance to re-associate with people, be
pushed back into the world of cars and bars and crowds. I realized
during a phone call with my parents yesterday that I was even reluctant
to talk to them, as if I was trying to savor my last few minutes of
solitude. An interesting change from the beginning of this passage. On
the other hand, I can't wait to have a hot shower with fresh water, and
to take the first beautiful woman that I meet out for a nice meal,
complete with fresh meat (not from a can!) and a luscious salad replete
with all the green vegetables I can pile on it. There are two sides to
everything, I guess.

1/8/12

2012-01-08T17:53:00.000Z

Noon Position: 32 15' S 074 36' W, SOG6.5, COG115,day's run 108nm.

1/7/12

2012-01-07T22:37:00.000Z

Noon Position: 31 59.8'S 076 40'W COG 100T, SOG 6.5,day's run 110nm.
Normally I sail with only "white sails" at night - no spinnaker or
drifter - because if the breeze comes up trying to douse either of my
two lighter sails can be a real hassle - they're both free flying, with
no snuffers or furlers. Last night I broke my own rule and kept the
spinnaker up all night, which was a blessing - without it I would have
just been dead in the water, as the wind was very light from astern, but
with the flat seas the chute let me keep moving at 3 knots or so. Today
I've progressed from spinnaker in the morning, down to the drifter a
little later as the wind went more North, then down to 95% jib as the
wind built, then to wing on wing as the wind went back west, and now
this afternoon back up to the spinnaker again as the breeze has dropped
again. As of noon today I was 270nm from Valparaiso. I'm going to
refrain from making any ETA or weather predictions or even hopes, as
doing either publicly seems to have a nasty tendency of jinxing me.
Today has been a very nice day of sailing - just enough wind to sail
fast for most of the day, but not enough to be unpleasant. Clear skies,
warm weather, and fast sailing - too bad such paradisical conditions
never last.

1/5/12

2012-01-05T23:03:00.000Z

Noon Position: 31 23' S, 79 03' W, SOG ???, COG ???, Day's run 80nm.
Apparently I rejoiced in wind too soon - Today from about 3 AM until at
least 6 PM I've been brutally becalmed. It's frustrating, I'm so close
to being able to get out of this stupid weather and, by all rights, I
should be far enough east to be fully into the Southerlies that I'd
hoped for, but instead, I'm sitting here in glass, watching miniature
man-o-wars sail past me. This afternoon I've had a touch of hope - a
few breaths of wind, Southerly wind, too, which is promising,
interspersed with calms. I keep telling myself that it's going to
build, and that I'll be able to run the last few degrees of longitude
off quickly, but I feel like I'm just trying to make myself feel
better. I need to get out of these calms soon - I'm starting to lose my
ability to deal with them patiently, which is, of course, the only way
to deal with them, since getting angry accomplishes nothing. I just had
hoped that my suffering was over, that I finally had wind, but the
weather seems determined to taunt me once more. While rolling about
today with sails down I finished re-reading Neal Stephenson's Anathem on
my kindle. He's an incredible world builder in all of his books, and
Anathem is no exception. The first half of the book really shines, with
all the drama focused within the walls of the math - I had forgotten
that it got a little weaker as it turns into more of an adventure novel
in the second half, but still a good enough read to occupy my
afternoon. I'm going to go try to coax some sort of sailability out of
this breeze now - hopefully I get out of this eventually...

1-5-12

2012-01-05T22:05:00.000Z

8 a.m. (?): 31 40 S, 78 57 W, COG 080, SOG 5 kts. This is a quick guest post to update Eric's location from an email that his good friend Shanley received this morning after her own arrival in Chile to meet Eric. Eric reported all is going well, and he now estimates arriving as early as Sunday.

1/2/12

2012-01-02T22:52:00.000Z

Noon Position: 33 24' S 084 05' W, SOG 3, COG 050, Day's Run 60nm,
Week's run 495nm. I think all my complaining on yesterday's blog has
paid off - the breeze is back! Last night around 6PM I started getting
fitful puffs of southerly wind. One moment I'd be rolling along at 4 or
5 kts, sailing due east, then 2 minutes later the sails were flogging as
the boat coasted to a halt in the suddenly still air. All night the
puffs slowly got longer, and the lulls shorter, until this morning I
awoke to real wind! Now this afternoon I'm sailing 080 and doing 4.5 to
5 kts, as the breeze continues to go further south. I anticipate it
building now as I approach Chile, so hopefully I'll be able to cover the
next 650 miles more quickly than the last 650. I'll be passing North of
Robinson Crusoe Island, where Alexander Selkirk was marooned in the real
life inspiration for the story of Robinson Crusoe, Tuesday night or
Wednesday morning, all else being equal.

1/1/12

2012-01-01T22:23:00.000Z

Noon Position 33 52' S, 085 01' W, SOG 0, COG ???, Day's run 30nm. I
find myself drifting into the new year on a smooth sea - too smooth of a
sea, actually. I've been struggling through this high pressure system
for quite some time now, only to have it move along with me just as I
thought I'd escaped out the east side of it. My day's have become a
tedium of raising and lowering sail, trying to catch the least breath of
air but still preserve them from the chafe and slatting of a boat
rolling about totally becalmed. I spend most of my time reading trashy
novels or trying to eke a few tenths of a knot or a few degrees of
height out of the sordid little puffs of wind that despoil the sky's
reflection. There have been moments of beauty as well: A morning spent
sailing gloriously at 4 kts, watching a peck of stormy petrels feeding
in my wake, slapping at the surface of the sea with one dainty
outstretched foot, while in the distance a wandering albatross loomed
like a somber giant of the skies. A sky full of amber fire, lighting up
a trail across a smoothly undulating sea of glass, broken only by the
crowns of tiny portuguese man-o-wars. The breath of dolphins at
midnight, harsh against the still night air, the sea lit by their
glowing track. And today, a pair of whales, not even pausing to
consider the awkward intruder that flailed about on the surface of the
sea, sails slapping in time to the sea. But mostly, I eat, read and
sleep, willing that the dreary hours be broken by a breath of wind.

12/28/11

2011-12-28T23:24:00.000Z

Noon Position 36 34' S, 88 55' W, SOG 4.5, COG 040, Day's run 85 nm.
Well, after a few light air days, it looks like I'm back into the
breeze. Unfortunately, the wind is from the East, pretty much the
direction I want to go, but at least I'm moving faster than 2 kts
today. On Christmas Night (Christmas Day Eve? The night of the 25th?
3 nights ago?) I finished opening the last Christmas cards that I
hadn't managed during the day, then settled down to read a bit. I was
working my way through an anthology of Keith Laumer's short stories
about aliens invading Earth when all of a sudden I head something
flapping and flopping about in the cockpit. Was it a flying fish? It
didn't sound quite fishy enough to my discerning ear. Was it perhaps
one of the alien Gool, emerged from the e-ink screen of my kindle to
harvest my brain? I peered out into the stifling darkness, partially
blind from my reading light. The night was overcast, with out even a
hint of moon or stars, so I could just see the vaguest impression of
movement. I sat for a moment, hoping that whatever was raising such a
ruckus would flop itself back overboard and let me get back to reading
in peace. No such luck. I stumbled over my lee cloth and up on deck,
and in the glow of my headlamp was greeted by a rather small albatross
sitting at the helm, trying to climb back up over the seat back. Since
the back of the seat is fairly high, and the bird was on the small side,
it was not succeeding, try as it might to turn its wings and webbed feet
into something more approximating the footwear found on a gecko.
Stories of how sailors used to catch Albatross and keep them as pets on
board ships flashed through my head. They apparently needed more room
than was available on the deck of a ship to get airborne enough to clear
the bulwarks, so once on board were stuck there until pitched back over
the side. Clearly this little fellow, while certainly not the great
wandering albatross of the high latitudes, was suffering from the same
difficulty on a smaller scale. I have no idea what made it think my
cockpit to be a suitable albatross roost, although clearly it had
decided upon arriving that it had been mistaken. After a brief but
invigorating game of "Catch the albatross" I managed to deposit the
squirming bird onto one of my solar panels, where took took a few
seconds to gain its bearings. Then, with a whisper of wind, it was gone
into the blackness. The next morning I discovered that it was not
simply orienting itself upon my solar panel - A small token of its
appreciation was streaked across the outboard edge of the panel.

Merry Christmas [Delayed Attachment: IMG_0089 (Modified).JPG]

2011-12-26T23:54:00.001Z

Delayed Attachment: IMG_0089 (Modified).JPG

12/22/11

2011-12-22T21:19:00.000Z

Noon Position 35 25' S, 099 57' W, SOG 5.2, COG 120, Day's run 130nm.
So of course after spending so much time Monday writing about noises, I
spent the rest of the afternoon listening to ALL of them in excruciating
detail. Yesterday was squally and overcast, with the wind slowly going
left all day - unfortunately last night it didnt' go as far as I had
hoped, so her I am, still steering 120 - The gribs are calling for a
further wind shift tonight and tomorrow, so hopefully I can get pointed
East or just north of it.

12/20/11

2011-12-20T21:59:00.000Z

Noon Position 33 03'S, 104 24.7' W, SOG 3.5, COG 155, Day's run 70nm.
The Last 24 hours have seen almost a 90 degree wind shift. Yesterday at
noon found me sailing due east at 5 kts on starboard tack, today at noon
finds me sailing South east on Port. This affords me the chance to
drive south, which I'm taking full advantage of - I'm hoping that if I
can get down to 35 or 36 S I'll have a bit more consistent wind, and
hopefully more westerlies, although I certainly wouldn't complain if
this wind continues to back and I can get back to sailing East. For the
week ending yesterday my run was 562 miles sailed - certainly the
slowest so far. I'm just hoping I can do better than that for the next
two weeks heading to Chile. Now that I'm back on Port tack, I've
rediscovered some of the wonderful noises that Odyssey makes. Depending
on how fast we're going, the sea makes a whole variety of noises against
the hull - from a whisper smooth glide in light air to a dull, rushing
roar when we catch a wave just right and surge down its face. Upwind,
of course, add in the the assortment slaps, swooshes, crashes, and thuds
of waves hitting the bow, rolling over the deck, and generally making a
nuisance of themselves. When the bow drops off a particularly large
wave the whole boat shudders with a dull bang like the slam of a giant
screen door. When we're rolling, the spare blocks hanging above the
port bunk occasionally chime in with a tink or clink as they swing into
the cabinetry. In light winds like today, there is a whole cacophony of
noises from the sails slatting when a particularly large swell knocks
the wind out of them, a high pitched rattle from the slides in the mast
track on the main, a lower creaking groan from the sheets. On port
tack, like I am now, the bulkhead aft of the galley seems determined to
simulate a small balkan land war, constantly creaking and popping like a
thousand tiny machine guns. Not to be outdone, of course, on starboard
tack the shelves above the port bunk fire back, with a slower, more
measured pace. Every day or two the stove decides that the gallons upon
gallons of WD-40, T-9, Silicone Spray, Teflon Grease, Lithium Grease,
and Teflon spray that I've saturated its forward gimbal with need some
more company, and begins an ominous creaking groan, timed perfectly to
the roll of the boat. When I sleep my head is separated from this awful
moan by no more than 1/2" of plywood on which the stove is mounted.
Invariably the stove decides to start it's complaining somewhere between
the hours of 2 and 3 am, so I end up lying awake, cursing the world,
hoping against hope that it will go bother someone else, or at the very
least postpone the complaining until a more civilized hour. After
burying my head under my pillow for veritable ages, rolling over,
straining my arm to try to jiggle the stove without having to get out of
bed, I must invariably bow to the inevitable, and pry myself out of
blankets, over the leecloth, across the boat to chart table, tangling my
foot in a foul weather jacket that manages to migrate to the middle of
the floor in the middle of the night. Upon opening the front of the
chart table I am, of course, assailed by an assortment of lubricants,
all so eager to help me quiet the stove that they leap from their shelf
and hide themselves about the cabin. I grab a spray can at random,
point it in the general direction of the stove, and let it rip.
There! It stopped creaking! So i gather up the errant inhabitants of
the chart table, jam them back into their prison, and return to bed.
Generally it takes 2 or 3 late night excursions to finally defeat the
stove's grumblings for a day or two. Oh, the simple joys of sailing!

12/17/11

2011-12-17T22:57:00.000Z

Noon Position 31 55.5' S, 110 00' W, SOG 4.3, COG 110, Days run 110nm.
Today I made my first time change of the trip - we're now on GMT + 7,
which is an hour later than California time. I'm feeling frustrated and
empty these days. We're still drifting along to the East, towards
Valparaiso, but clearly progress isn't fast, and I'm not even able to
really get south, since with the breeze direction and swell we have, my
choices are sailing 110T or 230T. So I choose the direction that at
least is moving me towards Chile. In any other circumstances I would be
reveling in this weather - warm water, flat seas, and clear skies. But
all I can think about is whether everything will hold together for
another 2 or 3 weeks, and about how slowly I'm moving towards shore. If
I still had months of sailing ahead I could feel philosophical about it,
since a slow week here or there is to be expected, but with less than
2000 miles to go, every calm strikes me like a hammer, driving me back
from my destination. The most frustrating thing is that I can't do much
about it, just keep plugging along and hoping for a wind shift of some
sort. Last night I stayed up late reading, then spent some time on
deck, looking at the sky. It was truly magnificent - the moon was down,
and there were just a few scattered clouds. The milky way was so bright
it almost popped, and as I ghosted along I thought of other times and
places that I'd looked at the sky, and the people I'd been with. This
morning we're back at it, slogging along. Unfortunately this is just
the way the weather is, and until I get a wind shift, there's not a
whole lot to do about it. There's a big, long south swell ambling it's
way across the sea today. Down below I can hardly even tell it's
there. A few hours ago I was on deck enjoying the weather when I
realized that I was in the middle of big set - in the troughs I could
stand on the cockpit benches and still be looking up at the crests of
waves in all directions, then see forever as they passed beneath me. A
few minutes later the swell had died back down again, but it reminded me
that I'm glad I'm not in the roaring 40s with a sloppy rig.

12/16/11

2011-12-16T20:41:00.000Z

Noon Position 30 57' S, 111 27' W, SOG 4.8kts, COG 105T, Day's run
30nm. So if you notice that today's noon position isn't that far away
from Mondays, you're right! I'm plopped in the midst of the horse
latitudes right now, so named because ships would have to throw the
horses overboard to save water as they were becalmed. I wish I had a
horse with me, I'd hook it up to a bridle and make it swim and tow the
boat. On a related note, I am no longer making for Cape Horn. On
monday night I was checking over things when I discovered that my mast
was moving. On closer investigation, I've discovered that the steel
plate upon which the mast is stepped is corroded badly enough that it
has started to bend, thus letting the shrouds pull the mast down into
the boat. Right now a lot of the down force is being taken by the
collar where the mast passes through the deck, so as I go over waves,
the deck flexes a bit, allowing the mast to move up and down. Clearly
this is not a desirable situation, and I've decided that I cannot take
the boat into the 40s with things as they are. The deck is certainly
not designed to take the loads of the mast, and if the mast step or the
partners were to give way further in extreme conditions, the results
could be most unpleasant. At the moment I can't carry as much rig
tension as I would like, since increased shroud tension merely flexes
the cabin top downwards. That being discovered, I made the unhappy
decision to make for Valparaiso, Chile, 2000 miles to the West, to
repair the damage before continuing. The combination of being thwarted
in my goals and lack of wind has made me a decidedly unpleasant person
to be around the last few days - Lucky I'm alone! At this point I'm
hoping to be able to continue after repairs in Chile, but that of course
can't be determined until I can get the mast out and fully investigate.
Of course, being in the horse latitudes means that I can expect lots of
light and variable wind all the way to Chile - I'm going to try to make
my way down to 35 or 36S to try to get a bit more of the westerlies, but
so far have been thwarted by wind that varies between nonexistant and 5
kts out of the south.

12/12/11

2011-12-12T20:28:00.000Z

Noon Position 30 14' S, 115 25' W, SOG 5.3, COG 155, Days Run 130nm,
Weeks Run 1015nm. It's a good end to a good week - Once again, the
fastest week yet, averaging just over 6 kts, with a two real quick
days. Yesterday was gorgeous high pressure weather - clear skies, hot
and sunny, with just enough wind to keep sailing with the drifter up.
Sunrise is early this far south - it's fully bright by 5 am, so
yesterday morning I decided to go up the rig to do a quick survey before
we get into the 40s, and to investigate my non-functional anchor light,
which also doubles to light up my windex at night. About halfway up I
realized that the swell had built a bit since I woke up, and that
instead of being perfectly smooth, we were now rolling into 1-2 foot
seas - not much, but amplified to the end of a mast 55' off the water
there was quite a bit of motion. The trip was successful, although my
legs and arms are complaining stridently today about the abuse meted out
upon them. I'm now about 2400 miles from Cape Horn, a similar distance
as from California to Hawaii. I've been taking advantage of the good
weather to work on boat prep for the southern ocean, but I've also been
reading a lot - I try to stay out of the sun as much as possible during
the day, so odds are good that during the middle of the day I'll be
found hunkered up down below with my kindle. I have a few different
waterproof cases for my kindle, thanks to Len Edgerly, who does the
Kindle Chronicles podcast. I'm currently using a Klear Kase - it's a
royal pain to put onto the kindle, but because you can access the power
switch and data port with the kindle still in the case. It also is the
easiest to manipulate the little joystick with. It seems like it's more
of a splash proof than a waterproof case, but for now that's all I need
it for - just to keep the occasional dribble from the hatch off of it.
I may switch over to a beefier case in the southern Ocean if I end up
with a lot of water around. I'm reading a few different books at once
- I'm working my way through the Essential P.G. Wodehouse, and
interlacing some sci-fi from Baen publishing's free online library of
ebooks. I've been trying to throw in a few "classics" here and there as
well - I ended up really enjoying Les Miserables, despite the painfully
slow start to the book.

picture! [Delayed Attachment: IMG_0071.JPG]

2011-12-09T20:44:00.000Z

Delayed Attachment: IMG_0071.JPG

12/9/11

2011-12-09T20:39:00.000Z

Noon Position 24 03.5' S, 118 08' W, SOG 6.8, COG 170, Days run 160nm.
We've gotten to the weather that I was hoping the trades would bring -
lazy, easy, and fast. I haven't touched the sails for the last two
days, and the boat is just scooting along, and we're actually starting
to climb back to the East as well. I've started in on doing some boat
prep for the southern ocean - I swapped down to the small jib and did
some sail repair on the big one, which is now in it's semi-permanent
home for the next few months as a seat at the chart table. The weather
is actually almost too nice again - it's making me lazy. I realized how
out of shape I've gotten after swapping jibs and spending a few hours
sewing - the next day I was actually kinda tired all day, just from the
stitching and battling with the jibs. I've started doing some leg
exercise in the mornings to pretend to fight off the atrophy, but I
doubt it will do much - it's hard to get a whole lot of exercise when
the longest distance you can walk at one go is about 15 feet. On land
my moods are normally pretty stable, but I've found that alone at sea
they tend to oscillate much for rapidly, and to greater extremes - small
things have disproportionate influences on how I'm feeling, whether its
the weather, or the fact that it is physically impossible to open a can
of pineapple juice without it spilling at least 2 drops in a random
direction. I think in some part it's due to the lack of sleep - I know
that I get very irritable when I don't get enough, and I've been
noticing that on days when I'm up frequently at night I'm a lot
crabbier. I think the solitude also plays a part - without anyone to
talk to, it's harder to share experiences and let others help moderate
my moods. It's not a bad thing, just part of the experience. I came
out here to see if I could sail around the world, to live fully, and
feeling fully certainly is part of that. I've heard rumors that there
are concerns about the organized crime ring surrounding pens that was
operating on board. The good news is that the ringleader has been
apprehended and strongly reprimanded, after being so crass as to leave 4
pens in the galley on top of the fridge, where clearly no pen has a
right to be. After restoring the pens to their natural habitat, the
criminals seem to have toned down their efforts - a clear win for justice.

12/7/11

2011-12-07T20:42:00.000Z

Noon Position 19 02' S, 118 37'1' W, SOG 6.5, COG 195, Days run 150nm.
IT LIVES!!!! Apparently nearly a week in a bag of rice has done the
trick on my laptop - for the time being at least it is once again
numbered amongst the living. This is so far the high point of my week -
the low point being a frustrating exercise in cussing out the boat, the
weather, the sea, the sky, the clouds, a roll of duct tape, two tubes of
silicone, and lots of seawater and mold that occupied the majority of my
morning yesterday as I tackled the persistent leak in the v-berth
hatch... I spent a few hours drying everything out and cleaning, only to
discover that not only had I not improved the seal of the hatch, I'd
actually made it worse - waterfalls of water now cascade through the
starboard seal, instead of just a slow trickle. By noon I was not fit
company for man nor beast - fortunately the few petrels heard the ruckus
and wisely stayed well clear. This afternoon we shall do battle again.
The last few days have been fast and a bit frustrating - still a fair
number of squalls rolling through bringing 20-25 kts of breeze and some
choppy seas, but the breeze has come aft enough that we're almost beam
reaching, and even with the gear-shifting that the squalls entail we've
been able to put down some decent mileage. Plus, the computer is
apparently alive! Hooray!!! The rice shall make a permanent addition
to the computer bag from now on.

12/5/11

2011-12-06T01:32:00.001Z

Noon position: 14 9'S, 118W, SOG 5.8 kts, COG 170T, 24-hr run 130nautical miles.
Eric wanted to share these interesting statistics about his voyage to-date:
This past week Eric sailed 915nm, his best week yet.
Current direct distance from Los Angeles harbor: 2,852nm south, but only 15nm due east. (Hardly seems possible that he is only 15nm east of LA, but check out this astonishing fact on a globe or Google Earth)
Current direct distance from Peru: 2,363nm due east.
Total distance sailed since departure Nov. 7th: 3,320nm.
Average speed of direct distance covered: 4.2knots
Average speed of distance actually sailed: 4.95 knots

12-4-11

2011-12-05T05:20:00.002Z

Sunday, Dec. 4, 2011 at 2:10 p.m. PST: 12 14S, 117 55W, SOG 6kts, COG 175, 24-hr. run 110nm. Eric reported in this afternoon. He turned off his GPS a few days ago and has been testing his celestial navigation skills. When he turned the GPS back on today, he was pleased to see that his readings were close, only 2 miles out of latitude and 6 miles out of longitude. For the last 36 hours he has been moving slowly, enduring what he calls a "tropical wave": overcast weather, squalls, and a confused sea with 8ft swells coming at him from different directions. Odyssey has been going up and down, up and down continuously, catching waves and spray that wash over her frequently preventing Eric from catching any fresh rainwater from the squalls off the mainsail because its all contaminated with saltwater. The weather seems to be hovering, moving slowly, but Eric is hopeful that this system is starting to show signs of moving on. The trade winds are blowing from the SE, and he is sailing mostly upwind at about a 70 degree angle to the wind. Eric is also discovering that Odyssey leaks on the leeward side, so now he has an additional 10-11 new trickles going down behind the stove on the starboard side. Luckily these are much smaller than the ones he experienced earlier on the port side which he has mostly managed to seal from outside. Without completely pulling out the headliner nicely lining the ceiling of the cabin, Eric can't get to the leaks from inside the cabin. He's hoping the leaks won't get any worse so he won't have to strip the ceiling bare. Most of our lengthy conversation concerned plans for purchasing replacement electronics: computer, inverter, stereo to be shipped to the Falkland Islands. We are very grateful to good friend and experienced sailor Rich West who quickly leaped in as consultant on this project, helping determine the specs for what needs to be purchased and making recommendations, providing Eric with a list of shortwave sources for voice weather broadcasts, and supplying a long list of helpful tips to try and shake and coax his computer back to life.

12/3/11

2011-12-03T22:53:00.002Z

12/3/11 noon pos 10 2.8s 117 54 w

12/1/11

2011-12-02T01:15:00.002Z

3:14p.m. PST: 06 9' S, 117 13' W, SOG 6.5kts COG 200T After the exhilaration of crossing the equator and zipping along at a good clip, Eric awoke this morning to find that his beloved, but quite ancient, Lenovo T61 had finally given up the ghost. Black screen. 1-3-4-3 pattern of beeps. He feared the worse. Even with his background in computer science, there is only so much that can be diagnosed and fixed when you are in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. This afternoon Eric called home and I (Eric's mother), a phone clamped to each ear, linked him up with Lenovo tech support who quickly diagnosed the problem. The video card on his system board has gone...well, south. The only way to fix it, replace the system board. Of course, that is one spare part that Eric wasn't expecting to need and doesn't have on board. Not even his trusty 3G Kindle 2 is able to come to the rescue. Besides posting to this blog, Eric relies on his computer for weather reports. After debating various options--he has decided to continue on, round Cape Horn and stop in the Falkland Islands where we will ship him 2 new laptops loaded with the software he needs to access weather and 2 new back-up inverters. In the meantime, Eric will be calling in every few days for voice weather reports from home. Until he reaches 40 S weather shouldn't be too much of an issue, so Eric will have plenty of time to train us into weather experts. As for Eric's blog postings, he will continue to post using the text function of his satellite phone...but, loyal blog readers, please be patient. Until he is able to reach the Falklands and receive his new computers sometime after the first of the year, Eric's posts will be restricted to mini-posts...haiku-length posts. Despite this setback, Eric sounded great on the phone and very optimistic. He also expressed how much it means to him to know that he has so many supporters and well-wishers at home.

11/29/11

2011-11-29T21:28:00.000Z

Noon Position 00 54' S, 116 32.6' W, SOG 7.5, COG 175, Days Run 155nm. At 0335 Pacific Time today we crossed the equator! Finally! Conditions are becoming fast and fun - close reaching in 12-20kts of breeze with a hint of sea, pointing south! I'm in love with Odyssey this morning - we've been doing over 6 knots since yesterday afternoon, and over 7 since this morning, all very easily - currently we're under triple reefed main and full genoa, charging along. In honor of crossing the line last night, I got out my bottle of champagne and went on deck, planning to pop the cork just as we hit 0 degrees. The champagne, however, had other ideas, and opened itself about 3 minutes earlier, giving the cockpit a delightful champagne-y bath. When I woke up this morning Odyssey smelled a bit like a college dorm on a Sunday morning, as we haven't been taking much water into the cockpit. In honor of the equator, I got my clean on this morning - swept the floor, scrubbed the stove and counters, and then tackled the big job - sorting through the various vegetables in the hammocks in the v-berth. Imagine, if you will, an area roughly the size of the back of a small station wagon. Now, pile 4 large sail bags, 4 or 5 dry bags of warm clothes and surprises, 1 wool blanket, 1 sleeping bag, 1 piece of plywood, 7 plastic bins of food, and two 4 foot long hammocks full of onions, squash, garlic, grapefruit, limes, ginger, and cabbage. Add a slow trickle of salt water from above, then tilt this space approximately 20 degrees to one side, while shaking vigorously. Then, approximately every 30 seconds (but not predictably so), imagine a large, angry man pounding the floor with a sledgehammer. That's what the v-berth of Odyssey has been like for the past 8 days. After divesting it of the sail bags, dry bags, plywood, blanket, and sleeping bag, I managed to squeeze myself into the space remaining and start pulling out fruits and vegetables one by one, checking for rot. Of course, the hammocks, being hammocks, are not stationary now that the sailbags which were wedging them in place are gone - they're swinging wildly, pummeling the boat and me with onions and any other vegetable you can get your hands on. A few escaped alliums later, the job was done and the produce restored to it's home. I've been impressed with how well things have kept so far - the only vegetables that I've lost to rot have been ones that have gotten wet. I'm most impressed by my tomatoes - I still have 8 or 9 good tomatoes left after 22 days at sea.

11/27/11

2011-11-27T21:20:00.000Z

Noon Position 02 46' N 114 41.8'W, SOG 5.6, COG 235, days run 140nm.
Well, the best that I can say for today is that the weather has
moderated. The breeze has gone more SE'ly, which is nice, except for
this damn current - the bow is pointed between 200 and 210T, and we're
doing 235-245 over the ground - nothing for it though, since if we tack
we do about 3 knots due east. It's a lovely day at least - switched
back to the big genoa this morning and am under pretty much full sail,
puffy white clouds - I'm hoping that we've hit the SE trades at last,
and that once I get out of this current (almost 2kts this morning during
the sail change) life will be improved.

11/26/11

2011-11-27T21:18:00.000Z

Noon Position 03 36' N 112 35' W, SOG 6.5, COG 240 T, Days Run 100nm.
Wind and Sea, incessantly. Groaning, pounding, creaking, moaning,
Odyssey struggles southward. It seems an eternity ago that the bow was
actually pointed south, that we loafed along in the puffy clouds of the
trade winds, that I thought the equator was only a few days away. Today
is our fourth day of beating hard, our second day of sailing west -
West, when we want to go East and South, but nature opposes me. I tried
tacking six or seven times this morning, hoping that perhaps something
had changed, that the currents that have bedeviled me all morning had
switched, for anything, but to no avail. I clambered into my harness,
braved the gloom and spray, eased running backstays, turned the windvane
to tack, released the working sheet, sheeted home the new working sheet,
got Odyssey hard on the wind, only to go below and see the GPS reading a
COG of 089, or 077, or 065 - NE, an even worse direction than SW. So
back on deck again, swapping runners, changing the windvane, passing
sheets, just go be heading at right angles from where I want to go. The
SE trades seem a thing of myth. Each new weather file I download seems
to have them retreating further south into the overcast skies. I
realized a few days ago that every day now I am the furthest south I
have ever been - I just expected to be quite a bit further south than I
am right now. 18 full days underway, and not yet at the equator.

11/24/11

2011-11-25T00:02:00.000Z

Noon Position: 05 46' N 112 38.8' W, SOG 6.0kts, COG 120 T. Today I
learned that, try as I might, I am not capable of eating 1/2 a can of
turkey, an entire butternut squash, 1/3 of a potato, 1/2 an onion, 6
pieces of bacon, and 1/2 a box of stove top stuffing in one sitting.
Happy Thanksgiving!

11/23/11

2011-11-23T20:06:00.000Z

Noon Position 07 06' N 114 06' W, SOG 5kts, COG 135, days run 110nm
This morning I discovered the joys and delights of canned bacon! Now,
for those of you who are unfamiliar with the long shelf life version of
this food, I shall explain: The bacon comes in a normal sized can, but
as soon as you pick it up you realize that something is different,
something is special - It's camouflage! Yes, the can has a camo
wrapper, so it doesn't give you away in the jungle when you really need
that bacon fix. Inside, neatly rolled up in wax paper, are about 24
strips of bacon - all you have to do is unroll the paper, pull off some
bacon, and throw it in a pan! It's glorious! Now, while this isn't
thick center cut hickory smoked bacon, fresh off the pig and cooked to
perfection by my little brother, it's pretty darn good - I've definitely
had worse bacon at any number of diners and restaurants. Plus, it comes
with the added benefit of a little bit of bacon grease, perfect for
frying up the eggs that accompanied it this morning. I also ate one of
the delicious greenish grapefruit that my mother and aunt found at a
farmer's market - I've discovered that they're very similar (if not the
same) as Caribbean grapefruit, which, in my humble opinion, are the
absolute epitome of grapefruitdom. Sweet, juicy, not too tart, but
still with a little bit of tang. Today finds us slowly beating into a
dying southerly breeze - back up to a single reef in the main and about
1/2 the genoa, and actually able to point without slamming too hard.
Hoping for some change here pretty soon, but the pilot charts don't give
much hope - 44% of the time there's southerly breeze in this area. The
gribs have the breeze lightening quite a bit tomorrow, and with the
flatter swell I should be able to drive into the Southeasterlies that
are waiting for me at 5 N.

11/22/11

2011-11-22T23:46:00.000Z

Noon position: 07 44' N, 115 52' W, SOG 6kts, COG 120, days run 95nm.
Ahh, the joys of weather - had a very frustrating day of squalls
yesterday - ended up hand steering for a lot of the afternoon, and
raised and lowered the main more than once. There were great, looming
rain squalls slowly drifting across the sea - each one brought for the
1/4 mile or so around it, then proceeded to suck all the wind, joy, and
life out of everything else. We'd hook into one squall, sail at 5 or 6
knots in a direction - sometimes S, sometimes SW, frequently due West,
(not at all the way to go, but it was easier on the boat to be moving
than not) for about 30 minutes while getting rained on, then go back to
rolling around on Hurricane Kenneth's swell moving across the glassy
waters. I've been watching Kenneth for about 5 days now, from the first
projections of it being a small tropical depression blowing 25 or 30
knots and going straight across my path to a major hurricane blowing
90-100... Very glad that Kenneth turned further north than they
originally thought, and that I made all the Southing that I needed to to
clear it - while I'm sailing to Cape Horn, hurricanes are certainly not
something anyone in their right mind wound want to get anywhere near.
It looks like Kenneth has disrupted the ITCZ (doldrums) enough that the
weather I had yesterday was my crossing of it - now, of course, it's
blowing 20 to 25kts from due South, with an accompanying 6-8 foot sea.
We're throttled back quite a bit, more close reaching than anything,
just to save the slamming of dropping of an 8 foot wave at 6 kts every
30 seconds or so - now we just drop off a 4 footer at 6 kts every 5 or
10 minutes. Much better! The leaks which I strove to defeat after the
last weather we had are back. I won one victory in that there is no
longer a steady stream of water dripping onto the GPS and the chart
table, but most of the rest seem unaffected - maybe a bit slower, but
not much. I think the biggest one is from where the traveller is
through bolted - it's bedded pretty poorly - there are gaps I could
stick a butter knife into, so that's up next on my list of leak
fighting. Unfortunately, the leaks have won the fight with the stereo -
watched "Around Cape Horn" by Irving Johnson last night with the sound
on the stereo, turned it off to go to bed, and this morning discovered a
long stream of dribbles down the wood and into the stereo, which of
course would not turn on. so now it's recuperating in a bag of rice,
hopefully to return to life, although I'm not particularly hopeful.
I've got headphones and the speakers on my ipod, but having real
speakers was a nice little luxury that I'm going to miss.

11/20/11

2011-11-20T23:48:00.000Z

Noon Position: 10 57.5' N, 116 57.2' W, SOG 5.7, COG 185, days run
121nm. I realized this afternoon that I'm beginning to be affected a
bit by the lack of social contact - I spent an hour on the phone with my
mother on Thursday, then another half hour today with both my parents
plus another half hour with Shanley. Found myself talking at length
about anything and everything, even repeating myself between
conversations. In some ways I feel like I'm cheating myself by
maintaining satellite phone contact - it certainly is a different having
friends and family only a phone call away - certainly more "real" than
email or this blog. With the written word, I can pretend as if I'm
writing a letter that will only get posted when I reach land, and my bi-
or tri-weekly email download certainly helps to enforce that sensation.
On the other hand, I'm not sure how those on shore would tolerate me
should I not call them - other than the obvious call to the Coast Guard
when I missed a sched. Anyway, yesterday was a frustrating day - a very
fast night, surfing up to 10 kts at times - I think we had a bit of
current with us. Then, yesterday, spent most of the day drifting in
circles except for a few brief moments of sailing on the edges of
squalls. Did manage to collect a good 1/2 gallon of water to use for
cleaning though and get in a good shower and shave with all the rain.
When the breeze finally filled back in again, it was light, and from the
E to SE - which is nice with the light air, going upwind helps build
apparent wind speed so we can keep moving through the swell. It's been
slow ever since. I think today we've got a bit of a counter current,
setting us to the North and a bit West - our SOG is hovering around
5kts, frequently below, and our speed through the water is certainly
faster than that.

11/19/11

2011-11-20T23:38:00.000Z

Noon Position 12 56.7' N, 116 51.9' W, SOG 5.8kts, COG 190, days run 138nm
Last night was exuberant. Today is not. Frequent rain squalls,
infrequent wind. Earlier some dolphins lolled by the boat, so I dropped
sail and went for a swim. The dolphins had other fish to fry - came
back as soon as I was on deck again. Tonight we are sailing again.

11/18/11

2011-11-18T21:22:00.001Z

Date: Fri, 18 Nov 2011 16:01:28 -0500
Noon position 15 16.5' N, 116 40.7' W, SOG 6.5kts, COG 160, days run
150nm. Well, the wind has built during the night into the mid teens,
and this morning the staysail is back down and we're down to a double
reefed main and full genoa. Coming down the waves we've been surfing up
into the high 7s, which is certainly pleasant to see on the GPS. My
general philosophy with this boat has been one of simplicity, to keep
problems to a minimum - minimum electronics, minimum systems. I
invested pretty much every minute of the last 5 months to making Odyssey
a competent sail boat, where the various gewgaws were a nice add-on, but
by no means necessary. I've spent too much time fixing broken water
pumps and air conditioners and lights and fridges and what have you to
really have any desire to do any more of that, particularly on this trip
where there's so much more room (and time) for things to break. Now I
find myself with the potential to be screwed over by a worthless piece
of electronics, and more importantly, one which I only have a single
spare of. I've been kicking myself all day, and night, thinking about
the extra $50 it would have taken to have just picked up another
inverter or even a car-charger for my computer - then I would be far
more independent of the electronics devil. After all my efforts in that
regard, I'm realizing that I really approached all the electronics as an
afterthought - I was caught up in thoughts and romance of sailing off
into the sunset with a sextant. I console myself with the fact that the
boat is pretty well bulletproof and sorted out otherwise, so that worse
comes to worse and I suffer a total electronics failure, I can still get
my sorry butt wherever I need to be.And, truth be told, it's not like
I'm helpless if it goes down - it really only powers my computer, so I
still have my sat phone and SSB, which is quite a bit more
communications than absolutely necessary. I'm
going to protect the damn thing as best as I can, but I need to get
around Cape Horn as soon as possible - it's too far south to risk
lollygagging about in the pacific over some fool piece of electronics
when Summer is only a few months long.

11/17/11

2011-11-18T20:45:00.000Z

Noon Position: 17 30' N, 117 45' W, SOG 5.8kts, COG 155 - I got this
position off a running fix from 2 sun sights this morning + a noon sight
- was within about 5 miles of the GPS position! Definitely heartening
to realize that I still remember how to take a sun sight. Today I can
tell we're fully in the tropics - it's been a hot, glorious tropical
day, with a brilliant blue sky and puffy white trade wind clouds, and
just enough breeze to keep us moving happily. This afternoon, in honor
of the weather (and in respect to the heat) I decided to give myself a
haircut and a take a bucket bath in the cockpit. I learned a few things
- namely, that a #1 length trim guard on the electric buzzer can't get
through my hair, That a #3 can in fact buzz my hair, and that on the #1
(reallly short) setting, the buzzer could in fact trim about a 4 inch
long stripe right down the middle of my head before choking on my
hair... Now I look a bit like a badger with a reverse mohawk.
Fortunately, theres no one out here to laugh at it but the dolphins, and
they're always up to no good anyway, so all is well. All is not well,
however, with the inverter that I was powering my buzzer with - I
switched the clippers off and on again fairly quickly, and apparently
this was too much for the inverter to handle - now it just beeps and
blinks a red light and turns itself on and off. Kind of a real setback,
actually, since I rely on the inverter to power my laptop for weather
and email access as well, but luckily the vacuum packed spare works. I
now just have to be super careful with the inverter and hope it holds
out - no more electric buzz hair cuts for me for damn sure. One thing
about this trip is that I certainly don't want to proceed into the
southern Ocean without weather knowledge - I wish I had the boat and the
balls to keep pushing on if I were to lose weather, but sailing a 35
year old boat, even one that's been extensively refit, behooves me to
minimize the wear and tear I put on her, namely through avoiding storms
as much as possible. Last night we passed near the Shamad seamount -
the chart says it has a depth of only 28m, but I didn't want to cut
between the two big fishing boats on it, so the depth sounder never saw
bottom. It was a bit weird seeing the bright lights of fishing boats
out here in the middle of nowhere, but there clearly are fish there, so
I guess it makes sense. Either they didn't speak English or weren't
monitoring their radios - no one responded when I tried calling them up
to ask how the fishing was.

Spinnaker Sailing

2011-11-16T16:15:00.000Z

11-16-11

2011-11-16T15:55:00.000Z

21 33.3' N, 118 08.0 W, SOG 5.8kts, COG 218, 130nm days run noon to noon.
Terrible News! It seems we have a stowaway on board. Not just any
stowaway, but an individual of the most despicable and depraved sort!
I've had my suspicions for a few days now, but in the interest of the
delicate sensibilities of my readers have not mentioned them. Events of
today, however, confirmed my worst fears. I first began to suspect that
all was not right a few days ago, as we came of of the edge of that
pacific storm. Wedging myself at the chart table to make my noon log
entry, I opened the lid and reached inside for a pen, but came up empty
handed! There was naught but charts and pencils within. Now, a
skeptical mind (and mine was one) would attribute this lack of writing
implements merely to the rolly conditions we'd been experiencing, so I
grabbed a pencil and thought little of it. But over the next few days,
as the trend repeated itself, I began to notice a disturbing pattern -
Only pens would go missing! I could put a treasure chest full of
jewels, gold, and pencils in the middle of the floor and it would lie
there undisturbed, but put one pen in the chart table, and poof! Gone!
After having lost 4 of my finest to this plague, I am left with no
choice but to conclude that it is no coincidence. Some devious criminal
mastermind has hidden himself away aboard, emerging only when my back is
turned to make off with my pens. I must commence a manhunt for the
fiend and halt his foul depredations, lest he leave me inkless!

11-14-11

2011-11-14T22:21:00.000Z

Today has been glorious! Clear blue skies, puffy white clouds, it
almost feels like we're in the trades, if the wind wasn't from due
north. At noon today my position was 23 12.7' N 118 14.7'W via sun
sights - which was only about 7 miles out of our actual position via gps
- not bad. My longitudes had all been pretty grievously off up to this
point, although my noon latitudes were pretty spot on - then last night
i realized that my watches were both a minute slow of UTC - I must have
set them wrong. Surprisingly, my position is a lot closer to where it
should be now. Today is a cleaning day on Odyssey - I've spent the
day airing out the boat and drying things out - all my sheets and
cushions off my bed are airing in the cockpit right now, and I'm going
to swap em out with the cushions from the stbd bench tomorrow. I even
went ahead and shaved and took a bit of a shower - try doing that at
home in less than a cup of water. We made glorious time last night -
170nm noon to noon, which puts us at 710 nm from Los Angeles at the 1
week mark. Not quite as far as I would've hoped, but not bad
considering I spent a couple of days drifting around various mexican and
southern california islands. Now we're running due south at between 5
and 7 knots, and life is good. I just changed the email system I'm
using on board as well, which will mean a lot less pain in sending and
receiving mail, so hopefully i can convince myself to put up blog posts
a bit more frequently. Anyway, I'm going to go check on the cushions
and see if they're dry yet, so that's it for now.

11-13-11

2011-11-14T22:07:00.000Z

Noon Position: 25 24.4' N 117 55.5' W, SOG 6.5K, COG 180T, 130 NM days
run
Well, since the last post a lot has changed - the big storm that rolled
through (at least I assume it did) California also rolled through me on
Friday - luckily we were far enough west that we got mostly SW'ly
breeze, which slowly built from Friday through to Saturday Afternoon,
ending up with beating into 25-30kts of wind under triple reefed main
and staysail - The seas were big and from a few different directions, so
there were frequently waves breaking over the deck from the beam as we
dropped off waves from the bow - I kept from pointing too high so that
we wouldn't slam off the waves too hard, but with the multiple
directions there was still a bit of pounding. Everything was creaking
and groaning, and there was one particular creak that drove me nuts -
every time the boat rolled, it sounded like soumething was about to rip
out of the boat. Well, clearly this was not a good sound, particularly
while trying to sleep, so after much creeping around, hanging onto all
the handholds available with my ear to various parts, I was relieved
when it turned out to be the stove - apparently the gimbals on it need
some grease. One can of WD-40 later and I was happily able to get to
sleep. I spent a lot of the day in bed reading - I'd go on deck to
adjust the windvane or the sails, then crawl back into bed and try to
ignore the slow drip that was leaking onto my right shoulder. After a
night of taking a beating, I awoke this morning to moderating wind
(15-20kts) from the W, and brilliant clear skies, so we're back up to a
single reef in the main to help the windvane steer and full genoa,
rocking along straight south - You have no idea how wonderful it is to
be moving faster than 3 knots, and in the right direction! If I had
ended up drifting around off Mexico for another week I think I woul'dve
just called it a day and motored into the nearest resort to wait for
wind. The electric autopilot came off today - he decided to fall apart
twice in the space of about 20 minutes, so I just pulled it off and
chucked it in the V-berth - no need for it anyway with the windvane.
The boat actually steers a lot more cleanly now without the drag of the
wheel pilot as well. Anyway, Here's hoping for a few good 140 or 150
mile days in the next few days to make some good time to the equator.

11-11-11

2011-11-11T23:38:00.000Z

Sailing Again!
1230 Local Time: 29 04.5 N 119 29.9 W, SOG 4.6 K, COG 235 T, Days Run
54nm :(
Well, the depression has finally started arriving, and it should start
raining later tonight - I've been sailing on Port tack SW to West, but
this afternoon the wind has clocked a bit more westerly, so I'm going to
tack before dinner and start making some south again. Last night was
exceedingly frustrating - I ended up rolling around under triple reefed
main with no wind for a lot of it, then I'd get a bit of wind and roll
out the jib and sail for 30 minutes or so at 3 knots, then roll around
again with just the main, over and over - Finally this morning the
periods of wind got a bit more and now I've finally got it - hopefully I
can get some good southing out of this weather - I've made frustratingly
little distance so far.

11-10-11

2011-11-10T21:36:00.000Z

Noon Position: 29 50.9' N, 119 01.9' W, SOG 4.5, COG 225, Days Run
106nm. It's been a frustrating few days - breeze has been up and down,
I had a full day yesterday of broad reaching to running wing on at 6-7
knots, only to end up rolling around all night with a triple reefed main
to keep the slatting down. Today I was able to get the chute up and
have been doing 3-4 knots all morning, but it's been getting a bit
lighter - unfortunately it looks like thats whats in store for tomorrow
too, before I get Southerlies (hopefully some SW in there) coming
through on Friday with the big storm. Right now I'm slowly working my
way East, so that hopefully I can see more of the W component of the
breeze from the storm, and then close reach in a SE'ly direction, but
we'll see how that pans out - it's frustrating rolling around going slow
- right now (1321 California time) I'm only doing 2.4k. Thank god for
the spinnaker - without it up I'd just be sitting here complaining.
Mentally the last few days have been challenging and fairly emotional -
I found myself questioning many times (particularly when I was rolling
around with no wind) what I was doing out here. The weather has a very
real impact on my mood - as long as the boat is moving with some
semblance of poise I'm happy, then when we slow down I start getting
morose again. It's sobering realizing that (if all goes well) I won't
see any of the people that I know or care about (or even those that I
don't particularly like ;) ) for the next seven months. The other
challenge I've been fighting with is the not so amazing discovery that
if you're running downwind to the south, and the sun is to the south,
the sails are going to be shading the boat pretty much all day - nice
for me, but not so nice for the solar panels. I've been broad reaching
back and forth a bit to keep at least one panel in the sun, and it's
working - I've got my battery voltage back up again. Fortunately once I
get south of 20S or so this will cease to be a problem, since the sun
will be behind me. Fortunately with this light air, it's actually been
good to be broad reaching anyway just to keep boat speed and apparent
wind up, so all is well. Anyway, we're just passing Guadeloupe Island
off of Mexico - at least it's progressing down the side of the boat, not
just sitting in the same spot like San Clemente did leaving LA.

I'm off!

2011-11-08T12:21:00.000Z

I got off the dock in Wilmington yesterday and headed to sea, sailing
straight south to pass the east ends of Catalina and San Clemente
Islands. The wind was light, but I've been continually impressed by
Odyssey's light air performance - we were making 4-5 knots pretty easily
all afternoon, and I had high hopes for making some miles. One of my
big hopes with leaving yesterday was to be able to get out and away from
the land breeze and not spend the day drifting around in the shipping
lanes, but alas, it was not to be. After having to motor briefly
through the lee of Catalina, I ended up spending the night drifting at
anywhere from 0 to 0.5 knots slowly towards San Clemente Island - there
was no traffic but a few Carnival cruise ships, and it actually ended up
being kind of nice since I could get some sleep not worrying too much
about hitting anything since there was no wind. Finally the morning the
breeze is back and I'm back up to drifting at warpspeed of 3 or 4 knots,
and I should be getting clear of San Clemente in just a few minutes.

Underway at Last

2011-11-08T03:32:00.001Z

Eric set sail today just before noon on his around the world solo-circumnavigation. The setting could not have been more beautiful as the sky was a brilliant blue, the sun radiantly beamed and the wind held as he departed slip 82 to embark upon his incredible journey. After so much preparation and organization, the time had come, and those who watched could not have been more proud or excited for him. He is an inspiration and a flesh and blood reminder that dreams are possible...and really do come true. Fair winds and following seas.

Sailing Alone Around the World

2011-11-04T03:05:00.001Z

So for those of you who are unaware, I'm soon departing for a solo non-stop circumnavigation aboard my Islander 36, Odyssey. As of today, all non-perishable food is aboard and stowed, and pretty much all the other gear is aboard too. We just have a little bit more fiberglass and paint work to do to finish up the bow hatch, and then fresh food to load. Currently I'm aiming for a Sunday departure, it looks like we should have some decent breeze. The route I'm taking is the Southern Ocean by way of the great capes, as seen in these pictures.

Food

2011-11-01T03:57:00.002Z

The last few days have been taken up with provisioning - I have approximately 1,778.6 pounds of provisions to load, not counting stove fuel, but including things like soap, vinegar, and bleach. Today we finally got all the canned goods on board, tomorrow the rest of the food will go aboard. With full water tanks and all canned goods on board, Odyssey is sitting noticeable lower in the water - trimmed stern down by about 2 inches, which is good since a lot of the remaining dry goods and condiments are going under the V-berth. I've installed 14 big plastic bins in the quarter berth, V-berth, and lazarette which are filled with cans and pasta, and then the vacuum bagged rice, flour, and dry goods will be going under the V-berth. Right now this sunday is looking like a good go-day (see below image from passageweather.com) So I'm pushing to get all the food aboard tomorrow so the rest of the week can be used for last minute boat prep details.

Test Post - Photo of Jordan Series Drogue

2011-10-26T05:27:00.001+01:00

Here's a Picture of the series drogue on Odyssey. We took it out and tested it on Sunday, and it's a pain to haul back in, but pretty impressive in stopping power.