Saturday, February 11, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
2/10/12
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.
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.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
2/9/12
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
2/7/12
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.
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.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
2/5/12
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.
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.
Friday, February 3, 2012
2/3/12
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
2/1/12
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)