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.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
2/18/12
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? ; )
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
2/15/12
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
2/14/12
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.
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.
Monday, February 13, 2012
2/13/12
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.
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.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
2/12/2012
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.
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.
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