Passage Log 1 Majuro to Wallis At last time to get some posts up about our 1500 mile passage from the Marshall Islands to Wallis, from the northern hemisphere back to the south. Currently we are in Savusavu in Fiji. *** Day 1 April 25, 2017 Janet Position: Majuro Up at dawn, battonning down everything that might fly around the cabin if we fall off a big wave. We were leaving Majuro in the Marshall Islands after a 15- month sojourn. Boarding ladder up, dinghy secured, food ready for snacks and watch meals. I still felt like we could have been better prepared even though fellow sailors in the fleet sagely told us, "You are never completely ready to leave, just go". There were still final tasks to be done but I was psychologically ready to leave, ready to head down to the familiar South Pacific, ready to start our long journey home. I turned the engine on. Motoring gently forward we dropped the mooring that we had been safely secured to for over a year, and turned toward the west. Karen, now one of my dearest buddies, from the yacht Seal, blew on a hooter, and another boat called farewell. Yet more goodbyes came through the VHF. We were seen off properly. I felt sad about leaving the community we'd developed in our time on this tiny atoll. We motored the dozen miles across the lagoon to the pass in light winds and overcast conditions. Before heading out to the ocean we raised the main, shaking out half a year of dust from the sail. We followed a track on our chart out through the well-marked pass, we'd it laid on our incoming journey like the trail of slime a snail leaves in its wake. Just as well because at the very moment we entered the narrow gap in the reef the skies opened up, reducing visibility considerably. I felt rushed and a little anxious. I always do when we set out into the empty endless unknown planes of the ocean. I knew we wouldn't see land for at least a fortnight. I get anxious about the inevitable seasickness and tiredness that I know I will have to endure. Anxious about having to cope with squalls that pounce on the boat with their payload of sudden high winds and downpours, necessitating quick action reducing sail. I'm not a good sailor anyway and in the six months since our last outing I felt like I had forgotten the little I knew. Also this was our longest passage, and with just the two of us. Out in the ocean it was bit breezy so we put a reef in the main. To get east of Majuro atoll we were hard on the wind, bouncing through the waves. Conditions were 'Lumpy' as David wrote in the log. We got around the top of the atoll into the passage between Majuro and the neighbouring atoll Arno, and had Chinese takeaways for lunch on a more comfortable angle. Then the wind died. The wind dying is often not a gradual process where the boat slows down then you turn on the engine. No, it plays with you. Teasingly it flickers in and out. You adjust the sails or the course then the speed suddenly increases and whammo the boat is facing in the opposite direction, or heeled hard over, then it dies again, up and down till eventually the boat just wallows. Now, no wind. Nothing. So engine on. Turning the engine on at the beginning of a 1500 mile passage is no lightly made decision. We don't carry enough fuel to motor that distance. However sometimes motoring just a few miles can get you into an area of more wind, a good strategic move. And sure enough an hour later the wind kicked in, 10, 15, up to 23 knots by the wee hours of the night, so we switched the engine off and saved our precious fuel. Good run day one, 141 miles. Mostly in the right direction. *** Day 2 April 26 Position 5 53.013n 172 48.994e No squalls overnight but put a second reef in the main as the wind speed was 20- 25 knots all day. Chinese takeaways for lunch again. Eat, sleep, on watch, keep us on course. In my case, survive. David is doing just fine. But I'm feeling nauseous. All I want to do is sleep. But the environment is not conducive to it. One of us is always on watch, day and night. We watch for ships, but we hardly ever see one, in our thousands of miles of passages we have seen less than a dozen. We watch for squalls. Lots of these in this region. We watch the course, wind shifts and currents can change our heading. We watch the sails, adjusting them up and down and in and out, responding to the ever changing wind speed. Off watch we try and sleep in our sea berths in the main cabin. At sea the bow goes up and down over each wave making it too rough to sleep in our usual bed in the V berth. If you read any literature on sleep it recommends a cool, dark, quiet environment to get the best rest. Well its hot below, over 30 degrees C. =46rom time to time waves crash on the cabin top so most of the time we keep all the hatches closed. And its far from quiet. Waves crash on the hull, sometimes the wind howls and from time to time the engine roars into life, or the radio. The bunks have lee cloths to catch you as the boat rolls with each wave. Oh, yes, the sleep books say seven to eight hours is ideal. At night we do six hour watches so get five hours sleep in a row, if we are lucky. 128 miles today. Not bad. *** Day 3 April 27 Position 3 46.261n 174 22.051e This lowly crew-member is not in good shape. I'm nauseous, tired and injured. Late last night I was standing by the chart table when a larger than usual wave hit the boat. I crashed into the solid stainless steel bar that surrounds the stove and bruised my ribs. Now its painful to do anything with my left arm and I can't lie on that side. The sky is clear and sunny but the wind is blowing 25-30 knots and its pretty bouncy out there right now. Navire is happy though, in her element, she is leaping over the waves. Its hot, 30 degrees. And not likely to get any cooler as we get closer to the equator. I'd like to get my energy back so I can function and cook and eat. When I move I just want to head for the rail and throw up. My ribs hurt and g-forces from each wave threaten to smash me into something again. So I sit here checking the horizon every so often, making sure there are no ships, and keep us heading south-east. The chart table seems a 100 miles away. Every hour I make a supreme effort and go down and do the log. Then I dash back out, hook myself on, check the horizon and slowly recover.=20 David is on the foredeck. One of the skylights above the V-berth is leaking and our bed and all the stuff stored on it is drenched in salt water. Lovely. David is wearing a harness, clipped onto the jackline, naked. Mmm. I'm trying to make lunch. One trip down to put water on to boil noodles. Another to put the noodles in the pot. When they are done I add a prawn takeaway into it. I have no appetite but I make myself eat. It helps. On my watch we ran out of wind altogether and I turned the engine on. I know, I know, we can't motor all the way but it means we can get some easting and charge the batteries that are worryingly underperforming. 141 miles again. Powering along. ***=20 Day 4 3am April 27 Position: 0 52.604n 176 07. 317e Just endured a big squall that lasted quite a long time. We were all over the place - the wind increased and changed direction, and now the sea is rough. Took a few waves over the bow and one in the cockpit. But now I've got us pointing south-east again. I snuggle back into my dry(ish) corner in the dodger and dream. I'd like a double bed. No, make that queen size, and crisp clean cotton sheets. No salt, no sweat. And a bath. Oh yes, with scented oils, and the room lit with candles. The wind could howl outside my solid house and I wouldn't worry about going off course, reefing sails, or the anchor dragging. But for now we are out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I don't think I'm going to get much dozing this watch. You never know when the next squall is going to hit. I'm just going to give the wind vane another click to port. Less than a thousand miles to go now. Today we cross the equator. In another few days, the dateline. I mentally calculate our arrival time - if we are covering about two degrees a day, and Wallis is at 13 degrees south, we'll arrive in six or seven days. I feel salty and smelly. My hair is going into dreads. I think I'll have a shower today. Ah the joys of sailing. David is doing just fine by the way. He's much hardier than me. =20 =20 =20 =20