43 Days Alone at Sea: A Journal (Week 2)
Day #8
Had a squall this morning at dawn. I have no wind meter (I’m not even sure what it’s actually called), so I don’t know how strong the wind was, but it didn’t feel like more than 18 or 20 knots. I jumped out of bed, loosened the mainsheet a tad, and made sure all hatches were closed. Then came the rain. That mixture brought the temperature down for the first time in a few days — so much so that I had to put a T-shirt on!
I am happy the boat got a fresh water rinse. It has been quite salty and dusty, and Mara Noka hasn’t seen a hose since Florida. My water collecting didn’t go so well because everything was so dirty, but I don’t doubt I’ll get another dinghy full of rain drops before I’m out of the doldrums.
The sun is peeking through a grey sky, and the heat is back. I abandoned the T-shirt a few hours ago. I’m back lounging on deck, drinking coffee from Cabo Verde, watching some low-lying clouds with dark underbellies rolling in from the east. I have to bring the main down to tape up a tear starting at the top before the next squall rolls in…
Never sail without ZipTape.
I only made 52 miles in the last 24 hours, however that is considerably better than the 18 I made the day before. As for the southeast trades, my dread is each day turning more into excitement.
After accepting yesterday that I would have no weather assist on this trip, I wasn’t sure how to feel when my SPOT rang today with incoming messages as I was sending my location. I was happy, naturally, but I was also happy coming to terms with truly being totally alone with my boat again. They know not to write to me unless I ask, so maybe I just don’t ask. Also, funny to note, no messages came in when I had a clear, blue sky, but they did in today’s complete overcast.
Day #9
This must be a sailor's purgatory… One can’t help but wonder if this windless state will last forever. I might as well evaluate all aspects of life until I have a headache because there is not much else to do.
I did stitch up another patch in the mainsail though, so that’s something. If I don’t get a breeze soon I will have to swap out sails because these are really suffering.
I shouldn’t have complained about my 18 miles yesterday, because in the last 30 hours I have actually managed to drift eight miles north, in the exact direction from whence I came.
I feel okay now, and it has only been two days, but I understand how the doldrums could drive anyone mad.
Day #10
It is 11am and I am one mile west of where I was two days ago. I’m looking towards the east imagining my boat of two days ago floating just a short ways off, probably close enough to make out the “2655” stitched to the top of the mainsail. What a strange feeling. My slowest ever time prior to this was a half a mile in 12 hours. And I thought that was bad!
Yesterday I was visited by the same pod of dolphins from a few days ago. There must have been near 100 of them. A group of about 20 came to play with the boat, and surely to eat the fishies that have been making my “tiny island in a calm sea” home. One in particular I’d like to think I remembered from the last visit, for having the same scar on its back. It stayed with me at the bow the longest, and I swear that as it jetted back and forth, it would make eye contact with me so as to say “I remember you too.”
But I might just be going crazy. This heat is something out of hell, but I must say, the doldrums are certainly a kind of heaven.
Day #11
My propensity for sex dreams out at sea is astounding. And there is really nothing better. I had one the night before last and another last night, and each morning I woke up smiling. I love being alone, way more than most people, I’ve come to find; but there is always something soothing about sensual touch, and it’s quite cool to be able to experience a version of that in the dream realm.
I’ve slept really well most nights, even with waking every hour to look around or prepare for a squall, but my circadian rhythm is still going strong. As soon as there is a hint of daylight any ability I have to sleep vanishes. I did manage to take a nap at noon yesterday, for the first time on this voyage so far.
Day #12
Well, last night was not without incident. Before going to bed, I saw a squally bunch of clouds approaching. I reefed the foresail and gave a bit of slack to the mainsheet, but not much. A few bursts of rain and gusts of wind came and went as I was making dinner. After an hour the wind died, but it was still pitch black around me, with not a star in sight, so I knew the clouds were still there. I figured it would clear soon so I went to bed.
I was just about to fall asleep, probably around 8pm, when the wind came like a rocket. I’ve never experienced anything like it, at least not on a flat sea when I wasn’t moving at all. Before I could get out of bed, I heard a piece of wood hit something, and looked out of the doghouse to find that the galley hatch had flown off into the night (I should have listened to Laerke…). The full brunt of the rain hadn’t arrived yet but it was approaching fast. So I hopped down below to grab a stapler so that I could secure a tarp to the opening of the companionway.
As soon as I was in the galley I heard a frightening sound, like an explosion, followed by the dreaded flogging of a sail. I looked out and saw my mainsail flying from the mast, like an incredible flag. With half the boom lying on the doghouse, the other half was whipping off the end of the sail, tearing it to shreds. The wind had only been blowing for a couple of minutes at this point. “How could I have been so stupid as to not loosen the mainsheet first?” was my first thought as I witnessed what was happening. “Thank you thank you thank you,” was my second (for the fact that the mast was still standing), and for some reason, “I shouldn’t have been so eager to get out of the doldrums, enjoy every fucking moment” was the third.
There was no stillness in this reflection, though, and I worked quickly to get the mainsail down while I did still have a mast. It went smoothly enough considering the circumstances. The rain had started full blast so I flung the tarp over the companionway, secured the broken half of the boom on deck, and lashed up the mainsail. By the time I had dried myself off and was back in the doghouse, the rain stopped, as it does, less than 10 minutes after the first gust of wind.
Besides the adrenaline, I felt mostly calm about the situation, knowing there would be no use spending the night anxious about something which has already happened. The ease in which I fell asleep surprised me as I have spent nights awake over much more trivial things.
So today I will work between squalls to get a jury rig up because the next 200 miles of progress are very important, and current will start pushing me west.
Day #13
My mood is not the best today. It’s not terrible, but I’m feeling quite agitated and annoyed by this sloppy swell and insufficient wind. I’m also frustrated with trying to find a solution to my broken boom problem. I set up a small jib in place of the main to at least be of some help to my hardworking foresail, and it did well during a squall last night, but it feels like sailing with a reef you can never shake.
I do have a spare boom tied up under the boat, for a moment just as this, and I’ve racked my brain trying to think of a safe way to get it on board, but with this sea state I just don’t see how I can.
In Porto Santo I was gifted a kevlar jib to make a new main, but it was way too small so I didn’t bother modifying it, in hopes of maybe being able to sell it. But now I’m wondering if it might not just be the perfect size for my sheared-off boom…
Day #14
At some point yesterday I tried my bet at bargaining with the heavens — if I could get some sunshine I would put all of my effort into finding the best solution for the boom. I’m not sure why these conditions exactly — maybe because sunshine can make any day better, or because I was feeling overwhelmed and looking for an excuse as to why I wasn’t doing my best. The giant rain squalls weren’t helping much.
Last night the wind died and the stars began to fight off the clouds, and this morning I woke up with a sunrise on a canvas of blue sky. Conditions had calmed enough during the night that I was being presented with the best opportunity I’d have to get that spare boom out from under the boat and on deck. I hadn’t even wiped the sleep from my eyes and I was already preparing lines and putting the dinghy in the water. A half hour later, maybe, I had the boom on deck and what a beautiful sight. Now I will drink some coffee as I wait for the boom to dry a bit and my drill batteries to charge. I thanked myself for getting that part of the job done, but in reality I should be thanking the heavens for accepting my offer, and working as hard as I can to pay that back in full.
While I was under the boat I got to witness the barnacle kingdom happening on my hull… but that’s another problem for another time.
“But now it's time for me to go, the autumn moon lights my way
For now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it's headed my way
Ah, sometimes I grow so tired
But I know I've got one thing I got to do
Ramble on, and now's the time, the time is now
To sing my song, I'm going 'round the world, I gotta find my girl
On my way, I've been this way ten years to the day
Ramble on, gotta find the queen of all my dreams
Got no time to for spreading roots
The time has come to be gone
…
Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear”