Yet she could not go back...

My second night at sea was spent much like the first―waking every hour to look around, and almost every hour having to climb out onto the deck to close a hatch that had been blown open by the never-ending pounding into the choppy Caribbean sea. Though conditions hadn’t calmed, they seemed steadier. Or maybe I was just beginning to get used to it. Mara Noka managed to avoid the steepest waves, steering herself magically, however once in awhile I would feel the forward part of the boat go into a freefall for a fraction of a second, and it was always followed by a loud crash and a shuddering which reverberated through the beams until they reached my own bones. It felt as though Mara Noka and I were becoming less boat and captain, and more one single entity out in the vastness of the open sea, fighting for the same thing―to at some point drop anchor in much calmer waters than these.

Yet he could not go back, because there is nothing more enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving than the life at sea. ―Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

I went downstairs in an attempt to make something to eat. I fried an egg, cut some cheese, put it all on top of a slice of pumpernickel bread and sat down on my kitchen bench to eat, for outside the chance of getting splashed in the face by saltwater was far too great. The stuffy, warm air inside the galley made me lightheaded. I stuck my head out of the hatch for a breath of fresh air, and felt immediately better. But the relief didn’t last long, as a wave splashed against the side of the boat, and sent spray straight towards me. I ducked below. I felt overwhelmed by my reality. “Why me?” I sobbed. The question came not from the feeling of punishment, but rather from the dawning realization that my life would never be the same. There would be no giving up now. If I would be able to finish out these remaining 300 miles in one piece, there would be nothing in this world I couldn’t do―so do it I must. 

Though frozen below the companionway, lost in my thoughts, my brain continued to pick up the sounds of the boat. The wind whistled in the forestay, the water bubbled and rushed along the outside of the hulls and pounded on the bows. The sounds were much more vivid as they bounced around the inside of the hull. I became more present again once I noticed the sound of heavy water sloshing about. It came from inside. (The bilges inside each hull are comprised of five sections: forward, forward bulk, middle, aft bulk, and aft. And each section is divided into two sections, port and starboard. So to clear water entirely from the bilges, one would have to pump in ten different spots; twenty for both hulls, not counting foremost and aft compartments.) I checked the aft bilges: empty on one side, almost half full on the other. Seemed reasonable. Middle: half full on both sides. I had pumped last halfway between Cartagena and Barranquilla, so this was possible. Then I went forward: full, full, FULL. As soon as I lifted the board, the rocking of the boat made water lap over the edge. “Fuck,” I said out loud and fumbled for something to bail with. I made due with a plastic bowl for some time, dumping the water into the sink, but quickly realized this would take far too long. I found a large plastic jar, the kind that holds peanuts, and brought down a bucket from above. As I sat down and began to bail―one scoop into the sink, one into the bucket (because the sink couldn’t drain quickly enough)―I noticed water streaming in from above. The metal bracket and pin holding the beam to the deck was pulling on a small portion of the deck, which by now was very mushy with rot as it flexed up and down. I paused for a moment, and a memory came to me that made me chuckle and take a deep breath. I had been told once before departing that if I were to ever go down into the boat and find water above the floorboards, NOT to panic. Most likely the situation wouldn’t be so serious, and I’d be able to find the cause before anything happened. I was relieved the water was coming from above and not from below. Besides, the leak wasn’t so bad, the most water came through when a wave hit at an odd angle. 

I sat for over half an hour bailing and dumping buckets out upstairs. Once it was empty I could still hear the sound of water inside, coming from the front. “What in the…” I crawled into the forward bunk, over the bilge I had just been bailing, past my containers filled with food, to the small porthole which opened into the foremost compartment, the same I had been storing my sails in and had previously filled up with water. I stuck my arm through the porthole, and my hand was immediately submerged in water. I grumbled in annoyance because I knew what this meant. It was time to get wet. I went upstairs to assess the weather. The sky was cloudy and the wind was loud. Though the sun was up somewhere in the sky, everything which wasn’t damp, was wet. Ontong Java was off to my port, maybe 4 miles away. I decided I would maneuver to close the gap between us some, but only after bailing out the front of the boat. I turned the wheel into the wind, and Mara Noka slowed down significantly. The waves no longer pounded the bows with such frequency. I went forward with no pants on and my button up sun shirt, because I knew I wouldn’t be dry for long. I opened the hatch, and found a crystal clear swimming pool. I climbed inside and was in awe for a moment. There was so much water.

It took me quite some time to empty all the water, and when I was finished, exhaustion rushed over me. My arms felt like jello from lifting a 10 liter bucket full of water a countless number of times out of the hatch and dumping them out. I climbed out and closed the hatch behind me, walked back to the cockpit and turned the wheel back to its original position, and then just a little more. Mara Noka picked up speed immediately, and the ferocity of the present conditions returned. 

I chased down Ontong Java for nearly an hour, until I decided we were close enough again and then went to rest. I slept for a couple of hours off and on, and by the time sunset came around I went down into the galley to check for water. Aft and middle bilges were the same, but the forward bilge was full again. Not about to overflow, but definitely full. It surprised me, being that no more than three hours had passed since I had emptied it nearly dry. I got to work bailing, and soon it was empty again. I became aware that I would have to be doing this for the rest of the voyage. I crawled through the forward bunk and stuck my arm through the porthole as I had done earlier. There was water, but just some. It wouldn’t require my attention until the morning. I ate some bread and cheese and a tomato and went back to bed. Another night spent in the same fashion, but by then I was becoming accustomed to my new sleeping routine. It didn’t bother me so much. Around midnight I went on deck, spotted Ontong Java’s deck light some distance aways, and went down to bail the once more full forward bilge. Before sunrise I did the same. 

After steering for some time to get closer to Ontong Java the next morning, I hove-to and went forward to bail the front compartment, which had filled again overnight. Later on I was on the radio with Hans, complaining about the situation on board Mara Noka. “Quit yapping” was his favorite thing to say. “Go tie down the front hatch now! We’re three days out and you haven’t thought to do that yet?! Use your brains,” was what I heard over the radio. It wasn’t at all pleasurable to listen to, but it was all true. “Don’t you have a staple gun? Find a way to cover that leak.” I don’t remember what I replied, but it must’ve sounded like something a child would say when you ask them to do an obvious chore and they don’t want to. We both abandoned the radio. I found a blue tarp, fit it over the opening of the forward hatch, and laid the hatch cover on top, tying it all down. When it came to my problem downstairs, I managed to make matters worse. While fiddling with the rot where the leak was, I noticed the bolt fitting to the metal bracket had sheared, so I pulled it out. Along with it came a chunk of plywood, and I could see clear into the sky. A wave hit and water gushed in like a waterfall. I scrambled to the other hull, got the gaffer tape and the staple gun from the tool cabinet, and went back above to cover the hole. I put several layers of tape across that part of the deck and stapled it down around the hole. I checked inside and from what I could tell, the leak had stopped. I bailed what remained in the bilge, and then I slept some more.

After one of my hour long rests, I came on deck to find the forward compartment hatch open AGAIN, and the blue tarp floating inside. Another round of shooting into the wind, bailing, and closing the hatch. But this time I stapled the tarp on to the rim of the entrance. “That should do it,” I pleaded more than hoped. But of course, it didn’t. The bilge and the forward compartment were still filling with water, though much more slowly. Water was coming in some other way. I could hardly face it all… I had no real understanding of what I was doing, much less what the boat was doing. But at least it seemed manageable, and we wouldn’t be out here forever. “Right…?” I questioned myself.

Sometime during that night, as I was maneuvering to approach Ontong Java, I made an accidental jibe, and then another. The boom swung to the other side viciously, and a couple of seconds later back again with even more force. BOOM. Crrrrrrrrrrrt. Along with the loud bang, the sharp sound of tearing filled my ears. The mainsail tore at the bottom bolt rope, along a length of about three feet. I brought the boat into the wind and let down some mainsail so I could reef and not have to worry about the tear for the night. It was my first time reefing, and it was a stressful, strenuous experience. Adrenaline pumped through me, and my emotions see-sawed between wanting to anywhere but there and feeling more alive than I ever had.