Straightening out the blog!

Hello All,

Irena here checking in from Singapore!

I have finally managed to straighten out the blog posts that were mis-dated. Somehow Cress's computer was set to a month ahead for a while - so a few of the posts were showing up on the wrong dates. I have put them all back in order as best I could, and removed some of the duplicates.

As for me, I have been pouring myself into work these past couple of months and luckily (I suppose) it has been an extremely busy time for me. While Cress has been sailing from Hawaii to Fiji and Vanuatu, I have been traveling to Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam for work. So, I guess we have each been working hard in our own ways - although, when I get somewhere, I don't get to snorkel and drink Kava. However, I do get to stay at excellent hotels, go shopping and eat at great restaurants (after I finish work for the day, that is!) - plus I am getting 8 hours of sleep every night!

Let's just say that is had been a difficult time being apart - for both of us. We have managed to stay in contact over email daily, and that has kept us going. That and the fact that we are both committed to getting Conversations home to Singapore as soon as possible. I will be meeting Cress and crew in Darwin for a week or so - assuming they manage to get the boat there by next weekend. From there Jan and Bob will be heading back to Winnipeg, Dennis and Rita back to Vancouver and a new crew will come on board for the final leg of the jouney - Darwin to Bali, and Bali to Singapore.

I think those last few weeks will be the hardest (for me at least). Our good friends from Singapore - who are also sailors - Cliff and Fiona, will be part of that last crew - and they have been doing a fantastic job of keeping me sane over the last couple of months. I will miss their company and their generous hospitality and will have to work hard to stay "up" for those last few weeks on my own. I suppose there is always Christmas shopping! Luckily I also have 2 adorable grandchildren to Skype with, and all of my sisters and good friends.

So, one more week to get to Darwin! I am really looking forward seeing everyone on board - but especially, can't wait to hug my very salty sweetheart :)

Irena

Yet another knot!

I was now looking up some fifty feet in the air, and at the end the starboard side of the second spreader was my next challenge on this sailing adventure...

Ok it's me again. It seems that every time I do something worth "blogging" about someone beats me to the punch. I've been at sea now for around 37 days so I'm beginning to find less and less to write about. Well, what happened yesterday was definitely blog worthy. So here I am to bring you the experience through the eyes of the 'doer.'

It was around 2:00 in the afternoon yesterday, the 12th of November, and I was sitting in the salon reading yet another book trying to pass the time until my next watch or at least until something exciting happened. I heard Cress mention something about dropping the main sail to do some work on another one of the baton pockets that had separated from the track car/slider on the mast. He was sitting in the nav station doing his radio work which meant I had time to finish the chapter and hop up and
help when he was done.

As you know, the dreaded spinnaker was flying in all it's "glory" and this makes working on the main a little trickier for both the people repairing the sail and the helmsman. The helmsman's job is to keep the boat on course, which is much more difficult with no main sail as it is the "main" contributor to keeping the boat steady. Even with all the sails up, the spinnaker makes steering a nightmare, in my opinion at least. We completed the work on the spoiled batten pocket just to notice the one
we had repaired in Vanuatu had come loose and needed a second mending. Cress thought zip ties might be the easiest solution and sent me below to dig through the drawers to find some. As I was making my way back up the companion way I heard the words no one wanted to hear and when I looked up at the bow, I saw the spinnaker was wrapping around the forestay. I dropped the zip ties and sprinted forward, avoiding the shrouds and blocks on the deck to help the Captain force the sail back around. We
pulled and pulled but to no avail. You see, once the sail gets wrapped around it is nearly impossible to unwrap. We needed to figure something out, and fast! So we released the halyard and dropped the massive sail to the deck, grasping at every piece of the red, white, and blue monster to keep it from dragging in the water. It brought me back to my elementary school days when we used to play with those big parachutes in gym class! To make a long story short (at least this part) I'll cut to the
chase. We got the sail to the deck successfully, managed to untangle it and get it ready to go up again. I wasn't in favour of putting it up again but I never was in favor of putting it up in the first place!

Just like the Genoa, the Spinnaker also has a retrieve line, which is used to (you guessed it) retrieve the sail when it needs to come down. The Spinnaker's retrieve line needs to be attached to the deck so it doesn't fly up with the halyard. Well we forgot this step and as we raised the sail the retrieve line did just that. The next few minutes were a blur.

I was now looking up some fifty feet in the air, and at the outboard end of the starboard side of the second spreader was my next challenge on this sailing adventure. The retrieve line had wrapped itself around the spreader which made bringing the sail back down to the deck impossible. The cone that contains the sail was now violently slamming against the mast with every wave. All the sails were down and we were sitting in the middle of the ocean, not moving. Someone had to go up the mast and
untangle the lines. That someone was me. Out came the bosun's chair and the Solent's halyard. I've gone up the forestay several times before to re-screw the pesky set screws that continually work there way out but I've never gone up the mast, and never under such stressful conditions. Was I afraid? Of course I was! My heart was racing and my mind was going a mile a minute. If I fall, I'm seriously injured or worse!

The first attempt to get me up the mast proved unsuccessful as I swung 5 feet to starboard and quickly returned back to center with a light thud. Cress, then being the sincere guy that he is, didn't want me to get hurt and then volunteered himself to be the one to go up. Quickly realizing that if he were to get hurt we'd all be screwed, he volunteered Bob to go up. You should have seen his face! I insisted that I go up to save Bob from the task and to overcome the fear welling up inside me.
We pondered what would be the safest way and came up with a pretty good plan. We decided to raise the main and solent, heave to (steer into the wind to stop the boat) and steady our ailing Conversations II. Then rigged a block at the bottom of the mast, tied a line around the bottom of the chair, put it through the block and wrapped the other end around the winch. With the port side spinnaker halyard lifting me up, and the retaining line reducing the chair's swing I was ready to go. With my ok,
Bob started turning the winch handle. As my feet left the deck, I grabbed on to the mast and started to climb up knowing that I wouldn't return to safety until the job was done.

After four and a half minutes of maneuvering through the jungle of stays and continually being smacked by the backwinded solent, I was at the second spreader, roughly 50 feet in the air. (Bob you're a machine!) Five feet to my left was the line that I was determined to untangle and set free. I wrapped my leg around one of the shrouds leading up to the mast to steady myself and cautiously leaned over to determine the severity of the knot. Man was it tight! I returned back to the mast to center
myself and devise a plan. At this point I became entirely present, not noticing the water or onlooking eyes below, not thinking about anything besides the task at hand. After a few long, deep breaths I took my left hand and lifted the Spinnaker halyard up to give me some slack on the knot, with my right holding on to the mast for dear life, and my left leg still wrapped around the shroud. I was able to get enough slack to begin to work the knot free. After a few moments, the knot released and
in slow motion gracefully floated down to the top of the spinnaker which was now free to come down! Thankfully, so was I. Believe it or not I was most afraid coming down as I was beginning to slip forward and out of the chair. I was no longer centered and the fear of falling rushed back into my body and I could now feel the small cut I had on my knee, and the immense heat that had now taken over my face. I shouted down to Bob to stop me when I reached the first spreader, a place to stand, so
I could readjust and get my butt to the back of the boson's chair. After settling down I continued my descent, reworking my way down the mast. My feet touched the ground and a rush of excitement and accomplishment flooded through my body. The whole process, up and down, took eight and a half minutes! It sure seemed like a lot more.

The other day Cress wrote a blog about courage and mentioned that I had said that I didn't really fear anything. That's not entirely true. What is a fact though is that I don't let fear control my life! Courage is not about having no fear it's about being able to overcome it. There is nothing greater than the satisfaction of beating a fear and coming out on top! It's a great rush! But, do keep in mind that every time I see a big cockroach in Singapore I scream like a little girl! I'm working
on that one...

Until next time,

Matt

Are we having fun yet??

(Cress)
I asked the crew draped around the cockpit "Well, gang, what do you think? Shall we go for it?" We were all gasping in the airless heat.
"Ummmmmmm" said one
"Errrrrrr" said another
"Well, I don't know, the last time we did it, it was hell" said a third
(Except for the hero of our tale, the identity of the crew shall remain nameless for reasons that will soon be self evident)
It had to be 33 degrees in the shade of our tiny cockpit bimini. All of us were crowded into the small square of shade made by the makeshift cover, trying to get comfortable. It was only 9 am, but already, we all were showing dark stains of perspiration through our shirts and hats. Finally the morning sun had risen high enough in the sky to create enough shade for us all to come up from the growing heat down below. Believe it or not, the heat of the cockpit seemed the lessor of the infernos. We
were a bit chagrined by the slow progress of passage the last couple of days, but mostly what we all wanted most was relief from the tropic sun arching above. Beads of perspiration ran down my cheeks from under my Tilly hat. I was growing desperate.
"But consider the alternative," I urged, "It could be like this all day"
"Ummmmmmm" said one crew
"Errrrrrrrr" said another
Finally, one crew piped up "Yeah, we ARE dying here folks. We've got to do something".
"Ummmmmm" said one\
"Errrrrrr" said another
"Well….. okay," said another crew, "anything is better than this, anything!"
"Yeah, I guess" said one
"Whatever" said another
And with that the die was cast. The adventure wouldn't end until and hour and half latter when Matt's feet landed back on the deck from the mast head.
We would set the spinnaker.
(Dennis and Rita take up the tale)
After 6 hrs of instruction and practice, we learned what the groan was about. Because of its size, we have to watch constantly to keep things under control. During the last afternoon watch before "happy hour", the captain noted another batten on the main sail had worn off and decided it was time to repair it as we had done on our trip from Fiji to Tanna. Unfortunately, lower the sail caused the spinnaker to do more erratic things that the novice helmsman didn't know about and caused it to wrap itself
around the fore stay. Quickly the Captain yelled that the spinnaker had to come down and all the work on the main sail halted. Because the spinnaker was twisted around the fore stay, the clews were released and the bottom of the spinnaker was stuffed down into the main galley. Two battens (2nd one was almost worn through) were then repaired on the main sail and the sail hoisted back up. With grins (forced) on the crews' faces, the spinnaker was also ordered back up. Unfortunately, the pulley rope
for the spinnaker cover was not attached to the boat and also went up with the spinnaker. Upon noting this error, the captain instructed us to lower the spinnaker. As it was being lowered, the pulley rope got tangled on the top spreader and attempts to free it were futile. Our exasperated captain looked at the first mate and said the only solution was for him to go up in the boson's chair to free the lines (no wonder the first mate groans at the mention of the spinnaker). It was a rocky ride up and
down the mast with the solent slapping the first mate at every wave motion but true to his fearless character, he managed to free the lines. He was so confident of his ability that he asked that Rita video the whole procedure (8 minutes of looking up at his ass). Finally with lines free and the spinnaker itself untwisted, she was "bedded down" for the night and sailing finally resumed.

We really put the captain's patience to the test! Instead of making any of us "walk the plank" he ordered extra beer rations for all. Let's chalk that up to experience and hopefully learn from it! (like not agree to use the spinnaker) It's with even more trepidation that we take our turns today steering with the spinnaker up.

Relieved and humbled yet again by the winds,
Dennis and Rita

Post Script:
Next day. Guess what? We have the spinnaker up again. Some people don't know when to quite. Our excuse? It needed drying out anyway.
Just wish us luck getting it down.

Sailing, sailingl..... we wish we were sailing

Day 9 dawns bright and sunny, and …… almost totally windless.
I don't mind saying, its been a bit of a struggle the last four days or so. We have been trying to sail dead downwind in almost no wind. Boat speeds have shriveled to a meager 2-3-4 knots, and our arrival time at Darwin is stretching out closer to the end of November. As of this moment we have 1400 miles to go as our scotch is beginning to run low and we are starting to re-tell our stories to one another. Our fresh fruit is gone, except for our ration of oranges which has become a currency of exchange
onboard - why, just day before yesterday, I traded my second to last orange for a Jan's glass of wine at the forth coming birthday dinner. It will ease the pain somewhat. We are down to instant oatmeal, instant coffee, and speaking for myself, instant smellyness as I dig into my laundry bag for previously worn t-shirts, t-shirts that are at least a little less worn than the one I have on. But we get through the days somehow. We are now reading one another's books, counting the number of bathing suits
Jan has brought along and trying to stay up later than 7:30 pm. We are so desperate, we have even been forced to try our hand at spinnaker flying in the hopes that we will be able to go faster and generate a breeze - but that is a tale told elsewhere.

Last night I awoke for my night watch dreaming we were sailing up onto a reef. No wonder. Bligh's Entrance to Torres Strait lies about two and a half to three days away. (Torres Straight is the northern passage through the Great Barrier Reef from the Coral Sea to the Arafura Sea that lies north of Australia and south of Papua New Guinea.) We have all been practicing steering in a straight line, because the pass is about 200 miles of reefs, currents and shipping traffic through which we will sail
a twisted path. Two sail boats wrecked on reefs this year alone as they made their attempts at the pass. We will not be joining them!
C. Cresswell

Jan and Bob tie the knot

As many of you are aware fresh water is at a premium when making these long passages so showers are restricted to short towel washes. After our last actual shower at Port Vila just before we departed some of us have used the bucket off the back of the boat to wash with salt water then quickly rinse with a little fresh water. After 6 days at sea Jan felt she needed to wash and asked Bob to help her. "Imelda" emerged from the companionway wearing one of her many bathing suits (not sure how many she
brought but they are numerous and colourful), Bob followed and off to the aft they went. The usual practise is to tie a rope around your waist and secure the other end to the boat; that way should you slip off the transom while throwing out the canvas bucket you would still be retrievable. Anyway Bob slipped the rope around Jan's waist and proceeded to try and tie a Bowline knot. You know the drill: Make a rabbit hole loop, run the end up the hole, around the tree then back down the hole. After many
failed attempts, Bob took the rope off of Jan and practised on the wind vane post until he got it right. Back to Jan's waist two loops around then attempted to knot. Two tries later with some coaching from Captain and needling by the rest of the crew Jan was ready for her wash. Next was Bob's turn so Jan wrapped the rope around Bob and did her imitation of a girl guide knot tier. Her first attempt was some concoction of loops over, under and twist that she felt should hold Bob. With many more barbs
of who trusted who the most the Captain had to step in and also guide her through the rabbit and hole trick. Now that they have experienced the salt water bath I'm sure there will be plenty more trepid (timid) moments for the pair as the journey progresses. Dennis

Tasso's Kava Buzz

I sat down in the Paradise Sunset Bungalow's restaurant looking down at the massive meal that Jan described in her last post feeling quite good after a few beers and a bowl of Kava. As this was our last night I wanted to go out in style (messed up) so after five minutes from the first bowl, and not feeling anything but a weak buzz, I looked across the table at Cress and said, "Captain, how would you feel about another bowl of Kava?" He didn't reply in words but swiftly rose from his seat to join
me outside to finish off the bottle Tasso so graciously provided for us. "It would be a shame to waste," I said to myself trying to justify my urge to feel the true effects of Kava for the first time. As you all know we've tried it before, but had experienced little, if any effect. We ventured outside the restaurant with grins on our faces anticipating what we've heard all about the Kava experience both knowing deep down that this stuff was somehow different, somehow more potent. I looked at
the remaining "grog," as the Fijians call it, and of course offered the first bowl to the Captain. He slugged it back with a slight grimace on his face, reached for the remaining half-eaten watermelon to clear the horrid taste from his mouth, chewed, swallowed and that was the end of it. Tasso then rinsed the bowl, and proceeded by pouring every last drop back into it and handing it to me. Still feeling nothing but a weak buzz and a strong sense of excitement I looked down at the much larger portion,
drank the bowl clean, reached for what was probably the same half-eaten chunk of watermelon, had a bite, chewed for a moment and spit the chewed remnants onto the grass. I gave Tasso a generous pat on the back and Cress a slight smile as we ventured back into the restaurant to enjoy our massive feast. This sit down was a little different...

I sat down in the Paradise Sunset Bungalow's restaurant looking down at the massive meal that Jan described in her last post feeling extremely good after a few beers and the second generous helping of Kava. Dennis, Rita, Jan, and Bob had their plates full of the delicious looking lobster, sweet potatoes and rice, and had already begun feasting while the Captain and I were outside drinking the local delight. As I mentioned before, the first bowl of Kava had little to no effect but the second one
hit me like a freight train. The immediate effect sent me into a frenzy, my head was spinning and everything was blurry, as if I were looking thru a piece of stained glass. I peered across the table at my partner in crime, thinking that he might be feeling the same dizzying sensations, shrugged it off, and continued on trying to get the succulent lobster dinner onto my plate. "How do I get this out?" I asked Leitare, Tasso's daughter. She looked at me in only what I can think was a disapproving
manner, reached for the lobster I was struggling with and effortlessly de-shelled the entire half and graciously placed it on my plate. "tsshank yoouu" I muttered in my increasingly slurred tone. The sensation was overwhelmingly strong now, and getting stronger by the second. Trying to regain my senses I quickly slurred out a request for Jan to pass me the rest of the dishes and quickly flung what I thought were good sized portions onto my plate. My plate was full and I was ready to eat. This
proved incredibly difficult as now I was beginning to see two of everything. I saw all the food on my plate but just couldn't process what I was supposed to do with it. I knew I was supposed to eat it, I had done this several times before but I just couldn't make sense of it all. The Kava sensation was reaching new heights. I peered around the table one more time and slurred to everyone, "I'm messhed up."

I was briefly entranced by Tasso's selection of music playing in the background and all the sights and sounds around me. I looked over at the speakers and two TV's (there was only one and I thought it was quite strange that the second one was floating in mid-air) glanced around at my surroundings noticing a flurry of colors and shapes. "You're not eating anything," Dennis said with four eyes, bringing me out of my dream like trance. Oh yes, the food. I had forgotten for what seemed like hours
that I had a glorious looking plate of food sitting in front of me. I picked up my knife and fork like a first timer ready to dig in. "How does this go again?" I asked myself. I tried my heart out to bring the half-lobster into focus, slice a portion off, bring it up to my mouth, chew and swallow. SUCCESS!!! Bite number one went down with what I thought was great ease. (It turns out I was trying to cut the plate the first two of three attempts) "Oh yeah...the garlic butter, I can't forget that,"
I slurred, "Jan can you pass me the garlic butter please?" The next bite, which was glazed with the 'boat-made' garlic butter (we had to bring our own), was much tastier than the first. I proceeded to drizzle some of the garlicy goodness onto the remaining lobster and thought it would go nice on the rice as well. Things were getting easier, only it took me five times longer to do everything but I was doing it! The sensation was still accelerating like a Mustang and I was wondering when it would
plateau. I had to pee and noticed that Cress was getting up as well. I decided to sit back and observe how he was to get from his seat to the washroom without falling over as every little thing everyone was doing grew increasingly more intriguing and difficult to comprehend. After a successful attempt by the captain I decided to try it myself. I got up slowly, holding onto my chair, and the next chair and the next until I was confident I could walk. I was growing a deep admiration for the Captain's
ability to do this so well just seconds earlier, as I was struggling immensely. I stumbled to the door after a quick few steps from the last chair and I was now out in the night trying to navigate the most simple route to the toilet. I knew from past experience that toilet number 1 was on the left of a small building just outside the restaurant. When I got to the toilet, which was occupied by Cress, I realised I had to find another option quickly. I decided to pee in the bush, which was actually
an open section of grass and most likely a path of some kind. (I knew there was a second toilet behind me but this just seemed like the easier of the two options) I made my way back to my seat and to my bewilderment there was a full plate still sitting in front of me. "You haven't eaten anything!" Dennis said again. "I know," I muttered to myself and was ever more determined to overcome this gut rot and eat like I had never eaten before. I feasted for what seemed like days but the food wasn't
leaving my plate. Bite after bite, taste sensation after taste sensation. I was doing it. Growing increasingly bored of the food on my plate, after the lobster was gone, I decided to move onto the fruit kabobs. They were delicious and with the array of shapes and colors, extremely fun to eat. The "high" had now begun to subside and everything was beginning to seem much easier, the surrounding less and less doubled and the tapioca meringue pie staring at me across the table. Feeling incredibly
full, and incredibly ill, I decided I'd have to try a piece, as Tasso and his family had worked so hard to prepare everything for us. Delicious, and a great end to one of the most memorable meals I've ever had.

Being able to walk now we made our way to the dingy and back to the boat saying goodbye to the land that had treated us so well the previous weeks, to start our three week journey to Darwin. I hope you've enjoyed the Kava experience from the doer opposed to the observer as Dennis wrote about. It was a remarkable experience and I recommend it for everyone. I'd say skip the Fijian Kava and go straight to Lamen Bay, Vanuatu. Talk to Tasso and he'll take care of the rest. Make sure you wait a little
bit after the first bowl or you'll experience what I did above.

Feeling better and seeing straight,

Matt

C is for Courage

"Are you ever afraid?" she asked.
As I stood there, beer in hand, looking down on this diminutive young Singaporean woman, I could help but admire here for getting right to the point with her question. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement and the corners of her lips were smiling.
'What was this about?' I wondered.
She rushed on with her question: "Like when you are way out of sight of land, and the wind is wild, the waves are huge, the boat is filling with water and …..
"Whooah there" I said, "I think you have the wrong idea!" I recognized this is the most common question I get about offshore sailing, thanks to TV and Hollywood.

We had struck up a conversation at the "appys" table. It was a networking event - I think it was the American Association in Singapore - and I was standing over the appetizers table trying not to make my relish for all the goodies too obvious by piling my plate too high. I was also trying to figure out how to balance a drink, a napkin, a plate piled high with cream cheese and lochs and cheese on crackers. And, as if this where not enough, I was trying to figure out how one can be expected to eat
with a folk, not with your fingers, as is the accepted custom in Singapore, all the while carrying on a polite conversation without a mouthful of food. Talk about fear! This all seemed at the moment a much more daunting task than any calamity I had ever experienced sailing.

I went on. "In my whole life, I have never, ever, been caught in a real storm." I explained. "It's rarely like that. Sure we get soaked frequently by the squalls, and we do get small storms once in a while, but I am more afraid of lightening, and that's because if my GPS ever gets fried, I am pretty sure I don't remember how to use a sextant!"

Her excitement faded. She looked disappointed. I could see I wasn't shaping up to be the hero she thought I might be. 'Oh well', I thought, I still have all this great food!

Its now months later, and several more thousand more sea miles behind me, and still no great storm has ever come down upon me. But I am still thinking about her questions, about being afraid. So I am just back from going on deck to ask some of my crew "Are you afraid, and did it take courage to come on this trip?"

Funny, but none of them said very much about fear or courage, rather they spoke about risk and curiosity. For different reasons, they were all curious about what it would be like to do this trip. Dennis was curious what it would be like to be a "pin in a bathtub", a tiny spec on a great open ocean with big waves. Bob wanted to learn about sailing and was curious about how he would handle being on the foredeck during a storm. Jan was curious about what it would like to be at sea for 3 weeks, 'trapped'
on a tiny boat with the same five people! Matt said being afraid never occurred to him.

I was still hoping to hear more about courage so I asked "What then, made it possible for you to choose to risk in order to satisfy your curiosity about sailing".
In their answers, they all said they were accustomed to risk in their lives. It had been a part of their work, their personal circumstances and around their financial security, so compared to some of the things that had happened before, this was nothing! They were practiced at risk taking.

'Okay' I thought, 'this is making sense'. You see, I have this theory about courage. Courage is what we develop by taking risks. I was hearing from the crew that courage is the practiced ability to act, to make choices, to risk, in the face of our fear. In a way, we build courage by risking choices that give us what we want, even though we have fear about an uncertain outcome "Feel the fear and do it anyway" as they say. My crew are all practiced risk takers - they have courage - so coming on a
trip like this was possible, if not easy, for them. Jan also said "I know from experience opportunities arise at the right time in our lives. Even though I feel some fear about it, I have learned to take advantage of it by going for it even if I am a little afraid."

I believe most people mistakenly think courage is the absence of fear.
Because we are all afraid, many of us mistakenly believe we are not very courageous, so we limit our choices when we tell ourselves this story. It helps if we let our curiosity reign more often. The more curious we are, the more likely we are to learn to act with courage said my crew.

To be honest, if I think back to my networking conversation with the young Singaporean at the American Association, what I didn't say at the time is that I am frequently afraid at sea, even when there is no real cause for alarm. Think of me as the real "chicken of the sea!" I will make myself afraid when something goes bump in the night along the hull, something breaks on deck or I receive a weather forecast for bad weather. But over the years I have developed a love hate relationship with fear.
Fear is uncomfortable at the time, but I know it's a bit of a rush afterward and it makes the accomplishment of a passage more worthwhile, interestingly enough.

But most significantly of all, I have learned if I am willing to put up with the discomfort of fear, I can do anything I want! Not bad for such a big chicken, eh?

C. Cresswell