Day 6 is upon us

The Trade winds took about 9 hours off yesterday and played silly bugger with me. I gybed the boat back and forth from side to side as the wind came in starts from this side and that until I had gybed five times. Each gybe takes about 20 minutes to complete single handed. Finally, just after midnight the SE trades returned and I have been in the clover ever since. Despite the slow down, I still covered 146 miles yesterday.
My position as of 1540 local time is S 07 02 E 099 47, sailing a heading of 280 magnetic at a speed of 6.5 to 7 knots. If you were to google earth that position you would see that I am about 150 miles off the south east extent of Sumatra, headed for India! Still waiting for today's weather files over the radio, but as of yesterday, I still need to sail about another 2 or 3 days west before turning north keeping the worst of the doldrums to my right (starboard) as I go north.
Not much to say today, except that I am running around the boat looking for things to fix - I am always rewarded. I must have made the adjustment to being here.
Cresswell

How is posting a blog at sea like eating an orange?

How is posting a blog at sea like eating an orange?
Well, first I have to be inspired enough to get off the settee.
Second, I have to put my book down because it takes two hands to get to, and stay in, the swaying nav station and type.
Thirdly, and finally,its was a bit bitter at first when I bit into it, but when I begin to peel away the day and get inside, its all rather sweet and juicy.

Or so I hope, because I really have no idea what I am going to say today.

"Well, what's the juicy part?" I hear you asking.

Well, hmmm let me see. I know, I lost my voice. Its around here somewhere, the boat is only 48 feet long and like everything else that gets lost on board, sooner or later it is discovered. Its just gone into hiding for a day or two I think to punish me for what I did to it. Not that I have much use for it all by myself these days, but I was singing a bit to pass the time and I miss it.

Here is the story of how I lost my voice.

Yesterday, before I caught my fish, in a moment of self-loathing and utter carelessness, I opened a deli pack of chicken ham, and even though it smelled a bit odd and had that sticky feel to it, I devoured it right at the galley counter. Silly boy. As I stood there instantly feeling like I had over-eaten at McDonalds, I realized I had made a mistake, maybe even a very serious mistake. I am way too far away from anywhere to take a chance on food poisoning. It reminded me of a sailing friend from the South Pacific, who shall remain nameless. Despite my predicament, I had to smile with the memory of this fellow, and his adventures on his single handed quest to eat everything questionable he found on the boat and the places he visited and always be the last man standing. It was no contest as far as I was concerned - he was the king and he got home safely, but will I?

I knew right away what I had to do. And I knew I had to act soon. But I had never tried it before. In fact at sea, usually the first few days out, I am trying my best not to throw up! And I have had lots of practice at that with varying degrees of success, as my crewmates will attest. But making myself sick, when I wasn't? I had to smile again despite myself, when I realized what a tragic proposition this was for me to face, especially as I had only the faintest twinge of sea sickness on this trip and now I was going to have to make myself sick. "What a looser" I thought.

I cleared away some dirty dishes and leaned over the galley sink. The first tentative thrust of my fingers down my throat, brought about those awful sounds of the gag reflex, but nothing more. I tried it again, a lot more forcefully, asking inane questions of myself as I do at times like this. "I wonder what this thing I feel down my throat looks like?" and "I wonder, could I actually choke myself to death by doing this and would that be better or worse than death by food poisoning?" A third try brought no better results other than a roaring gag. You can imagine my voice was getting a work out and looking for a place to hide.

Well, I thought, I know when I am being sea sick it seems to be over fastest when I am on all fours on the cabin floor. I first encountered this position on the beaches of Long Point after my first and last encounter with Canadian Club Scotch Whiskey. Not being able to dig a hole in the sand, I reached over and grabbed the wash basin and got down on the salon floor. I managed to throw up only a trace. I tried and tried to no avail. I could see I was far from getting anywhere. I needed to get rid of this chicken.

As I pondered what to try next I remembered another friend who I remembered laughingly telling a gathering of friends one night of an evening he had spent at Haven-by-the-Sea Retreat Center drinking sea water and throwing up, or "Heaving-by-the-Sea" as he had put it. Ha Ha. Of course, salt water. No shortage that. One quickly swallowed cup from the galley salt water tap did the trick and I cleaned up with a second just for good luck.

Somewhere in the proceedings my voice got away. I know by the time I was attempting to swear in a self comforting way as I cleaned myself up on the salon floor, my voice was gone. But so was the chicken. Thank goodness. Problem solved. You silly boy, and I know my voice will forgive me and be back soon. Crazy huh?

Nothing to report around the boat today, really just a carbon copy of yesterdays great sailing. Covered another 154 nautical miles. Life is good, but watch out for that un-refrigerated chicken!

Cresswell

(no subject)

Banner day - 154 NM in the last 24 hours. Good sailing by any standard.

And, the sea sent me a fish. As I stood at the pushpit rail and watched her struggele to get free from my hand line, I promised her if she let me catch her I would honour her with my life. You see, today is day four, and I have remembered to surrender to this place. Sending me a fish,is the world's way of saying you are welcome. She did not come without a struggle, perhaps I am less worthy. But come in the end she did. Her brilliant green sides flashed in the sunlight - she was a Mahi Mahi -- as I dragged out of her element and aboard. I ended her suffering with a single blow from the winch handle and a said out loud "Thank you, I am sorry". The colour drained from her flesh with her life. Over to you, Cresswell. So I have done my best. She was a shasimi lunch, she'll be a garlic and leek fry up for dinner and she'll be a fish broth for lunch tomorrow. I am doing my best.

It was a long night last night, leading to my surrender. I was up and down and up and down changing sails, reefing sails and putting sails back up as each squall rolled through in varying intensities. By 4 am I was pooped. I was also down to main sail only, and so it stayed while I slept an hour and a half till dawn, and then, you guessed it, I got up and put full sail back on.

After the moon went down around 1 am, it was fully clouded over, so it was very dark. Over the next two hours I passed within two miles of a two different fishing trawlers, skulking by them with no lights on. I want to be invisible out here. I want to remain alone. I am relying on the radar alarm to alert me to traffic while I sleep and it works well, except I experience about 10 false alarms to every boat. I can see why after a while, skippers just turn the damn thing off and take their chances in the dark. The whole thing is a calculated risk anyhow.

I am in and out of dream land dream land so many times a night, you think I would be getting used to it. It's a weird couple of seconds between waking in the cockpit and figuring out where I am! But now I remember, perhaps tonight will be different.
Cresswell

Day Two - a day of blue

Howdy folks!
I am now solidly into the trades, though only about 40 miles off the coast of Sumatra and sailing due west. Fluffy white clouds rim the horizon, great blue 2 meter seas sparkle under the sun and cresting small white caps approach from th SE. It could not be a prettier day, or a better day for sailing west. By noon, we had sailed a total of 142 miles over the last 24 hours.

Conversations is still sailing on a broad port reach with the main to starboard, the genoa full and poled out to port and the solent staysail filling the hole between the main and the genoa. This is the perfect three sail combination for this boat. More stable than a spinnaker, it presents a large sail area that is stable, quiet and fast. Lovely, just lovely. Sliding along at between 7 and 8 knots.

By the end of the day yesterday I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. At sunset, the lack of sleep from first night out dodging fishing trawlers, plus 10 days of hell getting the boat ready had arrived in my lap. Fortunately the trawler traffic had diminished, so as the sun went down, I set the radar alarm and laid down in the cockpit and fell instantly asleep. About 25 minutes later I was instantly awake. The radar alarm was sounding and the boat was way off course. I could see nothing on the horizon to be as excited about as the radar, so I went below reset it, corrected the course and re-self steering and flopped down in the cockpit again. I feel instantly asleep. About 25 minutes later, I was instantly awake. The boat was off course and the radar alarm was sounding again. I got up....... And so it went all night till dawn, waking up once or twice an hour. I imagine its like it is to have a new baby home from the hospital. But here at the equator the nights are 12 hours long, so by morning my 20 or so naps had me feeling just great.

So, its day two and I can tell that I am adjusting to being at sea. The motion and the lack of solid sleep has taken about 48 hours to adjust to and my nervous tension for being solo is gone. My energy is going up and I even did some step ups, pushups and sit-ups to combat the bulge. Who knows, tomorrow I might even do some .....work work! (But I secretly hope not.)

My thought for the day is about capacity, about physical energy. All day yesterday, and last night, my body was just aching with fatigue. I didn`t have the energy to do anything that didn`t absolutely have to be done. I didn`t clean. I didn`t try to fix anything on the boat. I was barely able to cook dinner. I was so tired, I didn`t even get any pleasure from eating my KRAFT dinner with wieners! Now, that is bad! When I am taped out physically, nothing is fun, everything is a chore, and I start to beat myself up for not doing the stuff I `should`be doing. Last night I started in on myself about not being a good solo sailor and staying alert all night watching, as a sailor had recently boasted he does. But, you know, life is not that simple, and I am not that strong. Instead, I took the precautions I could, did the best I could to sleep around the alarms and bad helmsmanship of my self steering, and just gave up on doing what I thought I `should` do. I surrendered to my body and got as much sleep as I could and gave up on the everything else. Today I feel great­ and I am doing, in modesty, some great things (well some reasonable things). If things do get tough out here, I`ll be more prepared now that I am rested. Sometimes we need not be heroes: We just need to be good to ourselves. The rest will look after itself.

We're laughin!

We are away from the dock!

After four months of waiting in Bali to come home, Conversations at last untied herself from the dock, motored out through all the Bali water borne holiday traffic, put up her sails headed south back out into the trade winds and turned west.

And here we are, dangling along at 7, 8 knots plus. The morning is bright and clear with 2 meter seas sunning blue under the morning sun as 15 knots of breeze builds white caps. I have a full main up, and a hard sheeted genoa to steady the roll as we move comfortably along on a very broad starboard reach.

Its just the two of us this time. It seems like such a bloody big boat for just me after all the friends and family who have been a part of this adventure from San Francisco. But otherwise it feels very familiar, as you would expect. The big difference is that there is only one watch! Last night I spent the night awake dodging fishing trawlers as I made my way further from shore and two squalls roused me from my nodding in the cockpit and showered me with sweet fresh water after a day of sweating. At midnight, the temperature was still 32 C and it was way too hot below for anything but to grab water and a bite to eat.

Just before sunset, I passed right between two humpback whales making their way east as I went west. The first one passed by close on the port side. At 50 yards or so away, he didn't pay me any attention that I could tell. But the second one passed right alongside the starboard rail and rose out of the water almost touching the boom to eye ball me as we passed in a split second. Snorting as he sounded. I could smell the fish he had for dinner (just kidding about the fish smell) But otherwise, that was a first! What magnificent creatures. As I watched them off the transom, one of them did a full breach and crashed back in the water with such force I could hear him a 100 yards away. A few hours later, in the dark of the night, dolphins came to play in our wake. What a wonderful night.

Had a minor tangle with the headsail roller last night, failing to get the sail fully furled, but it was too rough and dark to deal with so I sorted it all out this morning. Several times during the night, I got out the flashlight, clipped on my harness and went forward to the bow to make sure it wasn't getting worse. Otherwise the boat is doing great. And, I have finally mastered the spinnaker poles. I can do a solo launch and take down by harnessing them with the foreguy and toping lift before swinging them from the mast (yes we have two of the monsters and they are dangerous if I let them swing in the seaway!)

I am 20 hours into the passage. Looks like Day one will be about 130 NM, pretty good considering the light coastal winds I had to work through.

My thought for the day has to do with discipline and habit. As I head into my first solo offshore passage, I am appreciating how much habit carries me through the chores of sea keeping and my anxiousness for managing this big boat on my own so far away from help. I had great teachers, especially one old New England gentleman and captain, who taught me the importance of doing things 'right' so when things otherwise go 'wrong', as they always do, we are already ahead of the curve and not behind it. I learned from him how habit, that wonderful human automatic pilot, is built and maintained from just a little discipline, especially important in the beginning. Our habits keep our lives ship shape; they give us the chance to really experience our lives from in front of the curve, rather than behind it. To others, it looks like discipline, but its really just habit after just a short while.

Would love to hear from anyone, comments, questions, even advice! Email me at ve7cxw@winlink.org - no attachments or other non essentials please, this stuff is down loaded over the ham radio at about 10% of the speed of dial up!

TTFN
Cresswell

No more excuses, nothing, nothing to do but go sailing.

Its Wednesday, very early Wednesday morning, and I unable to sleep am wondering what it is like to be heading off in the morning to sail 2300 NM all by my self. What is it like, I am wondering, because I am not really sure, despite being in the middle of the experience. I think I am anxious, a little fearful, a little confused. The only thing I am sure about, oddly, is this; there is nothing else in the world I want to be doing tomorrow than walking back down the dock after a civilized breakfast at the Bali Yacht club and getting on the boat and heading out to sea on a three week trade wind passage. All by myself. 'All by myself' seems to be the thing. All by myself. Isn't that the thing that is what being born into this life is about. Sure we are born to mothers, loving mothers, fathers, maybe some siblings, but, still it is basically a solo experience. Like being naked. Naked we are born into our lives, naked and alone we go out. Everything else is an illusion. Might as well try sailing this way.

My romance is that this is going to be the most significant experience of my life. Will this be true? Time only well tell.

I was standing on the deck after midnight, listening to water running out of the hose into the water tanks as I snuck some unmetered water after all the staff have gone home for the night. The marina at night is mostly about shadows and shapes, and quiet. No wind, no voices. Nobody walking about. Just silent floating boats. Black and whites, and greys, and curving lines of boat sides and deck lines. Standing there looking over Conversations deck lines, I though this boat is like a train, a night train. So long and lean, I imagine her in 24 hours driving through the night seas, split by her sharp bows and shouldered aside. In my vision, I am standing somewhere aft looking forward, hanging on for dear life, wondering at the power and beauty of such a huge boat and water and of being so alone.

So if you have been following along, you will have guessed since the last post, the engine has been repaired. Still not perfect, but good enough to do the job. The boat is now fully provisioned with some fresh as well as staple foods, the water and fuel tanks are full to the brim, all the tools are packed up, the boat vacuumed and tided up for sea. She is ready and so am I. I guess, I am. I am, I guess. I am. I guess.

Cresswell

Bali, Bali, Bali, Bali, Bali, Bali, Bali!

Well folks, still here!
Its been 7 long, hot days working like a Trojan. You know, of course, God created the world in 7 days and 7 nights, well six actually, because he was smart enough to take a day off. I think that is pretty impressive, don't you? Considering how little I have accomplished working all 7 days and nights, I see why people believe in miracles! From the cool of the dawn, through the heat of the day to the welcome afternoon breeze before sunset, I have laboured away below decks, trying to breath life back into Conversations II. To the uninitiated, you see, a boat ages more while sitting than sailing. I came onboard last week after four months and nothing worked. I had to start by unfreezing all my tools that had rusted solid. Then it took me two days just to get the plumbing, electrical and propane working. Working in the 90 degree heat and 100 % humidity, I had to be careful working around electrical equipment. You see, I am melting!

So far, I have installed a new autopilot -- TQM -- a product I expect to be vastly superior to the Autohelm it replaces, a new Furuno radar 2300 series, with low power settings and watch mode to keep lookout for "targets" day and night, and a bunch of little things here and there. Finally ready for a test sail, I cleared the dock with a fellow sailor, only to find, surprise, surprise, the engine is not working! No power. We bid a hasty retreat back to the dock against a big outgoing tide. The $500 dollars worth of work I paid to fix the problem I knew I had when I left the boat last December, did not fix the problem. Of course. That would be too simple - to pay someone else to fix the problem and have it actually fixed. So this morning, while I take a breather from my labours, the diesel lies in parts, the whole fuel injection system off in somebodies hands for testing and rebuilding. And I am waiting, and not very patiently. If this fix doesn't bring back the engine, the next stop might be a total engine rebuild.

If you haven't guessed already from the tone of this posting, from my labours this week, I am exhausted. I guess a day or two waiting, hoping second $500 will fix the engine is what I need to be ready to put to sea is what I need. I guess a good pilot prepares himself, while he prepares his craft. Everything happens for a reason.

The good news is that I have insurance approval for the single handed passage. I have all the staple provisions on board I need for just little old me to live on for 3 weeks. The new autopilot and radar are working nicely. The SE trade winds are settling in and building over the next 48 hours. And everything else on the boat is more or less working again, so when the engine is fixed I will be out of here like a shot. Wednesday morning... touch wood.

I have to tell you, lounging about in the trade winds while the boat does the work for a while, sounds pretty darn attractive right now.