Amazing Wonderful Passage
The Island Cruise Association (ICA) has 3 rallies heading north this year. The rally going to the Kingdom of Tonga and the one going to Fiji left on Tuesday, May 1st. Under absolutely perfect conditions, many raised sail to gently ease out of the harbor. They were accompanied by the thrumming wail of bagpipes. So stirring, so beautiful. The sight brought tears to The First Mate’s eyes.
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Thursday, May 10th – 1020 – ICA’s third rally leaving for Vanuatu is not so lucky. Under grey skies and drizzle, we motor out the harbor. No sun, no gentle breeze, no fanfare — but we are on our way at last!
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Two additional bodies on this passage! Two extra souls to stand watch! The First Mate ponders the luxury. If we stand 3-hour watches, that will give 9 whole hours between watches. Think of that! She did, and it did not feel right. With all that time off and only 3 hours on, she feared that one could end up out of sync with the boat. The rhythm was not right. We discuss watches, and it is decided that we will stand 2-hour watches except for the afternoon between noon and 1800 which will be two 3-hour watches. That still gives us plenty of time off between watches with enough watches throughout a 24-hour period to keep us on our toes.
Dismal though the start is, once we clear the last marker in the bay, we raise sail with a following wind. Three passages we have made to and from New Zealand, and each has been a bash into wind and seas. This one is forecast to be downwind. Will those GRIB Files (those FIB Files as our friend, Marion Paul, on s/v Kilkea calls them) be right this time? The First Mate doubts it, but she is willing to hope.
We continue on into the afternoon. A few squalls hit us, but after they pass, the clouds begin to dissipate and the winds to rise. By 1530, the second reef is in and the jib is partially furled under winds that have risen to 25 knots.
1730 – Captain’s Log: “Averaging around 8.5 knots SOG as we head north from New Zealand. After weather cleared, wind has been steady from SW at 24 – 27 knots. Nice to have the wind behind the beam on passage.”
Everyone loves a passage under a full moon. That is what we were supposed to have had if we had left a week ago as planned, but we all know that did not happen. Our moon now is not rising until the early hours of the morning, and it is waning. The compensation is that the dark, dark night allows all the stars to show themselves brightly. On her first night watch, The First Mate is delighted to see her old friends. There’s the unmistakeable Southern Cross right above her head. Off to the right is the Faux Cross, configured like the Southern Cross but a bit larger. To the left is the one she calls The Chipmunk with its two perky eyes staring right down at her. These stars are actually part of the tail of Scorpio, but she figures she has just as much right to give them names as the ancient shepherds watching o’er their flocks at night.
2300 – Captain’s Log: “Wind up to 25 – 30 knots from SW. We are flying along! Moon has risen.”
2400 – Captain’s Log: “100nm between noon and midnight all under sail.”
Friday, May 11th – Occasional rain showers pass by in the early hours of the morning. The day dawns partly cloudy. Winds remain in the high 20‘s with occasional drops to 18 – 20. We sail on under double reefed main and partially furled jib.
1200 – Captain’s Log: “Noon to Noon run of 207nm! Great start to the passage.”
The First Mate is a happy camper. Sure we have been in winds like this before, but the difference now is that we are not screaming head on into these winds and the ocean is not crashing over the cabin roof drenching all things animate and inanimate. Best of all, she is not sick, not one teeny bit. Thanks to the seasickness patch from her Telluride MD, Sharon Grundy, The First Mate feels like an old Salty Sailor with miles and miles of ocean under her, which after 30,000 nm she certainly has right to claim she is! Ahoy, Matey, she’s found the cure!
Saturday, May 12th – During the night, the winds had begun to drop until by dawn they are very light and variable. We let out both reefs and sail on smoothly over quiet seas.
0930 – With a forecast of fairly light winds as we move north, The Captain decides that it is (oh, no) time to fly the Spinnaker!
The Spinnaker is such a complicated sail and so subject to terrifying mishaps that it is never flown with just The Captain and The First Mate, but now that there are two extra hands, The Captain has been waiting for this moment. All hands are called on deck. Kai is directed forward to help unravel the lines and work the sail. Megan is on the halyard, and The First Mate unenthusiastically is at the helm.
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With breath held and fingers crossed, the sheath that covers the sail is pulled up. The sail unfurls and catches the wind. Out it goes. We’re under Spinnaker! No mishap, no nothing. It’s beautiful! Even The First Mate can appreciate the majesty of the thing.
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On into the morning we peacefully sail until our wind dies in the early afternoon, and we are forced to bring down the Spinnaker. It was wonderful while it lasted. The First Mate ponders that she may even start thinking of the Spinnaker as that thing of beauty (which it is) instead of the unflattering names she has been known to call it.
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The afternoon is still. The ocean is quiet. The Captain announces a “swim call”. The engine is turned off to allow Avante to coast with the current. As we are heading north to the equator, both air and water temperatures have been rising, but warmer though it is, The First Mate is still contentedly wearing her thermals. She is not yet ready to brave the elements or that big creature-filled ocean down there.
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Captain and crew have no such qualms. A rope is tied to the stern which The Captain cautions all to keep a firm hold onto when in the water. Avante retains enough forward movement that any untethered bather would soon be left to the fish.
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1630 – Wind down to less than 5 knots from the rear. The mainsail is doing nothing but beating itself to death and getting on our nerves. We decide to take it down and crank up the motor.
Sunday, May 13th – 0400 – Captain’s Log: “Reached the half way point, 473nm from Opua and from Vanuatu. Weather clear and calm.”
0800 – Wind has risen to 11 knots. Sail up, motor off. By 0900, we are sailing nicely along at 7 knots with winds between 11 – 14 knots.
1200 – Autopilot has begun giving us trouble. It appears to be unable to keep up with the motion of the boat and is faulting out. Not good! We resort to hand-steering for a while. Winds are stronger than forecast. It’s those GRIB (FIB) Files again, but this time as we had been expecting very light wind, they are working in our favor. A look at those GRIB Files shows a huge amount of variability across very short distances so it’s anyone’s guess what lies ahead. “Anything and everything,” thinks The First Mate.
1520 – Zing! Fish On! Two days of dragging that hook, and we finally have a fish on the line. The Captain tells Kai to reel him in while he will handle the gaff hook. It’s a good-sized Mahi-mahi which executes several flashing jumps as Kai guides him toward the boat, but just as it nears the boat, one good head twist and the hook is slipped. Oh, the disappointment four souls on Avante felt!
1700 – Preparing for the night ahead, we put in the first reef.
1820 – Wind just took a 10-minute break. It completely died, but just as suddenly sprang back into action. It’s that variability shown on the GRIB Files.
2000 – Due to inability to trust the autopilot, The Captain alters the watch schedule. Each couple is to work as a team with 4 hours on and 4 hours off. Both are to be up and dressed. One is to be at the helm either steering or watching the autopilot. The other can be dozing in the cockpit but immediately ready to help out the person at the helm if needed.
In the early evening, squalls overtake us with winds gusting to 20 knots. At 2300, winds completely die again for a 10-minute period. When they return, they have changed direction shifting to the north. We adjust sails and course.
Monday, May 14th – 0200 – The line of squalls seems to have passed us finally, and with conditions more benign, the autopilot is holding, though we know it cannot be trusted.
0700 – The day dawns with overcast skies. Winds are 10 – 12 knots. Throughout the morning, the winds have been clocking toward the NE enabling us to sail right up the meridian, but by noon, our winds now are lessening. We spend the afternoon smoothly, but slowly, sailing along at 5 knots in the 6 – 9 knot winds.
1645 – That’s it. Winds have given us one last puff. Jib in. Engine on, but we leave the mainsail out to, hopefully, give us a little boost.
2140 – Captain”s Log: “Leaving mainsail out was a bad call. Wind has shifted to SE at 5 knots, and the sail is banging away. Woke all hands to drop mainsail.”
Tuesday, May 15th – 0100 – Captain’s Log: “We are heading almost directly for Anatom and will pass between Hunter Island and Matthew Island. First Mate picks up Hunter Island on radar at 24nm.
0600 – Winds are up to 13 – 16 knots from the south. The Captain, on watch, puts out the jib, turns off the engine, and is able to head directly toward Anatom going 5.3 knots SOG.
0800 – When The First Mate comes on watch, the main sail is raised and with that, our speed is increased by 1 1/2 knots.
1200 – Captain’s Log: “Wind has backed a little to SSE, but it has stayed strong all morning. We have been able to average 7 knots. Our noon to noon run was 159nm, and we are 130nm southeast of Anatom.”
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1230 – Zing! Another fish! What is it this time? “An Ono,” Kai exclaims. “Looks like a Wahoo to me,” thinks The Captain. He gaffs it and brings it on board. “Look at those teeth. It’s a Wahoo.” And it is, but what it’s called depends upon where one is. Hawaii where Kai is from, it’s an Ono. Out here, it’s a Wahoo.
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A reward will be given to the boat with the largest fish caught on the passage. We take photos of our fish and of its measurements. 4’ 2” – It is a good sized fish.
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Not bad, but this may not be the photo we turn in
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5’ 11” – just shy of 6 feet! Honest — It was T–H–I–S long!
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1600 – Winds keep on backing to the south, and we are now sailing so deeply downwind that we cannot keep the jib flying. We furl it.
1730 – The first reef is put in for the night.
2300 – Captain’s Log: “We are sailing downwind which should be the cruiser’s delight, but it is noisy and uncomfortable. Wind is only 11-14 knots with direction fairly steady from SE. The big problem is the cross swell which causes us to rock and roll. This side to side rolling often creates more pressure on the sail than the wind, and the sail flaps while the boom shudders and bangs. This is felt throughout the boat, but particularly in the forward cabin where the bed is right next to the mast making it impossible to sleep. The First Mate is not happy at all! Tried to minimize this by not having the boom as far out as normal on this point of sail and locking it down with the preventer. However, this did not work at all.”
0100 – On into the night we sail. The boat is upright — at least in between the swells that rock her sideways, she is upright. The sail is flapping away, the boom banging away, and the rigging is adding its own high-strung cacophony. Anyone trying to sleep is wedged against corners and braced to keep one’s body from rolling right along with the boat, and any gentle easing into sleep is rewarded with a resounding crash causing teeth to gnash and eyes to fly open.
The First Mate’s Log: “What a miserable night! Only the dead could sleep!”
Wednesday, May 16th – 0600 – Captain’s Log: “The ride has started to become more comfortable. We are still rolling from side to side, but we no longer feel like we have square wheels. What has changed? Seas are more regular and wind is up about 2 knots to 15 – 17 SE.” That slight increase is enough to hold the main sail out when the boat rocks, and thus, we are able to quietly rock along.
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0745 – Land Ho! There it is: the island of Anatom with its own heavy cloud layer held there by its mountainous heights.
It is amazing how far out at sea one can pick out land and how agonizingly long it can take to finally get there!
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1145 – The reef into this island is well-marked by the waves washing over it, and it is wide and deep. We also have reliable waypoints, though John and Lyn on Windflower have asked us to confirm them as they will be coming in during the night. The waypoints are right on, and we drop sail at the last one before entering the pass.
1230 – We are anchored in Analgawat Bay on the island of Anatom, one of 83 islands that comprise the nation of Vanuatu. We have completed a 1000-mile passage in 6 days. After a fast start, the winds decreased, but we were able to sail for most of the way. No one was sick. Except for the autopilot occasionally disengaging, nothing serious broke on the boat. All passages should be this easy!
We do the usual round of post-passage clean-up tasks while we wait for the Customs’ boat to motor out to check us into Vanuatu. Overcast skies have followed us into the anchor, and though we are all eager to put our feet on solid ground, frequent bouts of rain and wind keep us somewhat content to be on the boat.
Under partially clear skies, The First Mate takes a picture of Mystery Island. The family, which owns this island, has enterprisingly turned it into a Vanuatu must-see. Cruise ships from Australia stop here for a day of snorkeling and beach combing, and we know that a feast is planned for us later in the week. It would be nice to venture forth to explore — if we were not confined to the boat by the tardy officials of the Customs bureaucracy.
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There are several other boats in the anchorage. Some are rally boats that had decided to leave ahead of everyone despite the weather. We are delighted to see s/v BluGlass which has been sailed here from Australia by Geoff and Ellen whom we had met last year in Tonga. We knew they were going to be joining the rally at some point in Vanuatu, but it is a surprise to see them here. We cannot wait to be freed to motor out to see them, but for the moment, we are stuck on our boat, yellow quarantine flag flying, until Customs comes out to check us in.
All afternoon we wait and wait. Finally at 1600, Steve from s/v Magic Bus motors over to us. Checked in the day before, he had just returned from shore where he had learned that the police boat was out of gas and would not be able to bring the Customs agents out to us. They, therefore, said that if The Captain hurried ashore, they would duly process us in. Hurry! It’s closing time. Steve motors off to tell the 3 other boats with quarantine flags flying the same bit of news, and The Captain scrambles to gather all passports and ship’s documents in his waterproof bag to dinghy ashore. Luckily the dinghy is already in the water, and the new outboard fires up immediately. “Money well spent,” thinks The Captain as he speedily heads toward shore.
1715 – Checked into Vanuatu. Time now to enjoy another island nation out here in the vast Pacific.