The sun is coming up behind us after a peaceful night. We’ve been gently reaching along between four and six knots with the wind on the port beam, sleeping well on our off-watches. It’s wonderful to have these calm conditions, even if it does mean we have to run the engine now and then to keep the speed up when the wind drops.
Since leaving Ile de Pins we’ve had two gales, with sustained winds over 35 knots for hours on end. Sometimes that’s OK, when the sea isn’t too rough, or when it’s blowing from behind us like it was from Tonga to Ile de Pins. That was ten days of “squash zone” winds – near gale strength, for over a week. Tiring, but when the boat is set up properly, there’s not much to do other than just run with it. The strong winds we’ve had since then have been coming from the south west – exactly where we want to be heading. So we’ve had a wiggly course with a big bend for each gale as we’ve changed direction to deal with the wind and waves better. First of all a front comes through, with gusts – sometimes over 50 knots – and rain. Then the wind backs (comes from a more anti-clockwise direction, so W rather than NW) and strengthens. We alter course so that we’re pointing as best we can towards our destination, shorten sail to just 3rd reefed main and storm jib, or sometimes when it’s consistently blowing over 40, just the main. Rafiki makes good speed up and over the waves, at about 45 degrees to the wind. Luckily we’ve never seen any dangerous breaking seas, although every now and then we’ve had hideous confused, lumpy conditions. Sometimes when we get too fast, or when the waves get choppy, the boat slams hard coming down off the back of a wave, or when a random wave comes from an unexpected angle. At first this is exhausting – the feeling that something has got to break sooner or later, but after a while I get used to it. The noise, the vibrations, poor boat. But she’s built well and I’m being careful not to push her too hard.
When the winds are up, I’m alert to every noise and movement even more than normal – the consequences of breakages or mistakes are more severe. Even though the wind hasn’t actually been very strong (a “gale” is technically only 35-40 knots), the sense of relief when the wind starts to drop off is really noticeable.
It’s a lot colder down here; we’re now at 29 degrees south and well outside the tropics. I’m wearing full UK-style sailing gear at night; fleece, big jacket, salopettes, woolly hat, boots. There’s a sleeping bag in the cockpit to keep the wind off and provide a cocoon of warmth, at least for a while while I’m sat still, reading, between the regular sail tweaks and routine checks. A double-size serving of coffee or tea in my sea-mug at the start of the watch kicks my metabolism into gear and keeps me warm.
It’s our 8th day at sea since we had a rest stop for a night in New Caledonia and we’re set up with our offshore routine now – I like taking the same watch each night, which is what we’ve been doing since about half way across – from Bora Bora I think. My day starts at 0300 when Eva wakes me for my stint in the cockpit. We always have someone on deck to deal with sail trim and watch out for ships. My watch technically lasts 4 hours till 0700, but nine times out of ten it runs well beyond 0800 while the others sleep on. I enjoy the time with the ship to myself. I send and receive emails at the end of the watch, getting an update on the weather forecast at the same time. When the others are up and we’ve handed over, I try and get on with something below decks. Read a magazine, sometimes watch a film, write in my journal. My ukulele skills are not improving very fast at all! Lately I’ve been going through my music collection, digging out gems I’ve not heard in a long time. When it’s blowing a hoolie, I generally don’t sleep much during the others’ watches, so I grab the odd half-hour or hour when I can during the day. Lunch time is always together, usually in the cockpit, and usually tuna salad with crackers. I don’t want to see another cracker or tuna salad for a long time… I rest for a while, and then I’m back on deck at 3pm for my next watch. Dave and Eva take the opportunity to go below – during the day they are on and off duty as one person. I read in the cockpit, watch the sea roll by … till 1630 which, Rafiki being a fine British vessel, is tea time. After a nice cuppa and biscuits or crisps, we have an hour or so before starting to think about dinner, always a hot meal. The weather hasn’t affected our culinary experience at all – coming into New Caledonia I was on watch dealing with a nasty bit of weather, boat heaving all over the place, rain lashing down, while Dave and Eva were down below preparing sushi rolls with the tuna we’d caught earlier in the day. Gale sushi! We’ve had lasagne, pear crumble, fresh bread … it’s just lunch that’s become a bit repetitive. After supper, I hand over the watch to Dave, and try to get some sleep. I find a cosy corner in the main cabin, positioned where I can just open one eye and see the instruments at the chart table. Combined with the noises and motion of the boat, the numbers blinking away in red lights tell me all I need to know as I doze through the night until 3am again.
So, on this calm morning, I’m sending one of our last position reports, less than 170 miles from the coast of Australia. It’s been a great 24 hour run so far – more than 120 miles. I can almost smell the eucalyptus trees. Getting quite excited now. The initial plan was to make landfall at Newcastle, just around the corner from Sydney. But now we’re making best speed possible towards Coff’s Harbour, 200 miles north, because there’s a deep and nasty looking low pressure system due to arrive off Sydney/Newcastle on Monday. We want to be safely tucked up in port by then. At the moment our e.t.a. is Saturday evening, and we have plenty of fuel to motor all the way if the wind drops. All being well, my next update will be from shore!
Road and Ocean 