Road and Ocean

We’ve been at sea for just over 3 weeks now. Stocks of food are good, but a couple of days ago we discovered that the remains of the Mexican chorizo we bought are starting to bloat a little in their packages. We bought enough to feed a navy (I love chorizo and egg in the morning) but haven’t been eating it at the rate we were expecting. Dave seems to sleep until 11am most days, regardless of which watch he took overnight, which means Eva and I just pick at cereal or porridge when we feel like it, and we’ve not been having a group cooked breakfast. So the last few days we’ve had chorizo in everything! The usual chorizo in scrambled egg, chorizo with rice, and two evenings of epic chorizo and vegetable lasagne. Still a few sausages left, I’m not sure I can manage any more though.

We have a few eggs left – they’ve lasted well as my room mates in the forward cabin. There’s plenty of cheese nestled in the bottom of the fridge, a couple of packs of bacon and loads of butter, but other than that all the fresh food is gone. We’re dreaming of fruit and French croissants when we get to the Marquesas!

We’ve not caught any fish. To be honest we’ve not really been trying that hard; forgetting to put the line out most days. We have had the line out often enough to have lost 3 lures though, so we’re down to a small spinner that I don’t have a lot of confidence in. But what do I know? It’s the fish’s opinion that counts!

The last few days’ sailing has been a mixed bag (yes Tony- hours of boredom punctuated by moments of excitement [not terror]!); more mind dulling motoring with a few exhilarating high speed rides as various weather patterns pass over us. Monday night was amazing – one of the more memorable moments of the trip so far. Charging down wind in the dark with a rising sea and 35 knots behind us, two reefs in the main and a bit of genoa out on the pole, half moon giving just enough light to make out the waves and clouds, with the odd star poking through now and then. Dark clouds moving around in the distance, hard to make out at night, giving the feeling that we could be battening down the hatches for more wind at any moment. Kept me on my toes.

In fact yesterday I was pretty exhausted- a combination of the sailing the night before and then hours in the heat of the day trying to get to the root of the charging problem – which I’m putting down to parts overheating, for now. When the wind dies after blowing hard for a few hours, there’s always a load of waves left over. With no wind to fill the sails and keep the boat heeled over, that means horrible rolling, rolling, rolling. Which is not fun when you’re down below decks, twisted in all kinds of crazy positions trying to get to the back of the engine or the battery compartment, tiny screw in one hand, screw driver in the other, and torch in the mouth, thinking “don’t drop it, don’t drop it”. Fortunately I have a masochistic streak and enjoy the challenge of trying to make it work. To a point…

Right now, the wind is dropping again as we approach the equator. We all desperately want to cross the line before dusk, but even with the highly trained crew I have on deck, tweaking lines and sails for maximum speed, we STILL have a 1 knot current against us and it’s looking like it’s going to be another couple hours away. Still, we’re nearly there … South Pacific here we come!

“Just motor through” – I said about the doldrums yesterday. If only it were that easy. We had a short, glorious few hours’ sailing on Friday morning, but then the wind died. Here’s what it sounds like on Rafiki today.

rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrrrrrr
The diesel engine droning with a slow resonance, you can feel the deep vibrations throughout the boat.

eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn-eeeeennn
Underneath the floorboards the propshaft is whirring and whining away, at a slightly different frequency.

gup-glop, gup-glop, gup-gup-gup-glop, glop, glop, glop-gup, glop-up
Cooling water is spat out of the back of the boat in irregular dollops, as the exhaust chamber fills and then weakly vomits its contents back into the sea, a few degrees warmer.

For hours and hours and hours. I try and ignore the noise, but it’s always there. Starting to make me tetchy- especially as the wind is *almost* strong enough to sail, I’m always thinking “is there enough now? Should we turn the engine off? Is it worth getting the sails out?”

All day we ran the engine, motoring south against a foul northbound current, the sea calm with a large but gentle swell. Having to ride up the swell as well as fight the current means our poor little propeller can only push us along at about than 3 knots, so we’re not making great distance.

It’s cooler below, out of the sun, and I’m sitting in the light breeze under the forward hatch. Every now and then a block clatters on deck, indicating that there might be some wind. I go up topside, but it’s just playing with us. No chance of sailing yet.

Through the night, we chugged on. Clear skies and the usual bonanza of stars. We turned the engine off briefly while we ate supper in the cockpit, as the current pushed us right back up our track. So, dinner done, engine back on.

I spent an hour or so troubleshooting a starting problem at about 1am, testing circuits and flipping switches, trying to think clearly but my mind still half asleep. Also the batteries didn’t look like they were charging in the normal way – strange voltage readings, and unusual behaviour from the voltage regulator. Still not quite sure whether all is OK, but I need the batteries to be a bit low to see if they will charge – right now after days of motoring they are 100% full. The autopilot has been giving us a low voltage alarm on and off over the last week, which I traced to a loose ground connection on one of the batteries … so it may be linked somehow. Nothing serious, we can make it all work, but I’d like to figure out exactly what’s going on.

And again yesterday, no wind. It was hot hot hot, with a clear sky and incredibly blue sea. On the plus side, using the charge from the engine we made nearly 20 gallons of fresh water, and motoring gave at least a tiny breeze to stay cool.

Last night when we turned off the engine for supper, we didn’t drift back up our track so much, so I decided to leave the engine off for the night. We drifted peacefully about on a flat, glassy mirror, where you could even see the clouds reflected in the surface under the light of the half moon. We all got some decent sleep. I was woken this morning by the sound of dolphin cruising along beside us in slow motion; I think they were sleeping too.

Daybreak meant time to transfer another 5 gallons of diesel into the tank, turn on the donkey, and deal with another day under power. It’s now mid afternoon, hot and humid, with grey overcast skies. The current has pretty much gone, fortunately. The breeze is teasing us- 5 to 10 knots directly from where we want to be going, so it doesn’t even make sense to motor-sail.

Onwards… 240 miles to the equator… I was hoping to be there today.

It had been stalking us for a couple of hours, shifting around on the northern horizon behind us, as we motored south. Deciding the best place and time to make its attack. The sun had disappeared behind a high cloud a while earlier, along with the wind which was now just a faint breeze, hardly strong enough to ruffle the water. Rafiki was chugging along on a grey, lumpy sea, jib rolled away and mainsail tied to the boom to stop it flapping around as the boat lazily rolled from one side to the other, oblivious to the scene unfolding behind. Late in the afternoon as the light was starting to fade, the monster on the horizon made a move in our direction. Underneath a low and menacing black cloud, solid sheets of rain were pouring down, like strokes of a giant paint brush wiping the sky into the sea. A thin white hazy line sat where the sky stopped and the ocean started, indicating a whole lotta wind at the surface. It got closer, and closer. Soon we could hear the hissing. And then we were engulfed.

After getting into the doldrums on Monday morning (23rd), we’d had a few rainy squalls with gusty winds, but this cloud looked different. Dark, low and sinister. Seeing it approach during Tuesday afternoon, I’d tightened up the lashings around the mainsail, and put a rain jacket on. No getting the soap out for a fresh rainwater shower in the cockpit this time. When the squall hit, the wind picked up. First 20, then 30, 40 knots. I turned off the autopilot and took the helm, steering the boat into the onslaught. Rain was heavy. Heavy heavy. I had to squint into the wind to see anything, and spotted the wind instrument innocently indicating 50 knots, ignorant to what that actually meant. The sea was pummelled flat by the rain, with the drops hitting the surface so hard they kicked up a layer of spray which made it look like we were surrounded by a calm, morning mist. The lack of swell indicated that the wind was only going to be around for a short while, which was reassuring. Forgetting to put my hood up, I was soon wet through, but at least it was warm. Sure enough after a few minutes, the wind dropped and rain eased. As quickly as it arrived, it was over. But the clearing sky showed another squall coming up behind the first. I took the opportunity to break out the new storm jib, which we hoisted on the inner forestay and braced ourselves for round 2.

Same again, the wind and rain came on in a flash, and as the wind rose first to 40 and then 50 knots I wondered what we were in for. Rafiki was cruising along very comfortably with just the storm jib up, a bit underpowered even, in 40 knots of wind. I think we were making about 5 knots with the wind at 50, on a broad reach. I was so in awe of the scene around that I wasn’t really focussing on the numbers. A few minutes later, a gust of 60 knots came through – probably the windiest this boat has ever seen! The squall passed over, and then it was calm again, leaving us drifting along in its wake. The rain soaked skipper was wet and bedraggled but happy – everything had worked out well – a good test of boat and crew.

And today, Friday 28th, we’re out of the doldrums! This is the area where the NE trades and SE trades meet, over hot seas, causing convection clouds and unsettled weather, a little north of the equator. Feared by sailors for centuries, it’s a mix of squalls and calms, with the wind blowing from all kinds of directions. In the days of sail, ships could wallow around for weeks, making no more than a few miles a day. These days it’s less dramatic. I stocked up on loads of diesel, and we’ve just motored through the calms. When I handed the watch over to Dave at 0100 this morning, we were skirting a low, dark cloud, beyond which were clear skies and stars. We’ve had five or so days of watching squalls, getting wet, drying out, getting wet again, and doing lots of motoring in between. After those first few windy ones, we’ve not had anything similar- really just lots of rain. The aft cabin is letting in water somewhere (rain, not sea!), so we’ve had the cushions out on deck a few times to dry out when the sun appears. The sealant I bought in Mexico is water soluble until cured, and it seems to take more than 24 hours to cure, so that’s not been too successful. I got to wash my clothes in fresh water though!

I slept for almost 8 hours solid this morning, catching up on a few days’ of short cat naps, being alert and aware of conditions, with the wind usually too light to sail, but with the threat of all hell breaking loose at any time. That’s the most sleep in one go I’ve had in two and a half weeks, and it feels good! I’m always thinking about what it would be like to single-hand a passage like this. To really explore what it’s like to be at sea by myself for weeks, immersed in the boat, the ocean, the sky… but the lack of sleep would be tough. Having crew aboard is great, but makes for a completely difference experience. One day I’ll cross an ocean solo. Food stocks are good – we’ve still got plenty of cheese, bacon, sausages and other cold stuff in the fridge, 40-odd eggs, potatoes, onions and some apples. And then the rest is immortal, stuffed away in tins and packets in every corner of the vessel. No fish yet, but we’ve lost a lure so they are definitely out there!

The little red helicopter came past again yesterday – I couldn’t read the numbers on the side but it must be the same one. Maybe 800 miles from where we saw it last? Very strange. This time I think he went back in the direction he came from- which meant he flew over just to check us out. I didn’t try him on the radio, but should have done, to ask what he was up to. More dolphins today, but they only stuck around for a few minutes. I built an extension to the rope ladder, so I can hoist it up the mast and climb up to the first spreaders for a better view. Mainly so we can see coral heads when we’re motoring through the atolls later, but also pretty awesome being up there out here in the middle of the vast ocean. Yes, the view is different from up there! You can see the shadows of the clouds on the sea, and much further over the horizon. Next time we get dolphin I’ll see if I can get up there fast enough for a photo.

Less than 300 miles to the equator! We’re 1700 miles from Mexico, with about 1000 still to go to the Marquesas – I think we’ll make landfall on Nuku Hiva. Ship and crew doing well – I’m getting through books, doing the odd job around the boat, and reading about the islands ahead. David and Eva keeping busy with various things- though we all thought we’d have more time on our hands than we actually do. I think constant night watches mean more rest during the day. Right. Tea time now. And let’s see what’s left in the biscuit locker…

WHALE! Just popping my head up to check things are OK on deck, I spot the spray from a whale’s breather off our port bow. We pass pretty close – he’s HUGE. Just floating on the surface, I think he’s asleep. Glad we didn’t run into it… We get out the mammal guide and decide he’s a sperm whale. Definitely time to celebrate with a cuppa.

We found the wind! Yesterday morning we put the spinnaker up soon after sunrise, in a light tailwind. It hadn’t been up more than 20 minutes before the wind also decided to join the party, rising quickly to the point where I made the decision to take the spinnaker down again. Taking that sail down in anything more than 15 knots can be “interesting” – as Rose knows from one exciting take-down off the Baja coast where we nearly lost it in the sea. It’s going to be a useful sail over the next few months, and I’m not prepared to risk losing it this early on. As we pulled it down I noticed a tear in the clew, so I fixed that up with some repair tape.

But now, we’ve no need for a light wind sail. For the last day and a half we’ve been thundering along in solid NE trades. Whoopee! Sometimes with a reef in the main and genoa, and sometimes under full sail, but never under five knots speed and often nudging sevens. It’s so tempting to charge along under maximum throttle – the conditions are perfect with a slight swell, sunny skies and great wind behind us, but we’re only just coming up to the 700 mile mark, and with 2100 to go before we next see land I really don’t want to break anything.

It was a grey start to the day, but still pretty dramatic, with clouds of all shapes, sizes and densities at every altitude, all moving in different directions. Lying on my back in the cockpit, absorbed in the performance going on above my head, I heard the unmistakable phfff-wt of dolphin just nearby! They stayed playing around the boat as the day warmed up and I supped on my coffee. Since I left the boat in January, the powdered caramel creamer has gone solid, so yesterday I took the knife to it and it’s now nicely cubed 🙂

I’ve just sent the daily position report, and am doing some writing… and hear a thrumming engine sound. Hundreds of miles from anywhere! Eva calls us up on deck to see a tiny red helicopter approaching from the south, low over the sea. It’s got floats to land on water, and clearly isn’t a long distance machine – I wonder what it’s doing out here?! It circles us a couple of times, the pilot waves, and then he’s off on his way to the north. How bizarre. Timewarp reported seeing what looked like an oil rig and helicopter last night, it must be the same one.

133 miles covered in the last 24 hours! That’s a decent distance, and our record so far, but we’ve still got a few more of them to do before our average is anywhere 100. A couple of days ago we set clocks back an hour, but today as I plot various things on the chart, I realise that we’re actually in the -8 timezone, and should have gone back another hour. The last change brought sunset forwards from 7.30 to 6.30 … I don’t like the idea of the day finishing at 5.30, so we’ll leave it a couple more days until we’re past the mid point of the timezone before changing clocks again.

1730. Woke up much refreshed after a couple of hours’ sleep, even though down below in the cabin it’s hot and humid. With the wind directly behind us, there’s no airflow through the boat even with all the hatches open. All the exposed teak in the interior has gone dark- the little scratches and dents that have removed a bit of protective varnish. Just like when we were in Matanchen bay before Christmas – a clear sign that the humidity is really high.

2100. Now sitting up on deck on my own at the start of the first watch, enjoying the amazingness of being here, finishing off a can of Mexico’s finest Pacifico cerveza, belly full of the tastiest carbonara to be found for miles around. Rafiki is charging along through the night with a full mainsail and partly rolled up jib, the sea fizzing and gurgling around us. Magic.

3am, March 18th. I’m on the 0000-0400 watch tonight, and it’s dark. Really dark. There’s full cloud cover, and no moon. Not a speck of light. A stark contrast from last night- the sky was clear and rammed full to bursting with stars. The moon rises late, and small, which means until moonrise the stars are the only view. Last night it was so calm that I could see a reflection of the sky in the water. So still, so quiet.

“Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion,
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean”
– The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (I don’t have the whole poem, can someone send it to me?)

Possibly the most magical deep ocean moment of the passage so far, it felt pretty special, and for once I wasn’t wanting to drowse off. With both sails down and not enough swell to rock the boat, even the clanky galley cupboard was having a night of rest. Shining a bright torch into the water I saw hundreds of clumps of eggs- the same ones we’ve been seeing for a few days. Leaving the light on for a while, more creatures arrived. One crazy looking beast I’d never seen before was something part lizard, part eel and part fish, with a huge paddle of a tail. The trailing edge of the tail was reflecting the torch light in all kinds of crazy colours.

We’ve had some wind today, not a lot, but enough to give us a run of 74 miles noon to noon. I did the route planning with 100 mile days as the average, so we’re behind on miles, but as we left Mexico a week earlier than expected, we’re doing OK. I wonder if the other boats waiting for a weather window are actually going to get one … or whether they’ll just get tired of waiting and head out anyway, into the same light winds. Just after noon, we set ships clocks back an hour as we’ve crossed into a new time zone. None of the marine charts I have show time zones, strangely, so I had to dig out Rose’s tiny school atlas and guesstimate the longitude where we change from -6 hours to -7 hours.

We’ve had the spinnaker up most of today, with the mainsail taking a break, wrapped tidily on the boom. Just before dusk we took it down, as it’s probably not the best thing to be flying on a dark night with a crew that’s not used it for more than a few hours. So we’re being pushed gently along under a poled out genoa, not doing more than 3 knots, but at least getting somewhere! There’s a slight rolling motion, so the usual light-wind squeaks and creaks are doing their thing, but nothing uncomfortable. Received an email from Timewarp- the boat nearby. I’m pretty sure I saw their masthead light while I was on watch last night, but it disappeared after a few minutes, and I didn’t want to try them on the radio as it was so peaceful. They’ve been having conditions similar to us, also just drifting with the current, which for some reason makes me feel better. Someone else making the same decision in the same conditions always helps.

Making the most of the gentle motion of the boat I managed to get some exercise done today- some push ups, sit ups and stretching on the foredeck in the hot late afternoon sun. I’m looking forward to going for a walk or run. I’m going to be so unfit for biking when I eventually get back on two wheels! Then cooled off with a few buckets of saltwater over the head. The instruments say that the water is 35.5 degrees here… not sure it’s that warm but it’s definitely not cold.

This evening as the sun was setting, as we were tucking into our fajita dinner, there was a squawk, a flapping of wings and a bird appeared on the solar panels just above our heads. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, and sat there tamely with a curious look on his face as I poked around with a camera. We (I) soon nicknamed him Bob. Bob the Bird. Eva thought it was a girl-bird, but really, I couldn’t tell. He let me tickle his feet, but when I poked him with a fork he squawked again and flew off. But after a circuit of the boat he was back. His buddies saw there was some action to be had, and we soon had four or five trying to find a place to perch, in the rigging, on the solar panels, or at the top of the mast. Not wanting to lose the masthead wind instruments to the webbed claws of a seabird, I took my rum’n’coke up on deck and spent the last few minutes before sunset slapping the mast when one looked like it was approaching too closely. Then as it got dark, we turned the masthead light on, which put everybody off landing.

Cleaned the fridge, checked our fresh food inventory, started a new book… all is well on board Rafiki as we come up to nearly a week at sea. Thanks for all your emails, and comments on the blog. We use an Iridium satellite phone to send and receive emails, and while it’s tempting to keep checking, I’ve restricted use to once a day to send our noon position report, and perhaps once in the evening to get a GRIB file (weather report). Over the past couple of days I’ve figured out the best times and frequencies to get the best weather from the SSB (short wave) radio, so the GRIBs have been supplemented by surface analysis charts and other useful stuff. Looks like light wind to the S and SW of us for the next few days, so I’m going to keep heading west to see if we can find stronger winds out that-a-way.

There’s a subtle but important difference between “drifting” and “adrift”. Drifting sounds peaceful, safe, intentional. Being adrift however, always seems to be used in context with abandonment, mishap and a definite lack of intention. Right now we’re definitely drifting, not adrift. The current is taking us slowly along at about half a knot, fortunately towards the Marquesas and not back to Mexico. There’s not a breath of wind, not a cloud in the sky, just miles and miles of blue sea around us. It’s REALLY blue. And really clear. When you look down into the depths you catch glimpses of Things way down deep, reflecting the light back up. Maybe fish scales, maybe jelly fish. Dave and Eva are taking turns swimming. I flipped a shiny penny out over the side and watched it glint in the sunlight for a good 30 seconds as it started its long journey to the deep (about 3km deep out here)

Eva and I took in the sails at about 730 this morning as they were flapping and banging around, the boat rolling gently on the small swell. I’ve only got the one set of sails and they need to last a good few thousand miles more, so I’m not having them flog around without providing any propulsion. It was a noisy, slow night – wind coming and going in fitful gusts. Sometimes up to 15 knots, but mostly less than 7, which is on the cusp of being enough to sail, but not so much that it holds the sails in shape. Frustrating – always thinking about whether to surrender and take the sails in, or just to wait a little bit longer for the wind. But frustration is an unnecessary reaction to the situation, and I’m trying to find the right compromise between the detachment from surroundings that’s needed for good rest, and being fully aware for safety and seamanship. Even though I didn’t sleep much the night before last, and even less last night, I’m not tired like I thought I was going to be. So far, conditions have been good, Rafiki has been trucking along just fine, and we’re all getting along well. Still some fresh bananas and avocados left, probably their last day today.

We’ve not run the water maker for a few days, and as it likes to be run regularly to stop bacterial growth on the membrane, today was water making day. It needs a fair bit of electrical power, so we ran the engine for an hour and a half to give the charge needed. No point having the engine running just for charge, so we motored a few miles at the same time. It seems insignificant, but that’s 6 miles closer to where we want to get to! I received a good set of weather faxes using the SW radio this morning. Not much out there in terms of wind. I wonder how long we’ll be bobbing around for… we’ll either get wind, succumb to the temptation of turning on the donkey, or else just keep floating about.

A huge storm is sitting on the distant horizon, it’s menacing dark cloud rising across the sky, marking out the boundary between two different air masses. It’s 7am, near the end of my second night watch, and the sun is supposed to be rising any minute. It’s going to be a while yet before it appears behind the storm clouds though. We’re powering along at nearly 7 knots, and have done loads of miles overnight. Put in a reef at 0130. The wind is coming from the west, I think being sucked into the storm, which is well behind us over the mainland nearly 300 miles away. We’re still hard on the wind, heading further south than planned but with great speed. Yesterday we had an email from a boat still waiting to depart from Mexico, saying that they were due a storm on Sunday night – I think they might be getting it early. We left at just the right time!

Day 3 passed easily, with clear skies and sunshine, and a little motoring in the morning when the wind dropped off completely. At about lunch time, the breeze kicked in and we were off. And before I knew it, it was the end of the day. Evenings seem to come around without me having done much – even the two tasks I set myself yesterday were only half completed. I lashed the diesel tanks properly, got half way through re-lashing the kayaks, discovered the line was too long, and then never got round to finding shorter line. So that’s today’s grand task. I’m still spending lots of time thinking, preparing mentally for all kinds of situations that might crop up. Even though conditions are benign at the moment, it’s not going to be like this all the way and we mustn’t get too casual.

At about 5am the bilge pump alarm sounded. It’s pretty loud and piercing, rudely disturbing me from listening to a splendidly English BBC podcast on the History of Britain at Sea (David you’d like it, remind me to give you a copy). Normally the alarm turns off after a few seconds, having pumped out the small amount of water that accumulates after a few days from the prop shaft seal. Not this time. It kept going, so I jumped into action. David and Eva stumbled out of their cabin, even more rudely disturbed from their deep sleep. I pulled up the floor board above the bilge and it looked dry – all OK, we don’t have a leak. That’s good. The siren still sounding, I pulled up a second floor board above the float switch to see that, due to our angle of heel, it had slipped sideways and jammed itself on. Knocking it back into place the alarm went quiet, and all was back to normal. I think David and Eva were a bit shocked to be woken by a shrill alarm! Glad I added it though – otherwise the pump would have been running dry for hours, not doing it any good at all.

From the latest YOTREPs summary, it looks like there are about 5 or 6 boats out here at the moment, with Timewarp being within 50 miles of us yesterday. Received them loud and clear on the evening SSB net, but got no reply when I tried them later on the VHF radio. Kept a lookout for a masthead light in the night, but nothing seen.

Last night as the sun was setting we had a number of birds flying round the mast – some kind of booby, I’m not sure what type. They circled cautiously, but didn’t look like they were interested in landing. And then to finish off the evening we had a visit from dolphin. Around 30 of them skipping over the sea to come and check us out. A couple of acrobats in the distance we jumping high out of the water, spinning and flipping with amazing force. We’ve seen a couple of turtles in the last few days, making their ponderous way along the surface. It’s amazing to think they spend all their time out here, and incredible how they find their way back to land to lay eggs. We saw a whale spray, but other than a couple of nearby whale sightings back in Banderas Bay, that’s been it for wildlife. Oh, and a load of what might be shark eggs, the first day offshore when the sea was calm and glassy. Gelatinous blobs with a yolk-like centre, floating along like huge frog spawn.

Here comes the sun, time to put the coffee on.

We left Puerto Vallarta a couple of days ago on March 10th. The plan was to depart in the morning and use the land breeze to get out to sea, but various Things transpired to delay us, as Things are wont to do. New bilge pump, changing Pesos to Dollars, final trip to the hardware store… So we finally ended up casting off the dock lines at about 4pm. The fuel dock on the way out of the marina was busy, so we loitered around for about half an hour before we could take our turn to fill the six extra jerry cans I’d bought for the crossing. We’ll have about 280 litres of diesel, which gives us around 120 hours of motoring.

Instead of heading straight out to sea, we sailed up to Punta de Mita on the northern end of Banderas Bay to spend a night at anchor and get a couple of final things done. I changed the engine oil – a hot, sweaty, tiring job in the belly of the ship. It’s not like changing oil in a car, where you just put the empty container underneath the sump and open a drain plug. Since the engine sump is right at the bottom of the boat, there’s no space underneath. I have to pump it out manually through a small pipe inserted into the dipstick hole. But my pump sucks. As in it’s cheap and won’t suck properly. Which means almost an hour of non-stop hand pumping to get two litres of old oil out… but the job’s done, and the engine is grateful for a fresh load of oil.

At noon yesterday (11th) we hoisted the main, hauled up the anchor and sailed out of the bay in a nice breeze. Westward ho! Pretty exciting to finally set sail. After a great start, 106 miles noon to noon, we’re now over a hundred miles offshore and away from the land breeze. Sea is flat calm and glassy. No wind. The forecast was light, so we expected this. The engine has been running for a couple of hours, and I plan to keep going under power through the night if the wind doesn’t pick up. I’ve downloaded a weather report, and it looks like the trade winds kick in about 110 degrees west – another 150 miles from here.

The food is all organised into various lockers, and written up on the provisioning list that we’ll update as we eat through each cupboard. It’s going to be interesting to see whether we have enough, and whether it’s the right mix of ingredients. We’re bound to run out of some key ingredient early on, but hopefully we’ve planned well enough that we don’t end up eating just pasta and milk powder… Dave made a huge batch of chilli con carne on the way across to Pta Mita, which we had for the last two evening meals and will probably last another two more.

It’s coming up to 1830 (UTC -6); about supper time, but it’s hot and the sun is still high in the sky. Our westing is really making a difference to the time. The sun is setting later – maybe tomorrow we’ll have to update our clocks and hop across to the next time zone.

Crew and boat doing well, let’s hope we find wind in the next couple of days.