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  Nuku Hiva, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia
Monday, March 16, 2009

Sailing from the Galapagos to Nuku Hiva, Marquesas, took 28 days, so I thought it needed its own entry. For the most part we passed the time the same way as in the trip from Panama to the Galapagos, except perhaps that we moved a little more slowly, read a little less quickly, and obsessively checked how many miles were left a little less often. Yes, there was boredom and restlessness enough, but always punctuated by some hilarity or small crisis. Luckily, the crises were small. Some highlights for those of you who are curious about life at sea.

First, my shipmates:
Captain Marcos—30-year-old Colombian skipper. Doesn't drink much himself, but was always the first to pull out the rum. Never once got really mad or yelled at us that I can remember (we were really lucky). Kind of a nervous guy; lots of energy, with twitchy feet and hands

Marcos

. Makes damn good rice! Last-minute decision maker...and then last-SECOND decision changer. Liked to ask me if I was feeling "brava" when I was mad, and when I was lazy, he'd ask why I couldn't give the boat a "toque feminino." I think that means cooking and cleaning stuff. I ignored these comments and may have put him off of American women for good. Sorry, ladies.

Crew Adrien—27-year-old Frenchie! Self-declared artist of life. Probably couldn't have a bad time if he tried. Bread maker on board. Too good at chess for me to play with, but I could sometimes whoop him at backgammon or Quarto. Water lover and scuba freak, who can hold his breath longer than anyone I've ever met. Moody in the mornings. Silly, silly guy, but there's alot of wisdom there too. If you meet Adrien, ask him to say "Frank Sinatra." Trust me, you won't be sorry...and he'll know I sent ya.

On being at sea:

I didn't always love being at sea. I much preferred sleeping through the night in a calm bay, with the possibility of a freshwater shower at some point. But there is something awesome in knowing that you are in the middle of the ocean, with miles of water underneath you and only the clouds above you

Adrien

. Time slows down when you're only moving 4 knots per hour, and at that pace, a few extra days or even a few extra weeks seems almost insignificant.

Night watches, while painful to think of when my alarm sounded in the middle of the night, were actually some of my best memories at sea. It was the only time I felt I actually had some privacy, and the privacy I enjoyed was complete. Most nights, the Milky Way stretched above me, the wind carried the boat on its way, and that was all I had to focus on if I wanted to for 3 hours. I spent one watch, on a night of the brightest full moon I've ever seen, taking long exposure photos of the sails. Other nights I would close my eyes and try to notice subtle changes in the wind just by how it felt moving across my face and ears. Sometimes while looking for other boats, I'd suddenly get a glimpse of a fiery light on the horizon. Every time, my heart sped up thinking it was some explosion or fire, but it was only the moon rising, and soon it would be back to its yellowy-silver color, sometimes with a bright Venus by its side.

An overview of sailing would not be complete without a mention of salt. I was a bit crazy when it came to salt—it didn't seem to bother the guys as much as me. Salt becomes everything when you are at sea. It coats everything. You wash dishes with saltwater, shower with it, use it to clean your clothes, even use it to cook sometimes. Things starts to rust quickly, my bobby pins rusted, my glasses rusted, my zippers stopped working, either because they were coated in salt or because they rusted. My towel became a scratchy, sad thing that would retain its shape when I picked it up after it had hung to dry. Drying with it often meant I was applying more salt to my skin rather than wiping it off. Freshwater showers were  like an almost forgotten, but much cherished dream. In Spanish, freshwater is "agua dulce," and you know what? After so much salt, there is nothing sweeter than that.

Highlights and lowlights:
We caught only 1 small fish in 28 days, so my fantasies of sashimi every days and grilled fish every night were completely frustrated. Apparently, we were using lines and hooks that were too small for the big fish in the open ocean. Every time we pulled in the line, some part of the hook, lure, or both, were missing. Once, the hook was broken clean in half. Imagine how much sashimi that fish would have given us. Instead our meat was canned sardines, tuna, and (shudder) vienna sausages.

After more than two weeks at sea with only each other as company, we spotted another boat—a Japanese fishing boat that passed right in front of us. The presence of other people nearby sent a jolt through the crew. We got on the radio to say hello. Our primary, most desperate, goal was to try to trade a bottle of rum for some fresh tuna. Despite having a crew that speaks three languages, no one on board could communicate with the Japanese man who answered the radio. The man, who seemed incredibly happy, could only say, in English, “Japanese fishing boat,” and in Spanish, “un poco.” In the end, the captain of the fishing boat had a good laugh and continued on his way; we cracked open another can of tuna.

We enjoyed consistent winds from the east (behind) most of the journey until about halfway through our trip. We entered what seemed to be a bit of a depression, with clouds, some rain, but no wind. Usually this was not a problem, as we just turned on the motor to keep moving and get to where the winds were. This day, however, still more than 1,500 miles from the Marquesas, our motor died, with a grinding noise that left us essentially at a standstill in the middle of the ocean. After a thorough investigation, Marcos found that a piece that goes into the transmission (a damper, I think) was completely stripped. With no replacement and with no wind, we drifted at 1-2 knots (thatīs 1-2 nautical miles per hour, with 1,500 still to go) for almost 2 days until Marcos devised a Frankensteinish way to temporarily fix the motor. The first time he fixed it, it worked all night and then the repair gave way, the bolt completely worn down. The second time, the repair was so good that we couldnīt take it apart again once we reached the Marquesas. As if by design, it lasted almost another month, until we were in the process of anchoring in Tahiti, where a replacement piece had been ordered for us.

About the same time that the motor died, we came down to our last small bottle of propane. Iīm not ashamed to say that his was a dark period for the crew of the Lunambule. The weather was terrible—clouds, rain, but NO wind. With no motor and no wind, night watches consisted of sitting in the cockpit with foul weather gear on feeling the main sail bang around with each wave. One of the things that had taken up much of our attention and time—cooking and eating good food—was reduced to a tense and utilitarian affair. To make sure we had enough propane until the Marquesas we went on a regimen of cooking huge quantities of rice or pasta only once every 2 days, and then making cold meals using those as the base. When we did use the propane, every drop of the hot water was used to cook something—at times making a huge pot of pasta, then using the leftover pasta water to make two breakfastīs worth of oatmeal and one mealīs worth of instant mashed potatoes.

After Marcos fixed the motor for the second time, spirits picked up a little on Lunambule. That same day we had the spinnaker up as it was getting dark. Just as everyone was below deck involved with cooking, we heard a big bang from above. The wire that supported the spinnaker to the halyard had snapped sending the entire spinnaker over the bow. It was only supported by the two sheets on the sides that were still on the winches. The sail was completely under the boat and partially caught up in the rudder. With some maneuvering and after almost losing both Adrien and Marcos overboard, all in the dark, we got it untangled and up on deck, fully expecting to see a mangled sail in the morning. Miraculously, the sail was unharmed.

A few nights later, however, we were not so lucky. I had begun my watch at 9 pm with clear skies. We had the spinnaker up to try to catch as much of the wind as possible. About half an hour into my watch I saw some dark clouds approaching. The problem at night is that all the clouds look dark and ominous. Itīs hard to tell if they are harmless puffy, white clouds or if they bring strong winds and rain. Because of the spinnaker, I woke Marcos up. At first he thought they were nothing. Then the wind shifted suddenly and we had to move the main sail to the other side. Almost immediately the wind grew super strong and the spinnaker was yanked to the port side of the boat, causing us to heel strongly. Marcos ran to try to put the sock over the sail and lower it, but it was already tangled and filled with wind. I woke up Adrien, and it took the 2 of them a few scary minutes of being thrown around the bow to get the spinnaker down. This time the spinnaker did tear at the top, and we vowed never to leave it up at night again.

We saw lots of dolphins all during this trip. They would pop up day and night and swim along with us for a while. If they came at night, you could see in their wake trails of phosphorescent plankton. We spotted a big whale one afternoon off the starboard side of the boat. Actually, we heard it first; it was moving fast, spraying water out of its blowhole. It crossed behind us, and just as it was directly behind us, up went its tail as if to wave goodbye, and it dove underwater. Beautiful.

The guys sometimes jumped in the water when we were going slowly and then swam around to the platform at the back of the boat to climb back on. They also would drag behind the boat to rinse off after showers. I was too paranoid that I wouldnīt be able to pull myself back onto the boat so usually I just used the bucket. Also, one day after Adrien had jumped into the water a few times, the guys saw the fin of a big shark approaching, so the seas were not quite as empty out there as we thought. One day, Marcos was feeling especially antsy, so after wandering around the deck a while, he suddenly jumped into the water near the side of the boat. This day, however, he miscalculated our speed and jumped too far towards the back of the boat. By the time he surfaced, we had already passed him, and as we were going nearly 5 knots he couldnīt catch us. There was no free rope nearby, so Adrien tried to put his leg out for Marcos to grab. Didnīt work. Marcos thought that his swim shorts were filling up with water and slowing him down, so off they went, a gift for the sea. Still he couldnīt catch us. Then Adrien threw the hydrogenerator, which is basically a rope with a propeller at the end, into the water. The propeller sank immediately, and Marcos had to dive underwater to grab it. He eventually pulled himself in, buck naked and panting. Good times!

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