An Ocean sighting:GEOFF's COMMENTS:
Jimmy Cornell characterizes the passage from Auckland to Tahiti as a “tough windward passage” and that just about sums-up our experience. We departed Auckland with a not particularly good long-term forecast featuring squally weather and easterlies for the first few days. The forecast showed no improvement over the next ten days so we decided to make a dash for it as delaying seemed to offer no advantage. Our intention was to use the easterlies to work our way down to about 38/39 South and then to make most of our easting in that latitude. This turned out to be a very slow strategy with the boat close reaching at 55/60 degrees apparent at 5 knots or less with a lumpy sea about half the time (it would have helped to have a drifter or a Code 0). There were no Westerlies any where in sight for the first week and the whole thing was pretty tedious. We changed our strategy at around 38 South when, about a week out, we saw that we would experience a strong gale (40+ knots) in about a week’s time. Instead of staying South we
headed due North on a reasonably fast beam reach to a point where we planned to heave-to for a short while at roughly the NE corner of the low which was moving from the NW to the SE. We did so and waited about 20 hours until the easterlies backed into the North and we had a sailing breeze which we used for four days to make much of our easting. This set the basic pattern for the balance of the passage during which we played dodge-em with two more lows getting just
NE of them and completing our easting by riding the northerlies as the lows passed to the SouthWest of us. We had a rough beam reach in a final Easterly (28 to 40 knots) to make our Tahiti landfall.
Was the strategy we adopted appropriate for the passage? Well, given the weather we experienced (lots of Easterlies) I’d have to say yes, it was. However, it was very, very slow, wet and rough. It turns out that delaying our departure for a week would have given us more in the way of reaching conditions and a much faster ride East in about 38 South. Unfortunately, the latter was not clear from the forecasts we had available before leaving Auckland and was only evident after our landfall and conversations with another yacht that departed Auckland a week after we did.
The lesson for me is an old one reemphasized - other things being equal, a fast, comfortable passage is likely to depend more upon having a good departure window than a good routing strategy once at sea. The latter can make an indifferent window better at the margin, but likely won’t yield the sort of experience most of us want while on passage. While the weather forecast just prior to our departure didn’t show much improvement the following week, the weather was
in fact better than the forecast would have had us believe and would have given us a much nicer trip had we delayed and taken a chance that the forecast would prove less than fully accurate. Next time, and given the uncertainties of weather forecasting, I’d consider postponing the departure for another week or two even if there were no great improvement in the weather showing during that time. There’s a reasonable chance that the forecast will be wrong, in a good way, and that the resulting passage will be improved by the wait.
SALLY's PERSPECTIVE:
I, too, had read Jimmy Cornell’s overview of the trip from Auckland to French Polynesia. Although I have sailed thousands of blue water miles by now, I am also smart enough to know that this was NOT a passage I particularly wanted to make. I do not respond well to cold weather and was very happy when my husband found two friends to make the trip with him. It also gave me the opportunity to take care of other critical non-sailing obligations. Unfortunately, in sailing, as in life, things often change at the last minute. With 5 days to go before the planned departure date one of the friends had a family crisis and could not go. In such a short time, it was not reasonable or nor would it be sensible to just “find” a stranger to make the passage, so I offered to go after all. In many ways it was the easiest for my husband, as I had already done all the provisioning, know the boat well, manage the log and communications, and am a competent watch stander. In this
lifestyle, one must be flexible about everything. It is a trait sometimes acquired
under duress. We were lucky that the third man aboard had a great attitude and was cheerful and gentlemanly thoughout the trip. While the weather out of Auckland was not perfect, I had no expectation that it would be anyway. We were able to see quite a few gorgeous albatross flying around as we left NZ waters — they seemed to play with us as we marched up and down the waves. We were also treated to a grouping of some hundreds or even more dolphins swimming in unison away from our boat, like a newly released train of commuters.
As the conditions deteriorated, the skipper assured us that all was under control and that the boat was never at risk, but he did not fully appreciate how debilitating and violent the noise and motions aboard could be to others. I have been in situations aboard before where the boat goes screaming into the black pitch of night without any idea whatsoever if there is anything or anyone in the water ahead of you. Luckily in the Southern Ocean, there was not a soul within a
thousand miles. Often with triple-reefed main and little else, we galloped over mountainous waves. When off watch, I would try to ‘rest’ in my sea berth, but would hear and feel the force of the water crashing against the hull — only a few inches of fiberglass between me and the seas, or the fuel gurgling around in the tank underneath me. There was no way to drown out the noise. The starboard gunnel seemed to spend much time submerged, with water rushing past port lights. At some point, I made my peace with the world, and decided that if this was “it” then
at least I would have lived a life of adventure. You get into a mental “zone” where you just wake up, throw your foul weather gear on, go on watch, keep turning your head like an owl to look in all directions, try to think of relaxing or nice things instead of the angry ocean throwing up waves from all sides around you. You check your watch every 10 minutes to see if time is up yet, belt out every song you know how to sing, and almost get elated when your watch is finally over and you can strip off all the gear and climb into your berth again for a short attempt at
sleep. You stop thinking, you barely eat or drink, and you turn into an automaton, just doing what is required to keep afloat, to keep moving ahead and to keep alive. Only the very basic things needed can be done: watch, sleep, occasionally drink water, and even less often, eat. But then, unexpectedly, the weather changes. Your next night watch turns into a magical voyage amidst a night filled with more stars than sky. The waves formed by your boat as it slides through the water, erupt like champagne bubbles dyed with bio-lumisescence. There is the kind of peace and tranquility and heart-stopping beauty such that you cannot believe how
lucky you are to be there. There are more colours of blue in the deep ocean than one can possibly imagine. You start to forget about your sodden outer and inner wear. You begin to laugh when an unexpected wave splashes everyone who is in the cockpit. You start to get a little bit insane.
In retrospect, I still wish I did not make this particular trip. I know I get “bragging rights”, and I should be proud of that. It tested my mettle, my strength, my ability to sustain bruises and broken digits, my usual cheerfulness as well as my marriage. Yes, we got to Tahiti safely. But I would much rather have made this particular trip by plane.
