Monday, June 7, 2010

Update 12 -- Taiohae bay, Nuku Hiva...

Orca Update # 12. Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva, Marquesas Islands.

THIS is what we've been dream
ing about for the last 25 days. The lanai is perched on a ridge under a palm tree, overlooking the blue tropical bay, we sip cold beer on rock-steady earth. Nothing is moving; its amazing. For the last 25 days, everything has been moving—to illustrate the fact, think of this: at sea, if you hang something by a small piece of line, like a necklace, the string will wear through in a few days. We had all manner of knick-knacks hanging from various places about the boat – St. Christopher's medals, colored glass, etc. They all wore through their tethers until there was nothing left hanging in the boat. You can imagine the wear and tear this puts on the rigging and sails, we had to be on constant watch for chafe.

Apparently we were very lucky to experience those 30 knots of wind just N of the equator. We did a 140 mile day right through where the doldrums were supposed to be, and blasted through the rest of the passage with
the help of the south equatorial current, a solid 2+ knots of help, to rack up multiple 150 mile days. We've heard that our 25 days is one of the quickest passages from Cabo San Lucas this season; we've heard of one 50 day passage on a 30' boat similar to Orca.

The islands we've arrived at are different than anywhere else we've ever been. Maybe they ar
e comparable to Hawaii in the early 1900's. Tropical, rugged, trade-wind caressed, people ride around barebacked on small horses. Few people speak English, and Marquesan, a language similar to Hawaiian, gets daily use in everything from business transactions to bar-talk. Most white people are greeted in french; needless to say Kara and I are hopelessly lost in even the simplest attempted conversation. The local culture is rich, stone carvings, museums, and archeological sites abound. Tattoo's are a big deal. The water is not potable here, but in the next cove over, at the base of the 3rd highest watefall in the world, we hear there is excellent drinking water. That's where we'll head next, “Daniel's Cove” – so named because a guy named Daniel lives there.

Were not sure when the next time we'll have the interent is; the to
wn that we are in now is the largest in these islands, and is the capital. Even so, we've been having a hard time tracking down phone and interent. were leaving for the tuamotu island chain in a week or so, a 5 day passage to the southeast.

Thanks,

J&K

Orca Update 11

Orca Update 11: 1N x 130W

As we beat our way south under triple reefed main and stays'l we are asking ourselves one simple question: where
are the doldrums? According to sailing and weather lore, there should be a band of frustratingly windless conditions just north of the equator where the NE and SE trades come together to cancel themselves out in a band of hot, stagnant, weather. Instead we are close-hauled, battling a 30 knot southerly wind and vicious half-hourly squalls. Rather than drifting listlessly in the equatorial heat, Orca's bow is buried in 10 foot seas that regularly sweep the deck and threaten to fill the deeply reefed sails. Its been raining almost non-stop for three days and there's scarcely a dry article of clothing on the boat. The humidity is outrageous; even clothes that have never gotten wet are wet. The charts are soggy, the sheets are sticky, and the books are moldy.

Not that we're complaining. The rainwater ensures we have a comfortable supply of drinking water. We catch it in buckets and tarps as it streams off the sails and solar panels and siphon it into our tanks. The wind and squalls have helped move us towards our goal
each day, averaging a respectable 100 miles per day even when we should be languishing in the heat.

We've given up on fishing. We had to; we are running out of fishing gear. The Monster of the Deep is stealing it all. His modus operandi is to hit our lures at first light or dusk, and to hit them hard. One of three things happens: a) if its a hand line, the lures get sliced off (right through the 200 lb test leader), b) the hook shears off, or c) if he hits a pole he likes to grab the lure and run all the line off the reel in about 15 secon
ds flat regardless of how high the drag is set. When this happens its best to just stand clear; any contact with the line results in a burn, and its all over before anyone can grab a knife to cut it loose.

Keeping moral high is a constant battle. We both feel bi-polar; our days are so simple and similar that the smallest deviations from the norm can make or break the mood aboard. If we tally a daily run of 98 miles instead of breaking 100, gloom descends. To
battle this, we have 'parties' at any excuse. Today, Mother's Day. Yesterday, was the 1,500 Miles From Cabo party, and tomorrow is Kara's little brother's birthday party. Then of course we threw the memorable Crossing 20, 15, 10, and 5 Degrees of North Latitude parties. A 'party' usually consists of an extra glass of wine or beer and a cake or chocolate bar if the occasion warrants. The guest list is always the same, and everyone always shows up right on time.

Ocra Updates 9 aka 10

Hi Everyone,


Originally, we thought it w
ould be fun to write several Orca Updates throughout the passage to the South Pacific, and then send them out one at a time whenever we had internet access next. However, its proven pretty difficult to get a decent internet connection, so you'll get them all at once. sorry, connection too sloz for pictures!

Orca Update # 10, 15N x 120 W, 800 NM SW of Cabo S
an Lucas

The weather has been uneventful, the fishing mediocre. The worst weather we've encountered so far was about a
n hour out of CSL, and it wasn't particularly bad; 20 knots of W wind.

That's not to say the trip so far hasn't been challenging in it's own ways. We almost blew our collective lid several times doing the paperwork to exit Mexico. We anchored in CSL for a gra
nd total of about 14 hours; 8 of those were filled with paperwork. Here's only one example of the run-around we went through: the Captania del Puerto wouldn't sign our papers to leave Mexico until we paid the “anchoring fee.” The office where they needed to be paid was a 60 peso taxi ride across town. We were required to sign into and out of this office; the security guard at the door took our passports for the duration of our visit (to keep us from escaping?). Orca's documentation was closely inspected. Once satisfied of the document's authenticity, the employees extracted her length and displacement, which were then used in what must have been a very complex formula. 4 confused employees plugged the numbers in, and, 20 tense minutes later, they abruptly arrived at a very precise fee (down to a hundredth of a peso, even thought the smallest currency denomination is a half peso). Then, all 4 employees again worked together to produce a full page, full color invoice from a very fancy, yet very stubborn printer. This invoice was then subsequently hand-delivered to a different booth, where we were directed to rendezvoused with yet another employee to pay the fee. We received both a color copy of the invoice and an additional receipt upon payment. Having completed our business, the security guard relinquished our passports after recording our first, middle, and last names, nationalities, and passport numbers. 45 minutes after arriving, we took another 60 peso taxi ride back to the Captania del Puerto's office where our anchoring invoice was inspected by another two employees before our papers were signed. The fee? 15.93 pesos, about $1 US dollar.

Sailing out to sea from Cabo was scary. Leaving the harbor after fueling up for the first time since California, we set the sails with a feeli
ng of detachment that was definitely self-imposed. We were on autopilot, working by instinct. By avoiding thoughts of the distance, time, space, and desolation ahead, we could avoid unleashing the extreme apprehension that might cause us to turn back if not completely contained.

Now, over a week out, all that is gone; we're feeling comfortable, confident, and carefree. We have absolute trust in Orca after our months on the c
oast of Baja. We're completely self-sufficient; just this morning we fixed a 30 inch tear that developed last night in one of our sails using our on board sewing machine.

The weather has been harmless and the wind fair. We've been looking forward to working on some celestial navigation, but oddly enough we have sailed all the way down to 15 degrees N and have yet to really see the sun or stars; its been consistently overcast. Makes one appreciate the GPS. The weather is still relative
ly chilly as well, long pants and sweaters are standard dress for night watch. This seems odd, as we are only 900 miles from the equator and closing fast.

The remoteness of our location is mind boggling. We haven't seen another man-made object in 700 miles; not even an airplane overhead. What little wildlife that exists out here isn't even afraid of humans; pe
rhaps they've never seen one before. Yesterday we had 3 open ocean birds (boobies or albatross, perhaps?) land on our boom just a couple feet from us in the cockpit. When they started pooping on our sail, we tried to chase them off with a stick. We bopped them on the head and they squawked at us with confused but unafraid looks—and didn't leave. We ended up shoving them off into the water one by one.

If it wasn't for charts and t
he GPS, it would be easy to forget that we are moving. The same stretch of water seems rise up from the same horizon, day after day, like we're on a treadmill. Orca is the center of the universe, stationary, and the ocean, clouds, wind, and waves move around her in a daily cycle of light and dark.

To fall overboard is certain death, and its impossible to forget that on a night like tonight. The full moon is hidden behind dark, rain-laden clouds. Its pitch black outside; no sea, no sky, no horizon, no landmarks or reference points save the cheerful glow of a kerosene lamp burning in Orca's cabin. A good night to sit below with a hot cup of tea and write an Orca Update.






Orca Update #8, La Paz, Mexico:


Good afternoon,


Another couple of days in La Paz took care of most of our shopping. Our alcohol stove is always a challenge to fill; this time we found “alcohol industrial” in used salsa jars at the local hardware store, at half of US prices. We bought every bottle they had.


The local grocery store, “CCC”, always seems to be about as crowded as Trader Joe's and Costco the day before the Superbowl andThanksgiving all combined. You have to be aggressive to even catch a glimpse of the shelves, and competition for produce is intense. Tortillas miraculously appear out the end of a 10 foot high, 15 foot long, 6 foot deep Rube Goldberg super-duper tortilla making machine at the rate of five a second; flame spits towards a charred spot on the ceiling. Various minions scurry around the collosus adding corn flour, water, and oil. The cost of a kilo of tortillas? 60 cents, and they are always hot off the press.


Once you gain the parking lot, you find yourself at a distinct disadvantage. It seems that no Mexican architect ever thought anyone would be stupid enough to try to walk; everyone owns a car. The sidewalks look more like obstacle courses; a set of stairs with 3 feet between steps is common, low hanging branches, trenches, pits, debris and tripwires are to be expected. Cross walks, stop signs, and stop lights? Not a chance; they may be there, but they're unenforced. Everyone rolls through at 20 kmph, you have to hit it at at least 40 to alert the police.


One other interesting thing we've encountered comes up when talking to drunk sailors; half say La Paz is the best place in the world, the other half think it's sheer hell. We've found this all over; people who have committed to a place try to convince themselves by persuading others that they have planted their lives in the best place on the planet. The other half, people who plan to leave, think they can find somewhere better and try to persuade everyone that they are smart to leave. We've decided that that there is no way to figure out where the best is until we've seen them all--we can always go back later.


So, after another day in La Paz we decided it was time for our Sea of Cortez adventure. We snuck out at dawn, weaving out through the anchored boats quietly under sail. We ran down the long, deceiving channel (the channel is 3 miles long and guarded by a nearly invisible sandbar which is about all of about 2 feet deep) and set a course for Espiritu Santu, a nearby island notorious for its crystal clear water and rugged beauty. The wind was light and variable, and, true to form, we averaged 2 knots under all the canvas we could pile on. We tried to jig up some baitfish on our small 15lb test rig to spice up the passage but the only thing we were able to catch was...a big shark! The line smoked out and we panicked. Before we could start to reel in the line went slack and the 6 foot shark leapt out of the water right next to Orca. Since we had our weak little bait rig out we lost the beast, but it was exciting,


We stumbled onto a beautiful anchorage called Ensenada Grande at the very end of Isla Partida, one of the two islands that are generally referred to as Espiritu Santu. The water was crystal clear and the weather was perfect. We decided that we would never leave. We dove overboard to change the zincs and scrub Orca's hull, but found that the algae we freed attracted number of puffer fish. At first, one or two would appear; very cute. 5 minutes later, surrounded by a hundred or more of the pesky scavengers, we would scamper back up intoOrca with the hebbie jeebies.


Instead, we worked on the dingy, safely on the beach drinking beer, and had cocktail hour with other boats that stopped in our anchorage. We snorkeled and speared a good sized triggerfish that was quickly transformed into tasty ceviche. We met some beach campers who were somehow, for some reason, simultaneously circumnavigating the island by kayak while doing yoga—or something like that.


When it was time to leave, a week later, we again ghosted along at two knots. We tried to fish, we really did, but we caught nothing at that speed. Back at La Paz, we ran into some friends we met at Ensenada Grande that motored at 5 knots; they caught 2 beautiful dorado on the way back.


We've since realized that its time to start the next stage of our adventure. This is a decision point for us; hurricane season for Mexicoand the rest of the tropical N Pacific, is fast approaching. There are two courses available: go North, deeper into the Sea of Cortez to ride out hurricane season, or leave Mexico, and the northern hemisphere entirely.


We've decided to continue to the South Pacific. This will be Orca's first blue water passage: at least a month at sea, a thousand miles from land. We've stowed 40 lbs of potatoes, 30 lbs of onions, a shopping cart load of canned goods, spare parts for all crucial systems, 700 lbs of drinking water, and 50 lbs of flour, rice, and noodles. Enough fresh veggies to hold out a week or two, maybe three, 'till they go bad. All together, we estimate Orca is toting 2,000 lbs of extra gear and supplies, and it shows; she's way down on her lines. We'll move back down to Cabo San Lucas, the most southern point of Baja, to fill out paperwork and top off our water and fuel tanks before setting sail for the Marquesas.


I doubt we'll have the chance to send another email before we leave, so don't worry if you don't hear from us for a month or two!

-J&K