We made it. I
am attaching a jpg that shows our trail from the second red point at
Hawaii - thanks Kristin. Wow!
Stern-tied and anchored off the harbor wall 50 feet from a
work site where a dozen Solomon Islanders are building a new wharf in steel
girders and concrete. Two worlds,
a quarter of a planet apart, a steel ship with three women who just crossed the
largest ocean in the world over the last 5 weeks, all the while that these men
were building this wharf, each party unaware of the other until this
morning. Fascinating.
I’ve not yet stepped ashore as I write this, sitting in the
cockpit waiting for Alice to return from the quarantine office. I’m wondering how it will feel to step
on solid ground after 36 days at sea.
Sleeping last night on a boat that was not pitching and rolling was a
luxury I could never have appreciated.
And yet, somehow, it also seems so natural – that of course, we did
it. And did it safely, with all of
us on board and intact, if only a bit tired.
So many impressions…
The immense vastness of the ocean. In 36 days we saw only 5 other ships (and those only at
night, oddly enough). Sunsets and
sunrises were the ultimate wide-screen experience, watercolor montages of cloud
and light, for which we were the only audience.
The relentless motivation of the wind – impelling our boat
incessantly forward forward forward.
The trade winds are a magic carpet ride, carrying us and all we had on
board just by their unwavering pressure on our sails. And there is no turning back to pick up anyone who went
overboard. I still remember the
moment when Anne and I looked at each other and realized that we all needed to
be tethered on.
The power of the sun to warm this vast ocean to bathing
temperatures, to generate the clouds that towered above us, and the legions of
clouds arrayed in ranks all the way to the horizon. The big sky country has nothing on the Pacific Ocean –
I have never seen so many clouds, of so many different kinds, in one viewing.
The luminosity of the full moon, bright enough to read
by. The depth and dimension of the
Milky Way, and multitudes of stars visible in a world devoid of industrial
pollution.
The disorientation produced when ink-black clouds blot out
the moon and the stars, and lower dark curtains of rain to the sea. The power of a single cloud squall to
take our ship in its grasp and propel her off our course for an hour or
two. I was in the cockpit one
night on watch, when an eerie stillness descended on the water. The horizon disappeared completely and
if it was not for the compass, I would have had no idea where we were
heading. The phosphorescence was
rich and full, leaving a trail of fairy dust behind us. A huge black cloud had drifted over us,
and another one – squally – was en route.
Suddenly a blast of cold air hit as Alice poked her head out of the
hatch and said, “You're in for it”.
And then the wind veered, and picked up True Blue and sent her on a
heading at least 30 degrees off our course over the next two hours. I let the wind vane follow the wind, and
simply sat in the cockpit and waited it out.
The soft, saturated azure of the sea, the waves rimmed in
aquamarine and trimmed with lacy collars of foam and spray. The swell rising 12 and 15 feet
behind us, lifting our stern as we watched with a remarkably calm kind of
acceptance as we slipped down the face of the wave.
The shimmer and grace of a school of mahi mahi following
us. The lovesick booby sitting on the boom who
confused our wind generator with a mate, leaving chips in the blades, but
hopefully not his beak. And another bird who landed on the boat as we neared land and let up hold him like a parakeet...so unafraid.
I have learned so much…
…that tuna swim so fast that their bodies are warm
inside. As Alice cleaned our first
catch, she pushed my hand deep between its filets to show me.
…reef points and roller furling are the key to comfortable
sailing. Being able to reef down
as the winds pipe up kept us moving forward on an even keel with little loss of
speed.
… tropical squalls are manageable and going out on the
foredeck or up to the mast to raise, lower or reef the sails is no different
than doing it on a race in Puget Sound, except the rain is WARM and you are in
shorts!
…long passages are more a test of endurance than of
skill. We never seemed to be able
to stop the flow of quarters to the bucking bronco machine. Cooking required that you wedge
yourself into the galley, and washing dishes in the cockpit required 4 hands
and both feet.
…saltwater shampoos leave your hair surprisingly clean and
soft
…Steering by the stars is so much easier that steering by
compass and GPS. And, it was only
fitting that the Southern Cross would be hanging below our spreaders as we
arrived in the Solomons. It is
VERY strange to no longer be able to see the North Star.
Later…
With Alice back from customs, Ann and I took off
exploring. The Solomons are a
Melanesian country, somewhat off the beaten cruising path. But they are LOVELY – verdant and
clean, and (it would appear) remarkably well run. I would love to spend more time here as the people are
lovely, gentle and helpful and the whole area has been little affected by tourism. The central market is organized, clean
and charming, and the major place to get fresh fruit and veggies. Most everything else is sold in the
‘Chinese stores’ where housewares, soap, canned goods and fabric compete for
shelf space. Betel nut seems to be
the stimulant of choice - $1 Solomon (about $.17) compared to $9 Solomon (about
$1.25) for a beer.
There are few crosswalks here and crossing the main drag is
an exercise in timing. Even the
locals look for safety in numbers to cross the street. I would love to stay longer, but Alice
is pressing on for Darwin. So this
will be my only posting before we leave early next week. Then you can follow our progress on
sail blogs again.
