From the Land to the Lights

Three days rolled by as we hung on to the deep depths of the Fatu Hiva anchorage. Gusty winds blew down the steep jungled mountains and too many boats in too small a bay made for some restless nights. Several dragged anchor, sometimes into other boats, and midnight rescues became common. We were all thankful our ground tackle held strong, and enjoyed the rainy days amongst green, green trails and falling cascades. A boat with three spanish boys, Sikim, was anchored next to us, and with Charlie hiding down below, we had them convinced Portal was a boat full of maidens. I was up early walking about on deck, then Barbara, then Lydia came out, and I chuckled as their eyes grew wider. We had to burst the bubble eventually, but Charlie charmed them with his spanish and we spent some nice time swapping stories, all eager for the social contact.

After our fill of coconuts and mangoes, we pulled the hook and sailed overnight to Nuku Hiva, a bigger island with the main Marquesan town. Civilization! Baguettes, internet (sort of), flushing toilets… Well, it was still pretty rural and rugged, but we easily spent 6 days there, relaxing with the many other cruisers in the large bay. One could get sucked in forever, since everyday, more sailors would come in, each with their own unique, fun stories. We met a family of 5 onboard “Lear”, a huge heavy research vessel; 2 young guys and their dad on “Dragonsbane”; a crazy character, Alan, on his 40ft engine-less, thruhull-less beautiful Zebedee; and most notably, 3 Swedes on a tiny 27ft “Waskavi” travelling with their friends “NightHawk”, two Norwegians. All five men are tall strapping vikings, which helps contain the buckets of rum they put away every night. Their sweet spirit warmed the whole bay though, and their frequent parties brought us all together. At one such event, we met Jess and Duncan aboard “Alliance”, but little did we know how important that meeting would be…

A trip over to Daniel’s Bay, another few hikes and more spectacular waterfalls, then we stocked our little boat up with water, bananas and pamplemousse (traded!), and set off for the 4 day sail to the Tuamotus. We had dined with Alliance the evening before, and were very excited to see them off our stern quarter a few hours after setting out. And even more to our surprise – We seemed to be keeping up with them. Somehow, our old, loaded 30ft boat does often as well as newer, larger vessels, and at one point we were also gaining on the 43ft “Dragonsbane” ahead of us. Of course, once the wind dies completely and engines come on, we soon get left in the dust!

Still, it was comforting to see the light of Alliance every night as we neared the “Dangerous Archipelago”. The Tuamotus are a collection of atolls, reefs and lagoons in the middle of the Pacific, with nothing but palm trees and coconuts. One must navigate through them only with the height of the sun, and enter their passes only at the appropriate tide. Even then, there can be rough entries and reefs to narrowly avoid. So it was with joy and excitement that Charlie and I high-fived just after our first successful Tuamotu pass, on Kauehi.

Only, 5 seconds later, our engine slowly throttled down, on it’s own, then died.

Uh-oh.

We quickly hoisted the sails, to avoid drifting back into the pass, and Charlie jumped below to trouble-shoot. Babsi kept a keen eye out on the bow, for any reefs we might hit. Ten minutes, 15 minutes, still no sign of being able to fix it. I stayed calm, though inside my heart was sinking. I planned to sail us to a shallow spot, drop the anchor, and figure it out with the next dawn. As the sun sank dangerously low, our radio came to life – It was Alliance, just ahead of us, offering us a tow.

A tow?! What a brilliant idea! We readily excepted, and they circled back to our rescue. Thankfully, we made it to the South East anchorage without hitting any unlit reefs, and each took a well-earned shot of rum. I was shaking from the excitement, and didn’t sleep well.

Morning came though, and after two more, we had her back on and running. What sweet relief. Our friends Marionette had also been nearby, so with Bruce’s help and Duncan from Alliance, we cleaned the lines, changed filters, and bled the fuel, which seemed especially blocked coming into the injectors. I changed the oil, cleaned the sump, and watched for leaks. Dirty fuel? Bacteria in the system? Water in the oil? We still have questions, but thankfully our motor is now running and back to her old noisy self.

Our friends on Marionette

By now we had become firm friends with Duncan, Jess, and her dad, Jeff, and vowed never to be more than a tow’s length away from them 🙂 We began to pay off our debts with fresh-baked bread every day, and now, after 2 weeks, continue the ritual.

We visited one more atoll – Fakarava – with incredible snorkeling and shark-sighting, then continued on to the Society Islands.

It was a rough 2 day sail, with an epic squall that was our biggest yet, but we safely arrived into Moorea, anchoring close to Alliance (of course). Barbara’s birthday brought celebrations of food, pirates and big fires on the beach. We discovered a wonderful garden cafe “Lilikoi”, and made many new friends. Charlie and I biked the 60kms around the island, grateful for some muscle workout. Five days of rest though, and we were ready for the big-smoke – Papeete, Tahiti.

Tahiti has become quite an important landmark, almost the half way point, and the first chance at real provisioning since the crossing. There’s fast internet, delicious coffee, cheap beer, and many of our friends nearby. The Scandinavians are with us on the same dock, so of course rum and late nights are common. I’ve motivated to get some varnish done though, and so far have 3 coats on. Lydia leaves us tonight, so the Portal crew is pairing down. We are very grateful for her hard-work and help the last 3 months, and will be sad to lose her, but we’re also excited to have more space!

Thursday will mark the beginning of my 26th year, so more celebrations and fires to come! Thankfully, there is endless ice-cream, avocados and good food everywhere! Big city life – It’s alright!

Charlie planning our treehouse…

The Tuamutos are typical paradise

Coming into Moorea

Biking around the island

Our good friends Alliance

Girl time at the bow

Portal sails to Papeete

Copra, drying coconuts – Marquesas

Marquesas

On the way to the waterfall

Fatu Hiva Waterfall

Babsi harvests coconuts

Business cards!

Daniels Bay, Marquesas

3rd largest waterfall in the world!

Hiking to the waterfall, Daniels Bay

Tea on Alliance, a nightly affair

Potluck in the middle of nowhere, Tuamotus

Tuamotus

Portal Across the Pacific

April 28:

As we pushed off from the San Jose Del Cabo fuel dock, the last of our land for a while, my wish to the gods and goddesses of the sea was simply: “an uneventful passage”.

That might not seem much like an adventurer’s wish , but I figured crossing the biggest ocean on an old 30ft sailboat was adventure enough.

Two days earlier we had left La Paz to the cheer and farewells of our new-found friends, the four of us ringing our ships bell, blowing our air horn and yelling hysterically. We drew quite the crowd, and I could feel their full hearts hoping for our success; Portal, the little boat full of young minds, bikes and Pixel the cat.

The breeze was as forecast – a good push from the West to get us offshore. Stronger than we had anticipated though, it kicked us over, threw waves in our faces and found leaks we didn’t know we had. A seriousness settled over the crew – hysteria and excitement aside, this was really happening. For the next month or more, there would be no place to call into, no one to ask for help, no safe anchorage to rest our weary selves. We best toughen up.

Thankfully, the furious beating into the wind didn’t last more than a day, and slowly our breeze shifted North for a calmer point of sail. Our feathers slightly ruffled, we dried out our bed-sheets and pillowcases, grateful for the calming seas. Neptune’s little wake up call.

May 5^th:

Then it was a week and a half of blissful sailing. The NW trade-winds filled in, and with our colourful drifter sail flying high, our spirits followed suit. We let ‘Gramps’, our tiller-pilot, do most of the work, while we enjoyed books, music and feasts in the cockpit. Sunday the 5^th of May was both Cinco de Mayo and the end of our first week at sea – both good excuses to celebrate. This also coincided with two days of being completely becalmed. 0.0kts read frequently on our speedometer and the sea turned to a glassy lake. We made the most of it, erecting a sun awning, swimming in the deep blue water, and watching a movie in the cockpit while sipping Pina Coladas from the last of our pineapples. I tried not to imagine the calm lasting forever and enjoyed a peaceful sleep.

May 8^th:

And of course it didn’t. Our breeze was back by Monday morning, and progressively picked up through the week. On Wednesday Charlie was writing in the logbook:

“Flying. Grumpy overpowered. Feeling overpowered myself, furled in jib a bit.”

and by Friday the entries were:

“Pretty Swinging sailing out here”; “Pretty rough conditions”; “Lot of concentration and workout”.

Saturday we were getting tired of it:

“Still the same, over it!”; “Wet bum, again”; “Still rough, but we’re still tough, aren’t we?”; “Squall City”…

At Latitude N11, we hit the ITCZ. Often referred to as ‘the doldrums’ and usually characterized (or so I thought) by long stretches of calm weather and advancing squalls or variable winds. Annoyingly difficult to pin down, the ITCZ usually hovers between N8 and N2. In fact, it proved to be 6 days of 20-30kt winds, big messy waves from three directions, and constant squall lines bringing torrential rain and fierce lightning storms. As if on queue, Skyfile, our weather-email client, began displaying an ERROR message with every sat-phone call attempt. Desperate for forecast information and surprised by the unusually high Zone, I used the InReach to text John Reid, our experienced sailor and mentor currently on dry land. Of course, in less than hour he had determined the problem (Skyfile was having a major crash issue) and sent me the text forecast along with best-routing information. For the 6 days that followed, John would text us the updated position of the ITCZ and what course to take to best avoid it. Having access to such detailed data (not limited by small-file size) and even better, an old-hand to interpret it for us, was seriously a god-send. John’s reassuring messages got us through that messy chaotic week, as I prayed an errant lightning strike wouldn’t bust a hole in our hull. If not for that risk, I actually felt pretty in control. We had seen worse winds and bigger seas, and I knew Portal could handle it. The erratic nature of the doldrums is always a concern though, and we were all very, very thankful when we crossed Latitude N5 and knew we had made it through the ITCZ, aka “Incredibly Torturous Confusion Zone” or more commonly, “It’s Too Clammy Zone”.

Tuesday 14^th May:

The seas and clouds gradually calmed as we sailed on south. The previous week’s squalls had at least pushed us along at a rapid rate, so that we were now making great time. Our optimistic goal of a 30-day passage was looking very likely. The log reads:

“Boat is comfy while everyone sleeps. Shooting stars!”

At last we were catching up on rest and eating well again – pizza, pancakes, baked bread and brownies…

Friday, 17^th May:

A major milestone for every sailor, long respected and revered, is of course, an Equator Crossing. It marks the transition from mere “Pollywog” to trusted “Shell-Back” and is usually accompanied by ‘hazing’ style ceremony – think rotten eggs, tight spaces, shaved heads. We had with us three Pollywogs and one Shell-Back. Lydia, having done an equator crossing on the tall-ship she sailed with several years ago, was therefore dictator of our fate – come 00*00’00, we should have to do as she says.

We were blessed with a calm breezy day, and were set to cross around 4 in the afternoon. Thankfully, Lydia took the opportunity to rise above the immaturity of the usual tralla, instead planning for us meaningful rituals to mark this important transition. We were blindfolded as we crossed the thresh hold, then let fly a lock of our hair, and 4 messages in a bottle to release any past energies and to make wishes for the future. Champagne, confetti and party-whistles filled the cockpit as we tearily shared this momentous occasion together, now forever bound as a tribe. Once the numbers started going up again, with an S in front this time (S00*24’456) we cracked open a most prized beverage – a 12yr old bottle of the finest scotch, given to us by our friends Paul and Celeste in La Paz. We had all been so touched by their generosity, during our entire stay there, and drank to them, to Neptune (after offering some to the sea of course) and to this new territory – the Southern Hemisphere.

Sunday, May 19th

The South brought with it fresh breeze from the E, and Portal hurried along towards the islands. We averaged 7kts for several days in relative comfort, and noticed the miles rapidly disappearing. Suddenly, the end seemed so close! We weren’t ready, we still had fresh produce to eat and water to drink and books to read and letters to write…

So we wrote furiously, folded origami, made onion soup, rice pudding, curried chickpeas, and tanned our bodies and hoped for fish, and dreamt of coconuts and waterfalls and luscious greenery.

As if our imminent landfall wasn’t tempting enough, Neptune then gave us 3 days of rain, squalls and grey. We hung on to the tiller, jostling Portal back and forth, holding our breath for the mountain scape that would hopefully come.

Wednesday, May 22^nd:

The new dawn brought with it the same weather – overcast, stormy conditions. We squinted into the pelting rain, longing for land to appear, but even 40miles offshore… nothing. I had imagined blue skies, turquoise waters and distant fields of green slowly drawing closer – not this: all four crew in our fowlies for the first time since Mexico, slinking into the cabin after a watch, eager for hot tea and dry clothes. But Portal was in control, and at least we knew it couldn’t last… surely land was around here somewhere?

2:47pm:

“LAAAAAAAAANNNND” screamed Babsi, ringing the ships bell with her cold fingers. Lydia and I jumped out of our berths, not fully expecting to see the miraculous sight of Terra Ferma. There she was though, through the mist, a distinctly different shape – the edge of Fatu Hiva. What sweet relief welled up in me when I saw that glorious vision. Despite trusting my navigation, trusting the paper charts and gps and accurate waypoints… it had a visceral effect on me, to actually see the land. Suddenly, the anxiety and seriousness I had carried with me across the ocean, since LA even, released a little and I sighed with a smile at our latest achievement. If the mast broke now, we could swim to shore!

The mast didn’t break, and land drew closer. As we approached, she became more defined, and soon we were seeing individual palm trees and multiple waterfalls. Green, green, green everywhere. It wasn’t hard to see why – the rain fell from the tops of vertical cliffs, into streams and crevices, rushing to the salt.

What I had expected to be a small bay with 3 or so boats, turned out to be a small bay with 20 or so boats, and anchoring for the first time in a month proved another exciting challenge. The smallest boat in the bay, we tucked into a good spot finally, after raising and lowering (by hand) 100ft of chain in the still pouring rain. Pacific anchorages are deep, and this was no exception – we hung on, 30metres above the sea-floor, safe and sound just on sun-down.

Wow. Stillness. The gentle rocking felt more like solid ground after the mess we’d sailed through, and with (dorado) fish chowder and red wine in our bellies, we slept like the warn out children we were.

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More Photos:

What do you do when your “reliance” water bladders fail? Have a fresh-water party!

Thanks to our new friend Paul of The Beguine, we’re catching more fish! This is a skipjack, on route to Cabo.

Reelin’ him in

I made a fish mango salad, ceviche and a caserole… but he was so big we couldn’t eat him all!

Dolphins play with us as we begin our passage – A very good sign! They welcomed us to the Marquesas too, guiding to a safe landfall.

Mid passage, the spare halyard we use to raise the drifter broke. Chafed through. We needed it, so both Charlie and I went up the mast (fair’s fair) for a mid-ocean repair job. It was bouncy up there, despite the very calm seas.

We both wanted the honour of going up – so each did half the job 🙂

Meanwhile the crew did the hardwork down below…

One of many beautiful sunrises…

I only look like a little school girl because I have found braids to be the best way to keep my hair manageable and out of the way! And maybe because of whatever we’re gossiping about here…

And the sunsets…

Pixel made it through ok, though she started shedding profusely as it warmed up.

Babsi at work on our French flag, handstitching.

She slept a lot, and found it hard to clean herself, developing a few dreadlocks of her own.

We caught two Dorado, and loved every morsel!

Sashimi anyone?

Torrential rain was somehow fitting for our first landfall – we were so happy nothing could keep our spirits down!

 

Chapter 1, Completed!

Cabo San Lucas. The tip of Baja California, the first milestone of the voyage, where the land ends and the ocean begins, where we enter a new phase. It already seems like long ago that we spoke of resting here, provisioning for our journey west, across the Pacific. Los Angeles and our life there have begun to drift into memory, as we settle into this new life on the sea.

Actually, after hearing various accounts of Cabo – ranging from: “it’s like the zoo – nice for a day”; to: “it’s like Venice beach on steroids, stay away!”, we decided La Paz would be a better launching point. Tomorrow we will sail into the Sea of Cortez and explore the last of our relaxed Mexican anchorages on route to the ‘Peace’ city, where we plan on spending a week before sailing off into the great expanse.

For now though, we are at the zoo, and it’s fun for a day. Jet ski’s whiz past our little ship, as she sits snugly to two anchors overlooking the majestic rock formations that this town is famous for. On shore, hotels and designer brands line the beach while men yell ‘taxi’ or ‘fishing trip’ as we walk by. Still, it’s land, there’s internet and coffee and tacos and beer and we are happy.

The ride here was a bumpy exciting one! We left Bahia Asuncion with 25knot winds on the forecast – ready for a fast passage to Mag Bay. Sure enough, 25 to 30knot gusts pushed us to our destination, averaging over 5.5knots per hour. The wind was exhilarating, even pleasant… but the seas such breeze kicked up, especially as we were sailing relatively close to the coast, was challenging, at times terrifying! Huge walls of water rose up behind us, and just when I was sure it would rain down upon us, Portal would gently lift her stern, white wash would snow around us as it broke, and we’d surf down the wave. Well offshore waves tend to roll out, creating potentially bigger swells, but much longer and therefore smoother ones. Coastal sailing like this means short sharp waves that kick up in different directions, often pushing us 40 degrees off course. Constantly correcting our position, we were grateful for our short 2hour helming shifts.

I was glad for the experience though, and proud to see our little ship so well handled by the crew. We made good, simple meals and even managed some sleep here and there. By Mag Bay though, we were beat and ready for rest!

An overnight stop in Bahia Santa Maria, where we spent a memorable morning sunbathing, skinny dipping (dipping is all it was – the water was still freezing!) and lazing around in the little deserted anchorage, before heading 20miles up the road to Mag Bay proper. During that afternoon sail, we – at long last – caught a fish! What a delight!! A small tuna, a foot and half long, fed the four of us gleefully as we giggled around the table, bathed in our cozy cabin lights. This day was a real treat – simply relaxing!

 

The next leg was 150nm to Cabo San Lucas. Our forecast read light breezes, so we pushed off around 2pm, hoping for a 4knot average – bringing us into the Cabo bay by early morning. We should have known though – Portal doesn’t ‘do’ slow anymore. She hurried along at 6knots and our new arrival time became more like 11pm. I am REALLY not a fan of landfalls in the dark (such stress and anxiety!) but seeing it was an easy to identify and open bay, I reluctantly agreed to enter whenever it was we arrived. Around 10.30pm, Charlie and Lydia put two reefs in the main and ran in under such reduced canvas. A good thing too, as the stretch between the two capes – Cabo Falso and Cabo San Lucas –  often have famously strong winds by the day’s end, and tonight was no exception. I heaved the tiller over to windward, holding it there with my thigh, working us closer to the coast. Beam on to the wind and waves, Portal and I would hold our breaths as large walls of water crashed into us, momentarily heeling us over with a deluge of spray into the cockpit. I begun yelling in an old-salt Irish accent, encouraging us on, despite my white knuckles and 40knot gusts.  The crew down below listened to my ranting and the crashing waves, while Charlie constantly confirmed our position on the charts. It was an exciting entry!

A mile offshore, the mountains finally blocked our breeze and the waves calmed down. We identified the large rocks at the entrance and rounded the point well clear. Thankfully the bay was surprisingly calm and uncluttered and we soon found a suitable anchorage spot. Another two hours later (!), and some very stereotypical husband/wife anchor yelling and grunting, we were satisfied with our holding and tackle – two anchors, cqr at the bow and danforth on the stern, with 3-1 scope on both. As I finally lay down to sleep that night, I wondered when the last time was that I had felt so utterly exhausted – mentally, emotionally and physically. A deep pride in our sturdy little vessel overwhelmed me as I drifted into slumber.

We awoke to the sights and sounds of Cabo San Lucas, with all it’s circus and commotion. After a much needed cleaning of the boat inside and out, we splurged two dollars on a water taxi and headed ashore. Again, we have rejuvenated and reconnected – ready for the next and final leg of Mexico.

Boats, Bikes and Birthdays

Charlie at the helm and keeping a keen eye out…

My new ‘Fly’… pretty gorgeous right?

This bar tape is SO hot! Yay birthdays!

And a cute little (bright) light to add more colour…

And a personal head-set top cap! yay!

And guess what the touch-up paint he used was? Nail polish! I haven’t done this in 10years! Fun!

Name Call

Okay, okay, we get it, “Portal” isn’t Her name. Man, I really thought we were getting close though! We are back to the drawing board, so feel free to leave a comment with your briliant-brain-spasm-ideal-boat-name, ok? Here’s some inspiration:

New Equator, Imagine, Further, Bedouin Rain…

In the meantime, we are having a grand ol’ time installing our new fuel tank, getting running water (finally!) and generally spending days in cramped places. Escapades to hidden caves and an upcoming birthday sail are a few highlights, more photos on their way! Also, I’m having a little birthday bash this Friday, so if you’re in the LA area, come and join us!

 

 

Delicious meals to start the day! Yay Summer!

That’s right… RUNNING water! Just push a little button on the ground, the electric pump kicks in, and voila! And it doesn’t even taste weird!

A trip to the lumber yard… fuel tanks, planks, basil plants, you name it – you can carry it on your bike!

Some Mail Art… i’ve been inspired by Trader Joe’s wrap packaging!

Digging deep

The new beast… got it all secured in there with a trucker strap, a few wooden wedges and a screw or two. New hoses hooked up and she’s ready to go cruising!

Nothing like wrenching on diesel tanks at 7am, before you go wrench on bikes for 9 hours 🙂

Somehow, he fits.

Few! All done and back to being ship-shape!

Our now good friend Rob, who has been nothing but help and delight since we arrived.

Hoisting the main for the first time. No snaps of it though, since Murphy and the wind got together to change direction at JUST the right time… I dropped it again pretty quick 🙂

 

Progress and Play

The wind carries time on its wings and the days grow longer… Life afloat is better than ever. We finally moved into our own slip, which means she’s now free to do what she does best – Sail! We haven’t taken her out yet… the 15 minute motoring journey into the marina was enough excitement for the week… but now we’re settled and free, it won’t be long before we hoist her canvas and fly with the wind!

In preparation, I’ve scrubbed her clean inside and out, peeling off years of L.A smog and grime. She came up pretty good! Once we varnish all the woodwork and replace her lines, she’ll look like a whole new lady! Typing that sentence was easy, but one of those jobs requires a lot of muscle power, the other a lot of (green) paper power, so they won’t be quite so simple. In time though, in time!

 

 

 

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Help us name our boat!

And like a raindrop falling from a luscious leaf, my time in Australia comes to an end. Almost five months, but they seem to dwindle into a small stack of memories, finishing before they fully begin. When I left Madison, last year in early winter, life was pretty chaotic. My four years away from ‘home’ had finally caught up with me –  I was losing touch with myself, grasping for truth, for happiness, and looking in all the wrong places.

Getting back to Australia, to the people who will always know and love me – let life click back into sense. I spent much of my time alone… reading, learning, growing… and enjoying my solitary company. I’d bike around for work from dawn till mid afternoon and silently watch my city come alive. On rainy days and during my breaks, I’d devour a book on sailing, or diesel mechanics, or live-a-board lifestyles, escaping into dreams and plans for my pretty little Cape Dory. On weekends, a train then bike to the beach would replenish my soul and inspire positivity. Life makes more sense in the water, that’s just the way it is.

Often I’d catch up for tea with one of my few dear friends, who’d listen compassionately and help look for new perspectives. The running saga of my life (latest skype calls, emails, letters) would tumble out my mouth as Mum, Ange, Andy or Jester returned comments, suggestions, or just hugs and understanding.  Always I’d come home to smiles, good meals, and a cosy nest. And as the quickening time tramped on, my heart mended itself, my soul found itself, and happiness happened.

A jet plane blew me into yesterday, a train choo-choo’d me across America’s plains, and now here I am, full circle, back in Madison’s Midwest.

This last 6 months Charlie and I have jumped some big hurdles. We stumbled a few times, made lots of mistakes, and the tunnel grew dark once or twice… but from here, sharing together this springtime light of day, I’m thankful. Our strength feels doubled, our love more unified… and our new adventure ready to begin…

Owning a sailboat! California here we come!

My darling sister Carolyn

Mum tucking into a passionfruit

And why not!

Dani hard at work

Papa

Ella bee

Dad giving me a sextant lesson

Silly duffers

Carolyn’s farm

A swim in Carolyn’s river

One of my favourite fruits EVER!

Starting the fire for the damper

Tutu!

Patoof and Peter

An aussie scene

My nephew and his girlfriend

The Barlow family (or some of it) Sister Carolyn, Brother-in-law Lance, Nephew Jake, Dad, Me, and Sister Nicky sitting down cos she’s the short ass.

Havin’ a chuckle

Mcbarlow daughter

Jessica Watson’s boat – Youngest to sail around the world solo, nonstop.

SO COOL! 9ft boat that a Canadian took half way around the world (he was deported in Aus).