Passage Gambier to Marquesas - Pictures

Picture time! We finally have internet again...

Here are some photos of Irie's six day sail from the Gambier to the Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia, early this month. To read the daily stories of that trip, click on "older posts" at the bottom of this page and scroll down...

The first sign of a grey and rainy crossing - but it is a nice one!

Soaking up the first sunny day underway, albeit still with a lot of clothes on...

Sailing towards another squall.

The climate is getting sunnier and warmer.

Trying to stay ahead of a front behind us.

We had one nice sunset and enjoyed it!

Blue sky... yes!

The green tomatoes we were given by a local in Rikitea are turning red. Tasty and very special!

Grey sky... we were getting used to it.

Surprise front, coming out of nowhere, and in our path.

Good morning, Pacific Ocean!

And, finally, we caught AND retrieved a big and delicious tuna

Fatu Hiva, here we come (and stay)!

Pacific Passage in Pictures

Here are some pictures of our Pacific crossing from Isabela, the Galapagos to the Gambier Islands in French Polynesia. The people who followed the blogs during the sailtrip might recognize some of the scenes... :-)

Leaving enjoyable Isabela in the Galapagos Islands

Bye bye Isabela and the Cerro Azul volcano

Becalmed at night, floating west at a little over 1 knot

One of the many sunrises, this one in flat seas

Some of our stocked-up vegetables; soon ready to be eaten

All bundled up after the night watch; the comfy chair was our saving grace!

Trophies after a night of sailing: flying fish and squid

Morning view of Irie's trampoline (after a rough night): a bunch of suicidal flying fish

Oh oh... The bananas all turning yellow already!

The only fish we caught: a small mahi mahi (dorado) - we did lose all our lures later

On one of the quieter and early days: Mark making spinach flat bread

Colorful sunset, behind a relatively flat horizon. We saw many sunsets on the trip, sometimes the same one multiple times, when rising and falling with the waves!

This acrobatic squid made it all the way onto the mainsail!

Rough seas, big swell - it is hard to do justice to the sea conditions in a picture

Rigged up cockpit cushions to keep the cockpit relatively dry from crashing waves

Our shower system: one sun shower filled with seawater, the other with fresh; both warmed by the sun

The best chocolate chip cookies in the world, with dark Belgian chocolate

One of the rainbows near a far away squall

On days with little wind, we fly our spinnaker - red, white and blue!

 

 One of the few beautiful days of sailing

Frontal system ahead; we're not sure what is to happen when we go through...

Surrounded by one of the squalls of the weather front - our sails are reefed and we fly

Arriving at the Gambier Islands, during the crappiest weather they have had in a while!

The perfect welcome by our friends Birgit and Christian from SV Pitufa: a basket with local goodies!

Some facts about Irie's Pacific Crossing

If you have never crossed an ocean, and 6-8 foot waves are all you've experienced while sailing (as was the case with us, prudent Caribbean sailors, always waiting for a good weather window to move), the Pacific will be an eye opener. Whatever its name indicates or whichever stories you have heard, this is real ocean sailing. This ocean is not a peaceful one (where did that name come from?) and should not be underestimated. Cross swells of over 12 feet, winds of 30 knots, confused seas, bumpy wind chop and squalls are very common. We were on all points of sail at some time or another and could not stay on course regularly either, when the wind came from dead behind or in front of us. Some days are sunny; the nights are chilly.

Irie's passage can be broken down into 5 parts: a few days of being becalmed in flat seas and barely moving, eleven days of uncomfortable and unsettled conditions, while making good, but bumpy progress, a couple of fair "transition" days, three days of comfortable and peaceful, albeit slow sailing, and two awful days of beating into wind and waves during stormy, squally, windy and frustrating (many wind shifts, constantly varying wind speed, high and rough seas) weather when a front/low pressure system passed overhead.

Amongst cruisers, this particular trip west is called "the Milk Run" because it is supposed to be an easy, straighforward, downwind journey. For us it was as much a milk run as there was a milk man around: not. I do have to specify here that Mark and I sailed from the Galapagos to the Gambier islands, instead of the Marquesas, French Polynesia's most popular arrival destination. The route to these more northern islands is said to be less challenging than the one to the Gambiers. Reports of frequent squalls and confused seas reached us from that area as well, though, but no fronts go that far north and you don't sail on a beam reach (uncomfortable wind and waves from the side).

Irie Trip info and tidbits:

* Route: Galapagos islands - Gambier islands, French Polynesia

* Distance: 2938 miles

* Time: 21 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes (May 7 - May 28th, 2013 )

* Hours under engines: 12 (half getting into the anchorage of Rikitea)

* Hours under sail: 492

* Average speed: 5.8 knots

* Wind direction: SSE-SE-E-ENE, when front passes: all directions

* Wind speed: an average of a perfect 15 knots, but we never saw 15 knots, instead it blew a weak 10 knots or a heavy 25-35 knots!

* Squalls: 42

* Favorable current: 0 knots: a few days + 0.5, a few days - 0.5 early on

* Sail configuration: spinnaker, main (reefed at night and during heavy weather) and jib

* Sail changes: multiple times a day.

* Gallons of diesel used: 9

* Gallons of water used: 47, including 5 gallons to rinse off after showering and 2 gallons for laundry

* Other boats encountered: 2

* Objects encountered: 1 floating pole with a black flag, some garbage, and one whale shark (we think)

* Planes spotted: none

* Fish caught: 1; a smallish mahi mahi, too rough to fish most of the time

* Lures lost: 3

* Sea life "scooped up": 5 squid, 38 flying fish

* Flying fish whacking Mark on their way into the cockpit: 3

* Time zones traveled through: 3

* Latitude travel: from 1°S to 23°S

* Longitude travel: from 90° 58' to 134° 58' W

* Days of having fun: Mark: 1, Liesbet: 4

* Seasickness medicine taken (Liesbet, who used to be very prone to motion sickness): 5 days - 3 days preventive, 2 because of nausea

* Sky: blue, grey or black

* Water: deep blue

* Waves hitting the bridgedeck: Too many to count

* Books read: Mark 6, Liesbet: 1

* Movies watched: Mark 7, Liesbet: 2

* Casualties ("boat bites"): bloody toes, scratched eye, bruised legs, bumped heads, sore knees, burnt arm - nothing serrious or unusual

* Things we have learned/realized during this passage:

  - Why people take planes to cover 3000 miles

  - How long one can go without a shower (6 days)

  - That it takes a long time of not washing up before one gets smelly (> 6 days) *

  - That we really, never ever get bored; I was going to remove my "Boobie blue" nail polish from my toes, one toe every day. I arrived in the Gambiers with 8 blue toes and the trip sure took longer than 2 days...

  - That crossing the Pacific Ocean is not a leisurely "sit back, relax, and enjoy the weather and the ride" kind of sail

  - That this was the longest amusement park ride of our lives (not in a fun way)

  - That sailing is not easy

  - That the wind is never consistent

  - That living in a "stable" house with conveniences must be so nice

  - That it was much colder than expected, especially at night. Winter clothes and comforter needed!

  - That a passage to the Marquesas would have been easier and more comfortable (a confirmation of what we knew)

  - That the days are short and the nights long (Southern Hemisphere winter)

  - That there is little time or energy to do the things you like or plan to do, because of exhaustion or sea state

  - That the Pacific doesn't harbor as much wildlife (whales, dolphins, ...) as we thought

  - That one cannot be in a hurry

* in non-sweaty, Southern Hemisphere conditions

Trip to the Galapagos - Last Leg

If Thursday (day 6) was a gorgeous day of sailing, the night that followed was even more spectacular! The spinnaker charged ahead and the rest followed. We were doing between 6 and 7 knots, without the influence of current, in 13 knots of wind. The sky was clear and sparkling with stars. While I watched the illuminated crests of the waves, the Southern Cross watched me. There were no squalls, no ships and no interruptions. After five nights of “always something” to break the spell of continuity and our time in bed, whether it be a squall, turning the engines on or adjusting the sails, this night Mark and I experienced our dedicated three hours on watch and three hours off, and appreciated every minute of it. That 24 hour period on the ocean came as close to perfection for me as a sail trip can be.

While during the day the atmosphere on Irie is pretty relaxed, with us wearing our undies (the warm clothes and comforter have “long” been put away again), going wherever we please and doing whatever we feel for (sea state permitting), taking turns at the helm, adjusting sails and keeping an eye on the instruments, the nights are a different ball game. When darkness falls and visibility disappears, when one of us left downstairs for some needed sleep, when all has been prepared for 12 hours of monotony and solitude, all our senses are on high alert and our concentration sharpens, until we get too tired. Things happen and they most likely happen at night, when our attention fades. Therefore, we have the following “rules of the night” on Irie: always wear a life jacket, always be strapped to the boat with a tether – to the helm seat while in the cockpit or to the rigged up jack lines while on deck, always have the other person around when needing to go on deck and always wake up the other person when there is a squall or boat approaching, when the sails need serious adjusting or when you are in doubt about something. We both don’t really like rules, but these ones we adamantly stick to.

Day 7 started with a visible sunrise and soon the blue sky followed. It was 7:00 and I had a smile on my face. We had made great progress overnight and at this rate, we could make our destination before dark! Today! The “only” requirement was to keep up an average speed of 6.6 knots. Quite the challenge, sailing along the equator. The stress was back and the mellowness of the previous week gone. The race was on… Not for very long. Around 9:00 the wind speed dropped down to 8 knots and we moved at about 5. Where is that westerly current? It is easy to slow a boat down, but how do you speed it up? Decision time again. We had two choices: use an engine to give the boat the push it needed to pull into the harbor before 18:00 (stupid us forgot that we gained an hour underway and had until “our” 18:30 until the sun set), or slow the boat down, way down, to about 2 knots for an uncomfortable and rolly 23 hours, so we could arrive when there was enough light out again the next morning. Entering the unknown bay (to us) of San Cristobal in the dark was not an option.

We opted for an engine/spinnaker combo. The sun shower was empty, the prepared meals devoured. The boat was getting dirty and our small garbage bag full. The idea of a whole night’s sleep beckoned. We really enjoyed this first long voyage – and are looking forward to the 3000-mile trip to French Polynesia! - and Irie behaved like a good little boat. Only three issues appeared on a 7-day ocean passage, which is great, knowing that we sometimes have three things a day break or fail! A small rip in the spinnaker (on which we put sail tape immediately after noticing), a leaking salt water pump in the starboard engine and a chafe spot on our dinghy from a rubbing solar panel during the windy nights need to be taken care of.

I wrote an excellent book with entertaining and capturing chapters, many funny blog entries, engaging columns and stories people would love. In my head. This is what I do non-stop while being on the water and staring at the sea. Being creative in vain. “Head writing” is my biggest form of entertainment and occupation. Unfortunately, these perfect phrases and revealing thoughts will never be put on paper or find their way to the – no doubt - captivated reader. My head was spinning, my brain was full, Mark and I were tired. It was time to arrive… in the Galapagos Islands! With our own house.

To the Galapagos - Part 2

I'll just pick up where I left off last time. Tuesday night had us (me) very occupied during the shifts. There were quite a few squalls around (hurray for the extra "boost" of breeze) and the wind shifted and fluctuated a lot. The bad weather cells eventually dissipated, but we kept checking the radar every 20 minutes or so. Electricity is precious while you are sailing long distance with not much solar or wind energy "coming in". The spinnaker was up and that kept me on the edge of my seat. These light wind sails collapse very easily and a vigilant watch has to be kept. So, for three hours, my eyes were on the instruments and the white and red sail flying ahead, like an inflated balloon. I adjusted course frequently to keep the sail full and hold our speed at 4 knots. No time for dozing off that night.

When it was his turn, Mark set the auto pilot and let the spinnaker do its thing. He didn't mind losing a half a knot of speed to get comfort in return. It is much easier that way. When I tried to be more relaxed about it later that night, the wind disappeared almost completely and I got used to a limp spinnaker hanging above the trampoline when the wind meter showed 0.0. At those times we were doing 2.8 knots over the ground and the boat bounced around erratically. Once the wind picked up to 1 or 2 knots - hey, some wind is better than none, especially with the spinnaker - we were "moving along" again at 3 knots. The performance of this sail is unbelievable and under these circumstances it is to our advantage to be light and small! I am amazed that Irie can do 2 knots over water in 2 knots of true wind! Then there is the 1 knot of favorable current on top of that.

Day 5 started with no wind and us bobbing along with the current for a few hours; the spinnaker doing its best trying to billow. We were stalled, but still going the right direction. At least we weren't going backwards! At 10:00 we placed the spinnaker on the other side of the boat - a 20 minute ordeal - and the wind picked up to 2-4 knots, resulting in a new and highly improved cruising speed of 4-5 knots, which in turn offered us a pleasant and relatively comfortable time on board. Ah, the little things in life...

Then, at 15:30, whoosh, the sail backed, bottom edge in the deep blue water. The wind totally died and became "light and variable", meaning the arrow of the wind meter went in circles. No sail could do anything about our new situation and we were doomed to turn the engines on. For hours and hours and hours. Who said sailing in the lowest latitudes was ideal? Or was even possible? But, Mark made giant pretzels and they tasted awesome!

The sea was flat and we didn't need to rig a sail for the night. The weather predictions didn't matter much either, since we were on a direct westerly course to the Galapagos now, in an area of little wind and little change. We motored into the sunset (18:44, was it?) and saw some new type of dolphins - small and black - frolic in the current. The day's highlight happened at 23:18 or so, when we crossed the equator. The plan was to have a virgin rum&coke with a Greek appetizer/snack of filled grape leaves, or Belgian truffles, depending on the hour of "changing hemispheres". It being night and the beginning of my shift - talk about inconvenience - Mark (together with Neptune) imbibed the rum part and I had a glass (yes, real glass ware for the occasion) of coke with a shot of lime juice! Our drinks were accompanied by pieces of chocolate delight from Belgium. Thank you, Griet and Wim. You made our transition from north to south extra sweet! It was quite the party on Irie.

A few hours after the "equator party" (attendees: Mark, Liesbet, Mr. Gecko and a winged hitchhiker), the weirdest thing happened. An hour prior, a slight puff of wind had us turn the engines off and raise the spinnaker in the moonlight. Mark was at the helm, keeping an eye on the radar screen, where squalls dotted the area, a respectable distance away. You don't want to be surprised by one of those, especially flying a very flexble, laid-back, light sail. All of a sudden, a purple smudge on the screen closed in on us, very fast. I was woken up and we immediately dropped the spinnaker. "Hurry!" Mark urged, "I would rather not get wet!" In the quiet of the night we could hear the rain approach. But, there was no wetness involved. Because it wasn't rain. The rustling water sound was created by a series of little waves rushing towards and underneath us like a white water river. A funny current phenomenon. Picked up by the radar, amazingly enough.

Since the sails were down and real squalls were approaching, we took to motoring again, for the rest of the night. One of the systems went over Irie, who was in desperate need of a good fresh water rinse. After months of dry season in Panama, the shower was welcome. Engines roaring, diesel fumes wafting through still air, helm seat vibrating; hour after hour our little boat kept plowing westward at six knots, making decent progress again, "cheating". I'm sure our "competitors" were motoring as well, in this notoriously wind deprived part of the ocean.

The sun woke up and so did Mark. Day 6 arrived, but forgot to bring wind. I was sick of motoring (and we have a small fuel tank), so the alternative was ... drifting. I switched the engines off. Thoughts of movie characters acting out seaventures, sailors caught in the doldrums, and ship wrecked people floating in an endlessly flat ocean crossed my mind. It was dead quiet. Peaceful. Mirror-like seas. Half of my vision filled with water; the other half with air. Both fields separated by a perfectly straight line; the infinite horizon. I saw ripples in the distance, behind us. Within half an hour - joy of joys - a fresh breeze caught up with us. Ready. Set. Action! Spinnaker up, mainsail up (new trick), and off we went for the most perfect sail of the trip, doing 6.5 knots in 12 knot winds! Life is good. ;-)

Switching Oceans

The last weeks have been extremely busy and when time flies like that and you just keep moving and doing stuff, all of a sudden it is there: the first step of our new adventure; transiting the Panama Canal!

Irie will start her lock, lake and canal adventure towards the Pacific Ocean on Friday, January 18th, in the afternoon. We plan to go through the Gatun locks between 15:00 and 17:00 local time (= East Coast US time). If you want, you can see us pass via the webcam, if you surf to
http://www.pancanal.com/common/multimedia/webcams/viewer-javascript/cam-gatun-hi.html

On Saturday, January 19th, the Miraflores locks will spit us out on the other side, where the big Pacific Ocean and new adventures await. There is also a webcam in this last set of locks, where we expect to be in view between 14:00 and 16:00. Check out:
http://www.pancanal.com/common/multimedia/webcams/viewer-javascript/cam-miraflores-hi.html

Wish us luck and say goodbye to the Caribbean Sea!

Going “Pacific” or Staying “Caribbean”?

When Mark and I were in Belgium and the US this past summer, many people asked about our (sailing) plans. With my big mouth, I was proclaiming everywhere that we might go to the Pacific. It just seemed like the next, logical step in our cruising lives. Mark brought the subject up as well, but with a bit more caution. He had obviously not made up his mind yet and merely started thinking about the idea. To me, all safe and sound in comfortable, stable houses and fair weather – thousands of miles removed from our floating home in Panama – crossing the Pacific Ocean and exploring its tropical and exotic islands sounded like the perfect thing to do next spring.

Now we are back on Irie, relatively close to the entrance of the Panama Canal, and the Pacific topic is “hot on the stove”. The discussion has started in earnest and pros and cons are weighed. Being on the bouncy boat again, with limited supplies, and thunder and lightning storms almost every night (meaning a lack of sleep), the concept of long ocean voyages sounds a bit less exciting and the thought of spending our boating life in flat anchorages with provisioning opportunities appeals, well, a bit more. Reality has set in and we are now faced with the apprehension of leaving everything behind that we know and plunging into a whole new world.

In the past, we both had a relatively easy time making decisions about our next destination and we pretty much were compatible. I’m sure we will at some point figure out what’s next, but this time it is a bigger deal. Once we transit the Canal and make our way west, there is no turning back. We are gaining information about Polynesia – reading cruising guides and sailor’s reports – every day, and during cocktail time, it is our favorite topic. Although we have to take a break from it all every few days, because we are not making much headway in regards to an actual decision. Luckily, we still have a few months to make up our minds.

Pacific Cons – What holds us back?

-          Irie is a very light and small boat to battle big oceans.
-          We have weight limits - we can’t stock up our boat as well as monohulls, meaning expensive shopping along the way.
-          We have small tanks for water and fuel and will have to somehow store extra in jerry cans, which is where the weight limit comes into play again.
-          The first segment to the Galapagos Islands is about 10 days, the second one to the Marquesas, about 30 days (here we are a third of the way to, say, Australia), then there are day hops and week hops further west. Irie’s longest trip so far has been two days and two nights – close to civilization!
-          I will get (hopefully temporarily) seasick, especially in the typical following seas.
-          Our instruments and – most importantly – our autopilot are 15 years old and bound to break at some point (spares for these cost thousands of dollars and are not usually carried).
-          All the books and stories we read about the islands in the Pacific mention how hard it is to anchor in most places (deep anchorages, bad holding, dangerous cuts into atolls, uncomfortable swell rolling into the bay, coral heads strewn over the bottom, anchor chain wrapped around coral – diving equipment needed to rescue the anchor) and how inefficient and time consuming the checking in and out procedures are. (Imagine you arrive after weeks at sea, all shaken up and tired. It takes hours to set the anchor(s) satisfactory, then it takes half the day to check in and next, you have to leave that same anchorage to another one 100 miles way, because the swell is tossing you out of bed!).
-          Getting supplies and provisions is difficult and expensive.
-          Fresh water and fresh produce are hard to find; a water maker is out of our budget and interest.
-          We are leaving some of our favorite cruising friends behind.
-          We will be in an area far away from our home countries, family and friends.
-          There is no turning back, but it is possible to head back to the West Coast of the US through the higher, and less settled, latitudes.
-          The worry that “something bad” happens on one of the long passages – you are literally in the middle of nowhere.
-          We could add years to our cruising lives, because there is a whole new world to discover. (This could be a positive thing, too.)
-          The water temperature is colder and the tides in Panama City are “massive”.
-          We need extra (expensive) equipment on Irie for a trip of these dimensions.
-          Getting the boat ready, transiting the Canal, the need of more diesel and stopping at the Galapagos Islands will set us at least an extra $5000 back than staying in the Caribbean.
-          It will take some time and effort to prepare our boat and ourselves.

Pacific Pros – Why do we want to go?

-          It’s time for something new, after spending five years on this side of the Canal.
-          We (me) are ready – mentally and physically - for a different adventure, new sights, new cultures and new experiences.
-          Irie is in pretty good shape.
-          We have a spinnaker for downwind sailing. (Thank you, Axel!)
-          We said “goodbye” to friends and family for a while.
-          We don’t have responsibilities that prevent us from going.
-          We will meet up with some of our other favorite cruising friends.
-          We (me) are looking forward to experiencing a long time in peace and quiet on the big seas.
-          I am thrilled about all the wildlife we will get to see and the great snorkeling that awaits us.
-          The Pacific – hence its name – is a peaceful ocean and enjoyed by many sailors a year.
-          The weather is generally speaking enjoyable and benign.
-          We will have devices to alarm people if anything serious goes wrong.
-          Polynesia (and Melanesia and Micronesia) is best visited by private boat, and we have one now, so we should take advantage of it!
-          Australia and New Caledonia are good markets to sell a boat, especially a catamaran.
-          If we don’t go this spring, we will most likely never go
-          Our friend Axel, who is in the Pacific right now, wrote us that the guidebooks are very conservative and outdated, and that anchoring and dealing with officials is easy and straightforward, most of the time. It is incredibly awesome there as well, we’ve heard.
-          Axel also says it is possible to find fresh water and produce – you just get it whenever you can.
-          Many cruisers (some of which we know) have done this trip before and thoroughly enjoyed it – some call the Pacific islands the highlight of their circumnavigation.
-          We have time and energy for a new, big project.
-          It all sounds like such an exciting adventure!

One of the anchorages in Panama City, on the Pacific side

The South Pacific consists of many island groups, pretty far away from each other

The Pacific Ocean is the biggest ocean in the world and stretches over thousands of miles between land masses and continents.

Mark and Mark

Mark and I have this great cooking app we have been using for the last couple of years and that we recommend to all our cruiser friends. It is called “How to Cook Everything” and is written by Mark Bittman. Most of the recipes are with ingredients we have on board and there is always room for some substituting or creativity. He also has heaps of tasty variations on the main recipes. The iTouch app is amazing; it is easy to use and interactive. It even has a timer built into it. Many times, we think about what we have in our fridge or cupboards, enter some of those ingredients and come up with a wonderful dinner. Unless we discover – halfway through the cooking process - that one of the specific food items actually had been eaten another time.

Mark likes to cook. Me, not so much. 

One of the luxury purchases we made while we were in the US, was a nice car radio with decent marine speakers. One of the first projects on Irie for Mark was to install his new toy and what a joy it has been for him! After years of listening to good music through crappy speakers, his favorite music now sounds like it should be: crisp and clear. Every day. He is rediscovering the band “The Grateful Dead”. Every day. Loud and clear. 

He loves them. Me, not so much. (Well, not daily, not blaring, and not all their songs. Some of them actually drive me crazy with all their electrical guitar noise and no end in sight.)

So, one relaxing evening in Irie’s cockpit, while we were listening to said band, Mark suggested this “great” idea: if we would cross the Pacific Ocean (if, not when), he would want to listen to the Grateful Dead non-stop. He was sure that people all over the world would send us Grateful Dead songs so we would have enough versions in order to hear different songs the whole 30 (or more) days (how many minutes is this?) it would take us to reach French Polynesia from the Galapagos. (Does he really want me to join him?)

On top of that, he wanted to cook only recipes of our Mark Bittman app during the crossing. (That sounds better to me.) I guess if I want to eat good food, I have to put up with the “Dead”. That is, if his “great” idea takes root and if we decide to go to the Pacific. 

The name of our music and cooking project? “Mark, Mark and the Dead”! If you’ve seen the great (without quotes) movie “Julie and Julia”, you know what inspired him! Personally, I think “Just Mark and Mark, or I’ll be Dead”, would be a better title.