And It Did Get Worse

Didn’t I say we were safe at the dock of Apataki village? And that we could sit this weather system out over there? Well, I was wrong. And, didn’t I say that things can always be worse? Here, I was right!

With all the rain, the dock was a bit cleaner, and with a steady north wind, the mosquitoes stayed away, while we were pinned to shore. Every three hours – day and night - we needed to adjust our fenders, because of the tides moving Irie up and down and the funky currents moving us forward and backward. But, it was flat and comfy. On our first day of planned rest, we discovered that our credit card was used fraudulently, somewhere in the US. Great… This seems to happen to everyone at least once, but how do you deal with it from the middle of the Pacific?

The advantage of “living” in a village is that you can just walk off the boat and enter the one phone booth. Unfortunately, in French Polynesia, you cannot call an operator for a collect call from public phones, as we found out soon enough. To make a long, tedious, patient and frustrating story short: it took us ALL day to get through to an operator from a landline of a friendly villager to call our US bank collect. After the last hour, we understood that they would send new cards to Mark Kilty, Poste Restante, Village Niutahi, 98762 Apataki, Tuamotus, French Polynesia! We will see if and how that materializes!

During the night that followed, a massive squall hit us. 30+ knots of north wind smashed us against the dock and churned up the channel. Generally a pretty well protected spot from the North, East and South, the combination high winds and funky currents created chaos and Irie was wildly pitching attached by four lines to a cement dock. Again, not a good scene and this time, there was no getting away, even if we wanted to. Luckily, the storm only lasted half an hour, but we learned our lesson.  

When I jumped ashore to fix the fenders again at 4:30am – straight out of bed, so buck naked – there was already a fisherman on the dock. Oooops.  In the morning – after retrieving the latest weather forecast with 20 – 30 knots of predicted northwest winds (add 5 knots to be more accurate) – we decided to leave once more. Just imagine 48 hours of what had been crazy and dangerous during 30 minutes. The only other alternative was an anchorage at the north end of the atoll, 15 miles away. We hoped to get there in three hours…

Since we needed to leave immediately, there was no way of waiting for less wind or slack tide. A few strong guys pushed us off the dock and there we went! In strong opposing currents of 4 knots, Irie was jerkily pushed left and right. Mark did a great job steering us through the eddies (little whirlpools) and preventing us to turn sideways. The small engines were on full throttle, while we tried to get out of the pass and into the lagoon. What followed was an even more hair rising experience to head north to safer grounds. We ended up having to motor for many hours, and it wasn’t one of those “turn the engines and the auto pilot on and relax” kind of trips! We don’t even like motoring in the first place.

No, the event was slightly more exciting. Maybe interesting to the adventurous spirit reading these posts, but less so for the ones being in the midst of them. Mark and I had to drive into the wind and into the waves the whole time with 100% concentration. He had to hand steer (the autopilot could not manage these conditions), while I was vigilantly on the look-out. No time to eat or drink, get sun protection or a rain coat. Before long, the full on storm and weather system was upon us. This is when a cruiser is usually safely holed up somewhere comfortable… We had left too late.

The wind was blowing 30 – 40 knots; the lagoon waves were 6 feet high and close together! During the constant squalls – with even bigger bursts of wind – the rain was driving down and pelting our faces and bodies. Waves were crashing over the bow and into the cockpit, swamping us. I was on deck, fully exposed to the elements (which included enough sun to filter through the clouds and burn my skin and scalp – I lost my bandana overboard early on - during those hours), with little visibility. While Mark focused on the instruments (our luck was having accurate charts of the Tuamotus!), I stared ahead, looking for pearl farm buoys, waiting to foul our propellers. And, this way we continued on, missing reefs and maneuvering around floats, while shivering from being cold and tasting salt water. For six hours! That’s how long it took us to cover those 15 miles. Do the math… I will not repeat here what either of us screamed during this dreadful day. All we wanted upon arrival in Apataki was to have some rest before starting work in the boat yard.

What we learned the hard, Tuamotu way is that from the moment there is any kind of north wind, you motor north, into wind and waves, and, if there is any kind of south wind, you do the opposite. Point is, you always end up motoring head into anything blowing, because that’s where you will find protection. Or, you have to be really good at knowing what the weather men mean with their ambiguous forecasts and plan well ahead! At 4pm, we had enough light to drop the anchor away from the reefs – there might be some coral heads underneath us since we are anchored in 58 feet of water and can’t see the bottom – and had breakfast, lunch and dinner all in one. Then, we went to bed for our first decent night of sleep in ten days! At least we are safe and comfortable – for now! And, it seems to be pretty here as well! 

The Wrong Atoll at the Wrong Time

Mark and I seem to be on a streak of bad luck with the weather these days. During our five day crossing from the Marquesas, we barely had enough wind to get here (the reason: a suddenly popped up weather system not too far away) and now, well… you’ll have to read on.

Arriving in the Tuamotus

The last day of February, the wind slowed us down enough to arrive in Apataki close to slack tide. Once we found the cut into the lagoon, entering the SW pass was easy. The “Current Guestimator” was pretty accurate. The tranquil setting of the pearl farms, the abundance of palm trees, the clearest water we have seen since Bonaire, and a few people greeted us. A supply ship had just left the village dock, where we planned to tie up and stay one or two days to rest up a bit and do some internet and shopping. We lucked out on that part: space at the dock and delivery of fresh, expensive food. Internet? That’s always a problem. So, please, bear with us when the layout or the pictures on the blog are a bit crappy.

Motoring through the SW pass in Apataki

The people of Apataki are extremely friendly and we are greeted everywhere and handed food, fresh produce and fish based on who we meet and where. The ripe bananas we had left were given in return. The initial relief and happiness to be in the Tuamotus was tempered a bit by life at the dock. We have not tied up to anything in years and now we remember why. The cost is not an issue here, since being at the village quay is free, but the dock is filthy, the big black bumpers leave nasty marks on Irie’s hull, the lines and fenders need attention because of the tides, we have zero privacy, there is the threat of rats boarding and the mosquitoes are a pest. The constant noise of the village generator, right next to the boat, makes talking difficult.

Irie at the village quay – it looks pretty enough :-)

The first night we were here, we barely slept because of some of these reasons. The locals hung out next to our cockpit, until 11pm, once in a while interrupting us for conversation. At 5am, fishermen were surrounding us on the dock and were swimming under the boat, banging there flippers and floats onto the hull. Good morning! We really wanted some peace, some beautiful surroundings, and were sick of the dock life already after one day (which was an enjoyable day nevertheless), so we decided to leave for an uninhabited motu on the south side of the lagoon for two days of beauty and relaxation. Bad idea.

The water is like an aquarium, with fish eating the algae we already collected during our last sail

We knew there was wind predicted from the north (usually there are east winds here), which meant no protection (these atolls are big!), but it was only supposed to blow 5 knots and once it would get worse (there would be some crappy weather later on, because of the same system), we would go to the boat yard – the reason for us being in Apataki. That was the plan. Based on our experiences in the ocean, light winds were super light winds and squalls did not have any wind in them. We thought we would be fine. We should have known better.

It was extremely cloudy, but we lucked out with a sunny period, right at around slack tide, which allowed us to leave the dock, enter the lagoon and motor the 7 miles to motu Ruavahine. Surrounded by squalls, we dropped our anchor in 16 feet of amazingly clear water accentuated by the last rays of sun above us, and settled in with our butt towards the beach. It was beautiful here and I couldn’t wait to snorkel on the reefs behind us, an activity we hadn’t done in over seven months! Yes, that’s how long we were in the murky waters of the Marquesas… As soon as we had finished lunch, however, we were in trouble.

Ruavahine surrounded by squalls

First, the wind shifted 180°, coming from the south and putting Irie in 52 feet, towards the depths of the lagoon. Safer than in front of land, but we did not have enough anchor chain out for this change in depth and couldn’t let out more, because once we would turn back, we would hit the reefs with a longer rode. Sitting at the shortest scope ever (an unsettling 2:1, instead of our usual 5:1), we sat tight and held our breath when the first of many squalls needed an hour to pass. Not sure what to do – there are no good options for anchorages in Apataki – and it becoming later and later, we watched the instruments. Slowly, the wind turned back north and the depth decreased. The predicted north wind was back. And… picked up. With a 5 mile fetch, the waves quickly built and Irie started to pitch up and down. Not liking the idea of being on a lee shore (butt towards land) in bad weather, we felt like we could just manage the uncomfortableness. Then, the wind turned to the northwest and the distance of the land in front of us was 20 miles! That is a long way for the waves to grow before they reached us! Did I mention yet that these lagoons are big? A bad scene indeed. 

Not much later, the anchorage became a nightmare. One squall after another passed, with winds of 25 knots in it. Irie wildly jumping up and down, 3 foot waves smashing against the hulls and hitting the bridge deck, everything was tossed around and the place became untenable. But, we were stuck and had to sit it out. Needless to say, we did not sleep a bit last night as well. It had been calmer out on the ocean and the movements of the boat were comparable to sailing upwind in choppy seas. It was a very stressful and dangerous situation and we also figured out they would not be able to haul Irie out of the water in these conditions. It was by far the most uncomfortable anchorage we have been visited in seven years and the most dreadful day and night. Mark would probably agree if I say that it was his most awful birthday ever as well…

So, now we are back at the village quay, with our fishermen friends, the generator as background noise, and the mosquitoes as company. We will wait here until this system passes. It is raining hard and the wind has pinned us down against the dock, so we couldn’t leave even if we wanted to. But, it can always get worse! At least we and the boat are safe and it is flat calm – the boat has not been so stable in many many months. We are alive and comfortable. What more do we need?

There is the SW pass!

Celebrating our arrival in the Tuamotus

Our friend Irwin in the boat basin, with engine trouble

This picture is taken above the water, and – yes – the ray and fish are in the water!

Going for a swim off the village on the day of our arrival

Church of Apataki village

Mark is cleaning the fish, given to us by the fisherman next to him

Sunset over the SW pass in Apataki

The Challenging North Coast of Hiva Oa

Mark and I can only sit so long in a pretty and comfortable anchorage, like Hanamoenoa Bay in Tahuata. At one point or another – if not chased off by the weather – it is time to explore new territories; in this case the challenging north coast of Hiva Oa. Despite the valid warnings of our friends on SV Iona, who had a dangerous experience with heavy onshore winds in Hanamenu Bay, we were willing to give it a try. The weather predictions were as benign as they could be: 10 knots of wind from the ESE and little swell.

Calm conditions heading into Hanamenu Bay

We took everything we heard and read about this uncomfortable coast into account and left Tahuata first thing in the morning, being able to sail, gloriously cutting across the channel between the islands. After an hour, when we reached the west side of Hiva Oa, the wind dropped completely – that’s how calm conditions were – and we had to motor the rest of the way, some five miles or so. It was a bit choppy around the corner, but nothing like what Iona had to deal with, which meant we had “made it in time”. Once settled in Hanamenu Bay around 9:30am, the water was flat and no wind was present. What was all the fuss about?

Hanamenu Bay with onshore winds

Realizing that things could change on a whim, I wanted to go to shore as quickly as possible to see what the place had to offer, before we would get stuck on the boat. Mark opted to wait until 11am, to see what the weather had to offer. 11am is the time when the land has heated up and sucks the wind in, at least that’s the case in San Francisco, which guarantees the magnificent sailing in the bay. We didn’t have to wait that long. At 10:30am, someone flipped a switch and the wind started blowing from the ocean. We were on a lee shore (no sailor’s favorite), the waves started building and white caps appeared. We had lost our chance to safely land the dinghy ashore and all there was to do was wait. Wait to see whether conditions would deteriorate and become scary or improved and calmed down.

We were lucky and the onshore breeze never exceeded 20 knots, meaning wind chop of about a foot or so. Around 2:30pm, I became antsy. The sun was already getting low near the tops of the mountains and conditions remained pretty much the same, which seemed doable to go ashore. Mark gave in and a bit later we found ourselves jumping out of the dinghy in the shallows and pulling it as quickly as possible onto the black sand beach, without anything or anybody getting drowned. That wasn’t too bad!

The small settlement of Hanamenu

This out-of-the-way place – only reachable by boat or foot - was used by locals to train horses and to “vacation”. Well lubricated with bug repellent, we walked past a few wooden houses and explored some of the dirt paths amongst brush, plants and (empty) mango trees, before taking a bath in the cool waters of a waist deep pool, created by a small waterfall. Its setting was very tropical and tranquil; the guidebooks called it “Hollywood Pool”. When we arrived back at our dinghy, the wind had been turned off. This meant a dry ride back to Irie and no more worries. The land had cooled off enough and we shouldn’t be in a hurry to leave the next morning. The left over swell did not keep us awake, but the creaking engine boards did.

Hollywood Pool

“Get up! We have to leave! The wind is already picking up and there are white caps outside of the bay,” Mark shouted at 7am the following morning. Impossible! This was too early… Then, I noticed the rain squalls around us and realized what was up. The expected flat ride to the next bay east would not be so flat! For almost three hours, Irie banged into the wind and seas to cover the 9 miles to Hanaiapa Bay, the best anchorage in this area, according to the cruising guides. Sailing would take all day, against an increasing eastern wind following the coastline and accelerated by the capes.

Crappy 3 hour trip to Hanaiapa

Anchoring in Hanaiapa took three tries. The trick is to stay above 40 feet (anchor in 45-50ft) or your chain is on rocks and can (will!) get wrapped or stuck. From the moment we arrived until the moment we left, Irie did not stop moving and we barely slept. There was no wind to speak of – when there was a breeze, it was, again, onshore – but a swell permanently rolled into the bay. Laying sideways to the swell was especially bouncy. It was doable and we were glad to be on a catamaran, but, as far as we are concerned, the only reason to spend time in places like this is to see amazing things, which we didn’t. Sure, the bay was pretty, the town enchanting and the people friendly, but you find that elsewhere, without “suffering” through being anchored there.

Where do you leave the dinghy to go ashore?

On the day we arrived, we managed to put our dinghy at a crappy concrete dock, with a stern anchor caught on a rocky sea bottom and a line to shore determined to chafe through over time. (Why don’t they make these places more convenient for boats? The locals are dropped off in the shallow water and have to wade ashore, because the dock is too dangerous.) We had a pleasant walk through the village consisting of two parallel streets surrounded by tropical plants, beautiful flowers and an abundance of fruit trees. Charles, a local guy living next to the church, invited us in for coffee and gave us a bunch of bananas. Amongst the boulders along the bay, we found a spot of beach, which looked suitable to leave the dinghy for a longer period of time. Goats bleated in the hills and greeted us back at the dock. It was all very nice, until we had to return to the bouncy boat.

Main street in Hanaiapa, a small, well-kept village of 100 people

The following day, we planned a big adventure. We would go ashore around 7am and try to hitch a ride to Paumau, 2 hours east, and visit this amazing archeological site with the biggest tiki in the world. We had packed a bag and anticipated a welcome break off the boat, hoping to somehow hitch back before dark. (We had only seen a couple of cars the previous day.) We motored the dinghy to our new found beach, only to notice that it was very low tide and that the access to this small stretch of sand was blocked by massive rocks. Now what? With nowhere else to land the dinghy, we headed back to the concrete rope chafing “wharf”. The walls were too high and too slippery this time of the day (and there was nothing to hold onto while attempting to climb on), so we had to abort our mission and exciting prospects. Instead, we stayed on board and bounced around a bit more, until leaving for Ua Huka, 54 miles to the northwest. This interesting island – with three tricky anchorages along the south shore - is also little visited…

Hanaiapa church

 

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

Bye Bye St. Martin, Hello Martinique!

After 4.5 months in St. Martin, Mark and I were getting antsy to leave and join the big cruiser’s parade south, to safer waters and more pleasant environments. Mid June was approaching and Irie was about the only cruising boat left in the lagoon, where all the other sailboats were slowly turning into “temporary residents”. But, we couldn’t leave yet. Not as long as our rigging project wasn’t totally finished, not as long as we hadn’t received all the packages for The Wirie and personal use… Luckily, the weather hadn’t been cooperative to head south either, so we didn’t have to feel too bad about missing out on a departure yet.

The weather forecast had some northeasterly winds in the coming week or so and we started to prepare our departure, while frantically trying to locate a professional rigger to tune and check all the wires and fittings. So far, we had been unsuccessful, going from a rigger on the French side leaving us with a bent mast, to presumably straightening it all back out ourselves on a hot Saturday, to having another so called expert tweak it all out of shape again. A more detailed report about this massive rigging project will follow in the near future.

Mark and I rented a car to provision and pick up heaps of packages and we buzzed around collecting some diesel and necessary boat parts. We kept a close eye on the weather predictions and everything favorable had moved forward, quite a bit, all of a sudden! To make and take this one and only weather window, we would have to leave… the next afternoon. Our bodies and minds spun in an even higher gear and I started driving around the French and the Dutch side to locate a professional rigger, while Mark tried to wrap up some business stuff for the next few days.

When Thursday came around, we whole heartedly hoped that the booked riggers would show up in the morning, our only chance of leaving that day. I picked up a few items on shore and bought 24 gallons of water, Mark dealt with a Wirie^AP customer and to my biggest relief, two extra men were on Irie’s foredeck when I returned around 11am. Our standing rigging was adjusted, the mast straightened out and before noon, the biggest weight fell off our shoulders. I ran back to the French side to check out of the country, buy dinghy fuel and swing by Shrimpy. After a quick lunch we sold our mooring ball, ran to the grocery store for a week’s worth of food, made sure our friend Ed’s boat was OK and paid our rigging bill. Before we knew it, 4pm arrived, and we headed for Simpson Bay Bridge after a fast scrub of our underwater keel cooler and log. At 4:30pm, we said “goodbye” to St. Maarten/St. Martin. We were very happy to finally be “outside”, but felt a bit rushed and sad to not have been able to say goodbye to friends we might never see again.

The weather forecast called for 48 hours of east-northeast winds at a speed of around 20 knots, which is on the strong side for a trip heading southeast. We didn’t have much choice, since northeast and even east winds are rare this time of year and we had a deadline/family to meet in Martinique at the end of the month. This was the first time we consciously set out in relatively strong winds and this was also the first time we would cover a distance greater than 80 miles or longer than 20 hours. We were shooting to sail “straight” (without hitting any islands along the way) to Martinique, a distance of 250 miles and an expected 42 hours to windward. Our friend Angie on SV Kibe followed us through the Dutch bridge and hoped to reach St. Lucia a few days later.

And so our trip “south” started, initially with a big grin on our face, my face anyway; Mark was still a bit dazzled by the rate our life had been going and the accumulation of recent events. The first couple of hours passed by uneventfully. We started with one reef in the main sail, making it a double one when the sun set. An easy meal of soup and baguette was had, not much for me, since my stomach was already starting to feel funny in the motion of the ocean. Once we had cleared all land and the waves were in their full swing, it didn’t take long before I was hanging over the side with my life jacket and harness on. Three hours into the trip and I felt unbelievably sick. Mark took the first shift, while I retired downstairs, being thrown around by the violent swell and wind chop. When it was my turn to take care of Irie, I went back into the cockpit. But, the slightest moving around, had me puking again. Mark felt sorry for me and sent me back to bed, dealing with the elements himself. Around 2am, he was totally exhausted and soaking wet and I was on night watch for three hours, switching between being seated at the helm station to hanging over the stern of the boat, inspecting the waves up close. It was a bit terrible indeed, with confused seas, steep waves and heaps of seawater drenching the cockpit. The swell was only about 6-7 feet high, with a massive one every few minutes, but the period in between was a meager 6 seconds…

The following day went by pretty fast, with hours of rest for both of us, plenty of speed and progress between the islands and a struggle to keep moving in the lee of Guadeloupe. I was in charge of Irie during the calm periods, while Mark took care of her on the passages. For a moment we hoped to pull into Dominica for the night, but the >1 knot of current against us, made our progress over the ground much slower than over the water. With a reef in, we were still doing 6-7 knots, losing 1 knot to the current. By the time, we approached the lee of Dominica, it was 10pm and we decided to continue, dodging many container ships in the shipping lanes, 5 miles off shore. Thank you, AIS!

The passage between Dominica and Martinique was a rough one again. The sea was a bit more regular, but the wind was howling above 25 knots, constantly. Mark wanted to take a long night shift again and with two reefs in the main and a reefed jib, we were doing 8 knots… With 1 knot of current against us, still. Our new rigging was getting tested! Once in the lee of Martinique, gone was the wind and a bit of motoring had to be done.

Our initial goal was to drop anchor in the capital, Fort-de-France, but the memory of the more calm and pretty anchorage of Grand Anse d’Arlet enticed us to spend another hour under sail. We also hoped our friends from SV Imagine and SV Alianna would still be there, but as it turned out, they had just left three hours before our arrival! Friends or no friends, Mark and I were very happy to have arrived in a safe harbor after an exhausting sail of 44 hours and couldn’t wait to sleep and relax the next couple of days! We wished we would have been able to do a test sail with the new rigging before we left St. Martin, though…