Tuesday, April 27, 2010

These Hands

Years ago, I brought my daughter to work with me, as was the custom then (and perhaps now):  Bring Your Daughter to Work day.  When she came home, she let Jennifer know that she wanted my job, since all I did was walk around, talk on the phone, and move paper from one side of my desk to the other.  Then, as now, it’s clear that I didn’t use my hands very much in my “real-world” jobs.  Oh sure, I did the handyman thing around the house:  hanging drywall, painting ceilings and working the garden, but that was baby stuff compared to sailing fulltime.  The last 72 hours are a good microcosm.

We had arrived in Fatu Hiva, a small island in the southern Marquesas, a week or so ago.  These islands are volcanic, and rise steeply from the deep sea floor.  We anchored in 85 feet of water – which, to a sailor who cut his sea legs on the east coast of the U.S. is deep beyond experience.  In the Chesapeake Bay, or, for that matter, anywhere south of Maine, a typical anchorage might reach 20 feet or so … since the typical ratio of depth to anchor chain is 5 or 6 to 1, that means I’m used to letting out no more than 100-120 feet of line.  (It’s important to have the line angled, so that the anchor can grab horizontally into the mud; if the force were vertical, the anchor wouldn’t hold well).

So dropping anchor in 85 feet of water means you have to let out A LOT of chain; I only carry 300 feet, so I let out 275 feet, and prayed that the resulting angle would be acute enough to allow my anchor to set.   I was lucky; it set well.  However, then came the challenge of lifting 275 feet of anchor chain, along with a 50 pound anchor.  I have a windlass on my bow, which is a very powerful winch that can lift chain and anchor.  It’s powerful; the lights dim when it operates, since it draws so much battery power, and I need to have the engine operating when it’s lifting to assure an adequate supply of amps to the battery and windlass.  When we weighed anchor from  Fatu Hiva, the chain began to “jump” the windlass; the accumulated weight was so great that the chocks on the rotating winch were not able to grab the chain securely; as a result, the chain would slip back 3-4 links for every 8-10 links that passed thru the windlass.  I realized I could safely minimize this jumping if I placed my palm over top of the chain as it passed over the windlass gear; by pressing lightly, I could minimize the jumping.  All well and good, but I – not surprisingly in retrospect (but who thinks in retrospect) – rubbed my left palm a bit raw in my otherwise uneventful raising of the anchor.

Sailing north to Tahuata, a small island that enjoys the distinction of being the first landing of Captain Cook in these islands, we had the chance to raise sails and reef sails, requiring considerable handling of the lines.  As we had spent a week in Fatu Hiva, my hands were a bit tender (and the up anchoring didn’t help), so my fingers took a bit of a chafing as the lines passed back and forth.  We had a delightful but short time on Tahuata, attending Catholic mass in the small stone and wood “l’eglise” with an amazing stained glass representation of a Marquesas Madonna and child.  The Marquesans are musical people through and through, and, which lacking a choir (the island only has about 200 inhabitants), the congregation were well-practiced in multi-part harmonies, men and women, soprano and alto, with a wonderful overlapping set of round-like choruses.  It was a magical hour for me and Jennifer, and while we are hardly the world’s most observant Catholics, it reminded us of the power of faith, community, and the richness of shared rituals.  The mass was offered in Marquesan, a language with many vowels and few consonants, so the liturgy had a rolling feel to it, punctuated by those amazing harmonies.


Leaving Tahuata after mass for a 60 mile sail to Ua Poa, we managed to snag what turned out to be a 1.5 meter mahi-mahi, from which we eventually trimmed about 15 pounds of fresh fish.  Bringing this bull mahi-mahi onto the boat took over 45 minutes, with the fish fighting for every inch.  I’ve got 200 pound test line (we’re fishing for food, not sport), and with the boat sailing hard at 6-7 knots in 4-5 foot seas, I had to wait for each swell to pass under the fish, so that I could bring in a few more feet of line as it ‘surfed’ down the front of the swell.  Once at the boat, and with blisters on my thumbs from holding the pole and reeling in the line, we gaffed the fish onboard, and, another 45 minutes later, with minor cuts on my hands from the filleting process, we had 9 packages of 1.5 pounds of ocean fresh fish.  (The next day, we passed along a few packets to some sailors from the Pacific Northwest, en route on their own circumnavigation – of the Pacific, via Tahiti, Hawaii, and then home)

Last night, after anchoring at 10:00 pm in a new and tiny harbor whose entire length was cordoned off by a well-lit tug and two large dredging barges, we collapsed asleep.  My palm had begun to heal, but in a closed position … opening my palm was necessary and painful.  My thumbs were swollen and tired, and my by-now chronic carpel tunnel syndrome – first manifested in Panama, after our passage from the Bahamas, and a product of a lifetime of stiff three-finger typing and my recent rope handling, was a painful reminder that I no longer had a desk job. 

Waking up the next morning, under the spires on the island called Ua Poa, made it all worthwhile.  When my daughter arrives to visit us in either Tahiti, or Rarotonga in the Cook Islands, I just might ask her to come to work with me.  I’m walking around less; I don’t use the phone, and there’s no paper on my desk.  Maybe she still wants my job?

Monday, April 26, 2010

Just Enough

In his classic guide to the Pacific peoples, cultures, and various transformations, Douglas Oliver’s The Pacific Islanders comments on the work ethic of these islanders in the context of Western colonialists’ labor relations challenges:  “(Islanders) work routines had not conditioned them to the relentlessness or organized work under a foreign master, producing things they no use and for purposes they did not entirely comprehend … their relatively easy subsistence technologies satisfied all their needs, except for those things they wished to obtain from Westerners, and their desires for the latter were not impelling enough to overcome their reluctance to engage in steady plantation work.”  Later, he alludes to the same sentiment in explaining why there were so few native Pacific Islander business owners:  “in many places, the native growers made and sold  less when prices were high. Being not so devoted to acquisition for its own sacred sake, they made and sold only enough to fill the lamp with kerosene or the pipe with tobacco and worked for the morrow on the morrow.”

I see this today in these islands of the Marquesas, as we get to know the people and the land:  “just enough,” in a fertile land where fruit drops from trees and the yields are more than sufficient to support the population.  The fish are bountiful in these waters.  The roads and villages and houses are clean and well-kept, and shops close from 12 to 2 pm.  Schools run 4 days a week, 3 weeks a month, and 11 months a year.  Just enough.  Roads get extended it seems continuously, an ongoing jobs program, but it's also easier on the ubiquitous 4-wheel drives.  A restaurant is only open a few days a week, and only if you make prior arrangements.  The fruit ripens quickly, and picking too much is a waste.  The coconut tree lives for 80 years, and produces 50-60 coconuts a year.  The nuts provide water, food, and oil; a nut can float for months in sea water and germinate on a distant island after 3-4 years.   The leaves provide shelter, the husk provides cordage, and the scraped out shells are turned into bowls and utensils.  Make the most of just enough.

Before anyone fishes a shoreline or bay, you need permission; likewise cutting a tree or clearing an area.  Permission is granted to the extent the proposed activity would not interfere with the morrow’s need.  Resource use, land planning, and conservation:  just enough.  Water spigots in the public parks which tend to line the well-kept beaches are free; people come and fill their 100 gallon tubs daily, and the presence of the spigots limits the endless tapping of aquifers on each and every property.

Easy to do, it seems, on remote islands with many more natural resources than people.    Captain James Cook, one of history’s greatest sea captains and explorers, described these islands:  “All these articles the Earth almost spontaneously produces or at least they are raised with very little labour, in the article of food these people may be said to be almost exempt from the curse of our fore fathers; scarcely can it be said that they earn their bread with the sweat of their brow, benevolent nature hath not only supply’d them with necessarys but with abundance of superfluities.”  (sic)

All of which is not to say these islanders don’t sweat their brows; everywhere on Fatu Hiva we saw people working, children going to school, and the houses and surrounding grounds were well-kept with gardens everywhere.  It’s a small village at the mouth of a small river that collects rain from peaks soaring 1500 feet all around; the breakwater protects a handful of fishing boats – aluminum it turns out, though there are plenty of traditional wooden outrigger boats as well, many recently fitted with a small wooden plate for the small outboard motor.  Mark, a local sculptor whose pieces sell in Tahitian art galleries, lives in a small house down one of the short paved side streets, just before you get to Chez Katie’s house, where Katie serves traditional Marquesan feasts 2-3 nights a week.  Mark specializes in stone, wood, and bone carvings, and we got to know him and his wife over the course of our time there.  He has 7 children, several of whom are in France studying, and where most of the island works on a barter system (no bank on the island), Mark deals only in cash – he needs the money to support his kids’ education.  Katie accepts barter; wine is in demand these days, as everyone is stockpiling for the month-long celebration that originally revolved around Bastille Day, but has since evolved into a purely-Polynesian experience that happens to end on or around Bastille Day.


We worked just enough in Fatu Hiva to make the trek to the top of the crest overlooking the bay; that’s our catamaran in the distance, framed by the towering pillars that gave this Bay its original French name:  Baie de Verges, or Bay of Penises (no joke).  The missionaries were offended, so they added a letter – Baie de Vierges, or Bay of Virgins (again, no joke).  The locals call it Hanavave Bay.

On the way down, we made a detour to the towering waterfall about 3 km. into the jungle-like rainforest.  We swam just enough to cool our bodies, started to eat some bread that turned out to be moldy (no preservatives in the bakeries here!), and then returned to town to visit some Mark, Katie, and Katie’s mari (husband), Serge.

Mark works hard – but makes sure he goes fishing when he needs to refill his larders.  Not too often; just enough.  Katie works hard, and her husband Serge also seems to work hard – although truth be told, he seems most interested in playing his small collection of stringed instruments.  I managed to write a song centered on the concept of “mana” – described by some as the non-human spirit-like force that sits above the specific deities common across many Pacific cultures.  Serge – playing a mandolin tuned to a ukulele (though here he's trying my travel guitar)  -- and I managed to hammer out a melody to my lyrics, with Katie translating the English into French.   We worked on the song just enough for me to record the melody and Serge’s fine instrumentals.  The chords are simple (a ukulele is a simple instrument – just enough to accompany the tropical chords).

Just enough.   It’s a difficult concept for me to embrace fully; I’m used to doing everything I can, and then some.  Anything worth doing is worth doing to excess, as the saying goes.  But in these islands, with their abundant gifts, “just enough” seems to strike a balance that keeps ‘mana’ – and the islanders -- happy.   And Jennifer, with her hand on the pregnant belly of the tiki standing at the harbor entrance in HanaHave, is also happy -- filled with 'mana' and thoughts of our kids.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Ma’ae Iipona, Hiva Oa



Yesterday, we booked a driver to take us on an all day tour of the island.   The arrangements were easy.  Our taxi driver from the dinghy dock to the town, Marie-Jo, turned out, in addition to running a taxi service, to run a laundry service and excursion tours.  Her husband Jean was our guide for the day.  A lovely French couple, joining their daughter who was vacationing from Bora Bora (who knew one took vacations FROM Bora Bora?), joined us for the day.

Our main destination was the Me’ae Iipona near the small town of Puamau.  It was a three-hour drive over a mix of paved and dirt roads, up and down and around points of land, to get there. Along the way, we stopped at one breathtaking view after another, as well as several of the small fishing villages that punctuate some bays at the bottom of a valley.  (Several hundred years ago, each tribe “owned” a valley – separated from their “neighbors” by the steep slopes of the mountains.  I say “neighbors,” because these were war-like people at the time, and raided each other routinely, killing and eating their victims.  The Marquesas were the last bastion of cannibalism  – more later, when I describe the Me-ae.)


 The island is covered in steep volcanic mountains that are covered in lush green and the shore is lined with jagged black basalt cliffs and has many inlets reflecting the path of the once flowing lava.  The ocean breeze and higher altitude of the mountains kept the air cool and it was scented with the fragrance of the flora.

There were peaks that stood out alone, ridges that curved in semi circles reflecting the craters that they once were, and many hairpin turns along the way.  We were told that about 2,000 people live on the island in total, and so the occasional small village would appear in a valley along the shoreline.  It is easy to imagine how the original Marquesans, though living on a small island, could be relatively isolated from each other.  Even today, the road is not completely paved and requires a four-wheel vehicle to navigate.  The paths within the villages are used by people, horses and goats.


We visited a small farm where bananas were dried and sold in small bundles that would last for two months.  Bananas are in abundance here, but they are one fruit boaters tend to avoid because they go bad quickly on boats and they often have gnats.  Drying seemed a good solution.  Fish was also drying, and we decided we’ll try this the next time we have a fresh catch.

We stopped at a beach at the end of one of the bays, inhabited by a few dozen people living in well-appointed houses, and making their living off copra and fishing, where the sand was black and the shore was lined with small black basalt rocks that were speckled with bleach white coral fragments.  It wasn’t just the beauty of this place that captivated us; it was the peacefulness, remoteness and the absence of man made noises.  We all could have stayed the rest of the day.  But there was more to see.



Just above the town of Puamau, we arrived at Me’ae Iipona.  A me’ae is a ceremonial site used for rituals, celebrations and human sacrifices.  Iipona has the largest tiki in all of Polynesia.  (Tikis are carved stone statues of and to the gods.)  The story behind this site is that that the Naiki tribe captured the chief of a neighboring tribe, they sacrificed him and then ate him.   In revenge, the neighboring tribe routed the Naiki and they were vanquished.   (Some went to neighboring islands; eventually, some sailed to Easter Island (!), where there are tikis that sit among the larger stone statues as a result of this extraordinary migration by outrigger canoe.)  The conquerors then transformed the defeated chief’s residence and properties into a ma’ae.  Today, the Polynesians seem among the most gentle people on Earth.  It’s hard to imagine that they were warring cannibals not that long ago.


The ma’ae is where the chief and priest of the village would live; little of consequence could happen in these villages without the blessing of both, whether it was the cutting of a tree or the taking of a harvest or a marriage.  Offerings to each were the norm; including crops, fish, and, yes, the occasional human.  The ma’ae consists of several platforms, each higher than the next, with the sacred tikis on the top level.   The chief kept his hut there, as did the priest; a fire burned continuously, tended by one of the lower caste members of the tribe.  This site is unusually large and well-preserved; others are scattered throughout the islands, and every village boasted a ma’ae.  In addition, this site has a number of smaller tikis, including a rare prone tiki, with a llama carved at its base.  Llama?


After the ma’ae, we were treated to a wonderful lunch in Puamau.  The restaurant, owned by a young couple, was delightful.  The wife served shrimp and rice in a coconut sauce, raw snapper in grated mango, warmed papaya, guava and banana, and breadfruit.  All washed down with fresh mango juice.  Meanwhile, the husband played an electrical piano and sang Marquesan and French songs.  It was perfect.   A local woman came by as we ended the meal; legend has it that her great-grandmother was married to Paul Gauguin.  I think Mr. Gauguin had many wives when he lived here.

While eating, several people passed by on horseback, which is still a primary means of transportation.  Jon could not resist photographing this young boy on his way to the beach with his boogie board.  This was a holiday week for the school kids and they all seemed to be enjoying it.  We were told that the kids only have one month of vacation in the summer, but that they get one week of school off about every month and only went to school Monday through Thursday.



The drive back to Atuona was just as beautiful and took the rest of the afternoon.  We were all tired, but those who rode in the back of the truck were particularly exhausted as they had the bumpiest ride.  This morning we awoke to a small rain shower followed by a rainbow over the bay and nearby mountain.


It was the perfect goodbye gift for Stephen and Guita, who left us today.  They are going to spend a week in Nuku Hiva before flying to Tahiti and then back home to California.  Jon and I will go south to Fatu Hiva for a few days before heading north to Nuku Hiva and perhaps catching up with them before they are off.  It’s hard to believe that our 3 months together is over.  It passed so quickly and we’ll miss them.  They were wonderful shipmates.  Now, Jon and I will be on our own as we head downwind to the Tuomotus, Tahiti, the Cook Islands, and beyond.


Thursday, April 15, 2010

Nous Sommes Arrivons

After 21 days at sea, we arrived at Hiva Oa, one of the southern islands in the Marquesas.  These islands are roughly halfway between South America and Australia, and are, I’m told, the most remote area on earth relative to other continents.  These are volcanic islands of recent origin, mountainous and jagged, with peaks up to 3000 feet, shrouded daily in clouds.  The bay we’re in – just off the small town of Atuona – is the flooded crater of an ancient volcano.


Just after we arrived, we helped a fellow cruiser raise his anchor, and scraped off a dense layer of soaked dusty basalt, sticky and sulfurous-smelling.  The bay itself is reasonably well protected, and looks up at tightly-spaced vertical ridgelines and a lush mix of trees, shrubs, and flowering plants.  We could smell the offshore drifting of the fresh and lovely scent of the flora as we passed along the southern cliffs.


It was a rather straight forward passage; headed southwest for a few days from the Galapagos to pick up the trade winds, and then rode the trade winds emanating from the southeast now that we’re south of the equator, for the next few weeks, before encountering lighter winds from the east.  A few modest squalls, a few days of crossing swells that made for bumpy sailing, but for the most past, it was set the sails and let the autopilot do its job. Some lovely sunsets as well!  

And can we give it up for the Furuno autopilot?  It steered our modest little vessel continuously for three weeks, making constant adjustments to our rudder so that we stayed on the proverbial straight-and-narrow.  Without it, we’d have been hand-steering the boat, demanding a constant vigil as the boat carved S-turns up, over, and down the endless procession of swells.  It’s been done, to be sure, and I’ve done more than my share of hand steering on long voyages – both before the days of reliable autopilots, and in that interregnum period when they were unreliable.   It might seem to non-sailors that autopilots are “cheating,” and in the “old school” sense, one can make that case, but few from the cruising or racing communities begrudge this innovation.  I don’t.

Most everything proceeded to plan on our passage; the constant seas slapping the southern sides of our two hulls revealed that the vent for our washing machine was not high enough:  every wave managed to squeak one or two drops to and over the top of the vent.  Over a few weeks, this collected in our bilges, setting our starboard bilge alarm off.  Faithful readers may recall we have had bilge alarm issues on our port side; the beep-beep-beep of the starboard alarm created an intense but brief search for the source of the water; a simple plug for the top of the vent solved the issue.

We also spent a fair amount of time fishing, with my brother Stephen taking the lead.  We managed a few small mahi mahi, and lost several rigs to fish larger than we wanted.  We also managed to retrieve one fishhook back, bent considerably by the teeth of something rather large.    Just over halfway here, we had a curious encounter revolving around boats’ proclivity to fish.

One day, just as we were setting a second reef into our main (the wind having picked up to about 20-25 knots), an albatross appeared out of nowhere and drifted around our boat for a few minutes.  These birds carry many connotations to sailors, with opinion divided on whether they are good or bad omens.  In either event, they are viewed auspiciously,

Not three hours later, we spotted another sailboat on our stern, which, it turned out, had seen us three hours earlier (being forward-looking types).  The boat’s name?  Albatross.  Being as to how we were each the first boat seen by the other in about two weeks, we established radio contact, and not a day later, still in touch, our fellow travelers (from South Africa, on their way to New Zealand), caught a large sailfish – about 5 feet long.

Consistent with sailing traditions, they rang us up on the VHF, and offered to share some of the fish with us, mid-ocean.  After a bit of maneuvering, we came alongside, about 50 feet apart, and I tossed them a line attached to a bag (containing a reciprocal gift of a nice bottle of Georgian wine).  Retrieving the line a few minutes later, we were delighted to see four huge sailfish steaks, enough for four meals.  Into the freezer they went, and we stayed in daily touch with our new friends via Ham radio for the balance of our trip.  Here, in Hiva Oa, we are anchored alongside Rob, Ruth, and Jon, a delightful gang of sailors.

Another part of our day's activities included weather watching; in addition to a gorgeous double rainbow, we spent many evenings stargazing at the Southern constellations, including the Southern Cross, and Scorpio laid out in all its glory.  Jennifer and Guita would often lay on their back, on the helm station bench, and look upward; a number of shooting stars, and planetary sightings (Venus brilliant in the sun-setting western sky) were highlights.

For most of our trip, we spent most of our waking time, whether on watch or not, reading.  I managed to get through about a dozen books, including a nice mix of serious and light, fact and fiction.  Sociological tomes on the history of the South Pacific, including the devastating impact of missionaries, traders, and explorers, reminded me that the islands we are now set to explore have been subject to outside influences since the days of Captain Cook.  Polynesians were making multi-thousand miles sailing trips to other islands when Europeans were still hugging the coastlines and congratulating themselves for crossing the Mediterranean.  Their cultures nearly disappeared altogether by the Second World War, with its island-hopping armies and navies laying siege to coral atolls and mountainous islands.  Somehow, though, most islands retain a sense of historical identity, and we hope to explore them over the next 6 months.

The Marquesas are functionally divided into two sets:  the northern, with three primary islands -- Nuku Hiva, Ua Pou, and Ua Huka; and the southern set, with Hiva Oa (where we are now,) and Fatu Hiva.  In a few days, having notionally cleared into French Polynesia (the “real” clearance occurs when we arrive in Tahiti, in a few months), we will sail to Fatu Hiva, a large island without an airport, without internet, and one of the most untouched and un-Westernized islands in this small archipelago.  Tomorrow we take a day tour of Hiva Oa and its many pre-colonial ma’ae sites (where the priests could communicate with the gods, and vice versa), its tikis (monuments to various gods), and its post-colonial attractions, including Paul Gauguin’s and Jacques Brels’ graves, both of whom came here and died here, having fallen in love with the land and the people.

We’re looking forward to our continuing “letting-go” of things Western.  It’s largely a barter economy down there, and we’ll be anchored in one of the world’s most picturesque bays, flanked by two huge pillars of stone. 

After the Marquesas, we sail 600 miles southwest to the Tuomotus, or the “dangerous islands.” These low-lying atolls will be a sharp departure from these jagged peaks known as the Marquesas; there, the palm tree is the highest point of any island, and there, the people are even more isolated.  They make their living growing coconuts (for copra), and raising cultured black pearls.  We’re halfway across the Pacific, and from to Australia, it’s one small island grouping after another:  Marquesas, Tuomotus, Societies, Cook Islands, Tonga, Fiji, Vanoatu, and beyond.  We’re only scratching the surface – many more island groups lie off our intended path – both northward and westward.  It’s tempting to try and stay here for years; for now, we’re focusing on this little jewel called Hiva Oa, in this little volcanic outcropping called the Marquesas. 

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Expected Landfall

IDG expects to anchor off the island of Hiva Oa on Wednesday morning, completing a 21-day passage from the Galapagos Islands to the Marquesas. The Marquesas are part of French Polynesia but lie approximately 850 miles northeast of the largest and most popular island: Tahiti. IDG plans to spend the next couple months meandering around French Polynesia and exploring the many islands. I expect after decompressing for a couple days, the crew of IDG will post pictures and regale us with stories of their 3-week passage.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Happy Easter from ile de Grace Crew!

Spoke with them tonight and all sounds good. Apparently they had contact with another catameran who shared 10lbs of sailfish steaks. Must have been nice to know they aren't so alone out there!

If y'all haven't already I strongly suggest tracking them on: http://www.pangolin.co.nz/yotreps/tracker.php?ident=WDF2670
You can really see the progress they are making day-to-day...and just how out there they really are.

Via e-mail this morning:

At 0130, we're at 6 degrees 28 minutes South and 116 degrees 38 minutes West. Our speed overground is 7.7 knots and we're 1330 miles from the Marquesas. Almost 2/3 the way there.

Hope all is well with the readers and hope everyone had a wonderful Easter.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

It's a Big Ocean; Thank Goodness for Snacks

As faithful readers are aware, sailing a boat across the world's largest ocean - any ocean in fact - is a full-time job. The boat just keeps going and going, and since one of my two basic rules on a boat is to not hit anything, it's pretty important that someone be dimly awake all the time. Not to say that there aren't boats who sail without someone on watch (we've only seen on boat in the last five days), but it's just better all around if someone is up. The autopilot works fine in steering the boat to a compass heading, but the wind can pick, necessitating a change in sails, etc.

Thank goodness for snacks. Waking at midnight , or two am, or four am - or even, sometimes waking at noon after an early am watch, is no small feat somedays, and for me at least, a small pack of Oreos goes a long way to making the transition. Of course, I miss my beloved Kit Kats, my long time snack of choice. I believe it's the 75th anniversary year of Kit Kats - a little-known fact brought to my attention by Jennifer's thoughtful purchase of the commemorative edition of the famous Kt Kat during an airport layover recently. But I digress.

We have a small armamentarium of snacks on board - everything from hard candies to the bland ginger cookies that work well in settling stomachs suffering mal de mer. We have chips, cheeses, crackers, and no shortage of candy bars that seem to be able to survive the tropical heat. There's a bowl we have sitting out with these various treats, and we were fortunate to replenish some dwindling supplies in the Galapagos. For this passage, Oreos are becoming the snack du jour, and we bought a number of boxes containing the proverbial 4-cookie "lunch pack."

One such pack is never enough for me; I start and finish my night watches with a pack, and wash it all down with the other critical element of blue-water passage making: the low-calorie flavored powder known as C-Lite, which comes in many flavors. These packs flavor a liter of water - each of us has a Nalgene for personal drinking - and the favorite flavor is lemon. In the Galapagos you often face a limited choice, so I made the mistake of overstocking the pineapple flavor, which does not sit well with the crew. Luckily, Jennifer, on the aforementioned layover, also stocked up on lemon.

I miss my Kit Kats, but I'm glad for the Oreos. It's a big ocean.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Updated Location

Current position as of 0700Z 4/2/10 is:

5 degrees 54 minutes south
110 degrees 46 minutes west

We are averaging 7.5 knots, and making 180 mile days consistently ... lovely tradewind sailing.


http://www.pangolin.co.nz/yotreps/tracker.php?ident=WDF2670

Be sure to check that website daily for a map with pins on their locations. Now that the Ham Radio is working 100% (keeping our fingers crossed it continues to work!) they are able to update their position daily.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Location Update

As of 4:19am EST IDG is located at: 5.37 South and 108.08 West. I believe IDG set a new 24-hour distance record for their voyage so far with 202 miles covered in one 24-hour span. News via HAM radio says they have seen 3 sharks, including one 8-footer passing close to the boat. Fishing is going well and everyone is enjoying the fair winds and strong sailing. Another 12-13 days to go at the least before they reach the Marquesas.