by Alma – A Year and a Day

Whales Doing Whale Things

–by Alma

I’m down below reading my book when Arlo looks down the companionway and yells, “Whales doing whale things!” I run up on deck, and true enough, I see spouts all around us. They’re breaching and then diving deep down, showing us their flukes, each with a distinct pattern of white and black on the underside. Suddenly we see one launch itself straight up, mouth opening around a school of fish.

A humpback whale works the perimeter of a school of herring. Other whales are below the herring, creating a net of bubbles around it.

Here, half a dozen whales emerge from the depths, mouths open to scoop up the herring they’ve herded together.

Like the last two summers here in Alaska, the three weeks that we’ve spent sailing south from Petersburg have been full of wildlife. Despite the fact that we are on a boat, we’ve seen all sorts of fascinating land animals. One day we were rowing ashore when my dad looked up and said, “that’s some sort of canine.” Just a few yards from the beach, we looked up only to realize that it was lupine. We watched the wolf for about five minutes as it walked along the shore watching us. At one point it sat down, observing us as we were it. Eventually we landed the dingy, and it ran up into the woods. Ashore, we saw many lines of tracks running up and down the beach in the hard packed sand.

Each paw print measured five inches long, prompting us to remind each other that the bear spray we all carried worked on wolves too, should the need arise.

The stick is just over five inches long.

In addition to the wolf, we have seen bears looking for mussels along the rocky shores, we’ve seen deer, and then there was an odd one. We were walking along the beach at coronation island when we heard the most bizarre noise. It was a combination of a bark, a warbled screech, and a donkey braying, if you can imagine what that might sound like. We came to a little stream and looked up it to see two birds that resembled oversize Great Blue Herons. When they saw us they went up into the woods, continuing to make their strange call. I had never realized that there was an animal capable of making a sound like that, but there they were—Sandhill Cranes!

In addition to the land animals, we have of course seen many sea mammals. There have been otters carrying babies, Dahl’s porpoises playing under our bow, and seals that pop their heads up as we row by, as well as the magnificent whales. Despite the hundreds of whales we have seen over the years, we can still get blown away when we see them. They breach, sometimes propelling their entire body out of the water and landing in a huge splash.

This humpback breached 36 times before we stopped counting and sailed on. It was breaching about ten times each minute, and ten minutes later when we’d left it a mile behind us, we could see that it was still going strong.

The whales also work together to bubble net and pull the schools of fish tighter and tighter until they shoot straight up right in the middle, mouths open to catch the fish only to sink back down and do it again.

Here in Alaska it seems like if you just watch in any direction for long enough you’ll see something that you never could have guessed you would see. We have no idea what we’ll see as we head down through British Columbia to Puget Sound, but we expect it will be spectacular!

We’ll leave you with this awesome video Arlo took. Enjoy!

Our gymnastic whale.

Hawaii to Alaska, the last installment

Alma checks for “targets,” or ships, in the fog.

6/25

Day 15
From the log:
Grey, cold. Grey, cloud blanket, cold. Overcast and cold.
Maddy climbs the ratlines and notes, No whales. Some birds.

6/26
Day 16
Caitlin
We’re eating all our meals on deck again. Three days of cold north headwinds had been keeping everyone but the watch stander below decks for breakfast and lunch. But even now that it’s a bit warmer with southerly winds from astern, we still need about 10 minutes to dress for dinner. And I’m not talking about powdering noses and slipping into something lovely.

Going on deck in the evening and, especially for night watch, is time consuming. By the time I’m on deck I’m wearing wool long underwear, and extra base layer top, a fleece sweatshirt—hood up to protect my ears, fleece pants, an insulated jacket, a fleece neck gaiter, a wool hat, and insulated gloves. Then the exposure suit. As Jason has pointed out, the exposure suits—basically full-body float suits—render us about as nimble as toddlers bundled in snowsuits. And what would a watch standing kit be without two pairs of wool socks, Xtra Tuff rubber boots and a harness?

We’re sailing–toes cold despite being all bundled up—on a broad reach toward Kodiak and all is well.

6/27
Day 17
Caitlin
Woo hoo! Wing and wing downwind at 7-8 knots! And for a moment we saw blue sky! Longing for hot showers.

Alma
Tomorrow is mom’s birthday! If we go at least seven knots, then we could get in to Kodiak Town tomorrow, but that probably won’t happen, so we will probably go into a cove further south or heave to and wait to go in till morning. Either way, we are making linzer torte for mom’s birthday!

Arlo looking at land for the first time in 18 days!

6/28
Day 18
Caitlin
Jason woke me for my watch at 0245 and told me to listen. Whale songs and whale squeaks. There was nothing else it could be. The sounds were with us for an hour or two, but we never saw whales—were they nearby or dozens of miles away?

It’s my birthday today. We celebrated at lunch on deck with a linzertorte, lovely cards and handmade items—necklaces, lanyards, poems—and the promise of a drink ashore soon. We were sailing 6 knots in a thick fog and over the course of the afternoon the fog just got thicker. We posted a bow watch. Finally, as dinnertime approached and blue sky appeared and slowly bled down to the misty horizon, we all saw it at once – the outline of Kodiak Island.

A little over 30 years ago, after a 17-day passage across the Atlantic, I sighted the island of Flores in the Azores on my 14th birthday. We’re in Alaskan waters now, being escorted toward safe harbor by albatross, a variety of storm petrels, shearwaters, auklets and puffins. There’s something perfect happening today.

Dinner saw us all on deck again as we glided at 6 knots wing and wing toward Kodiak. And then the humpabacks joined us, playing, waving their long pectoral fins to welcome us, breaching, breaching again and bigger, over and over.
The sun set at 2200. Maddy sailed us into Chiniak Bay. Midnight came and went with sunset colors still in the sky. Jason and I took Debonair into an open cove, waking up some sleeping otters (I kid you not) at 0120, which brings us to . . .

6/29
Day 19
All
We dropped anchor in still water at 0130. For each of us, this our first time in Alaska. It’s so perfectly quiet.

Thanks for following us on our passage. We’ll post pictures from Kodiak Town soon.

Hawaii to Alaska, Part 3

6/18
Day 8

ALMA
This afternoon a tanker came into view. My mom saw it pop up on the AIS screen, and then we saw it on the horizon. The tanker was called “Shergar,” or something like that. We got them on the radio, and they altered their course to leave just over a mile between them and us. Later, I called them on the radio and found out that they are coming from China, bound for the U.S., via the Panama Canal, and they’re carrying gas.

I used to be really nervous using the VHF radio—I didn’t even want to talk with our friends over the radio because I was worried about using proper marine radio etiquette. Now I’m still nervous, but I can get over it.

Editor’s note: Not only did Alma handle the radio beautifully, the officer on the Shergar also complimented her on her courage, telling her, “You are very brave to be out in this ocean on such a little boat.” I can only imagine how small 43’ Debonair looked from the bridge of a 1000’ tanker.

6/19
Day 9

JASON
Once in a while everything comes together and the boat just goes. It almost doesn’t seem to matter what we do, she just goes and goes. Today was one of those days. We were beam reaching and broad reaching and the breeze was up a bit, but not especially so. It built gradually through the day, and as it did, we gradually reduced sail. We switched the bigger jib for the smaller. Later we took a reef in the main. Eventually we took in the staysail. Finally we took another reef in the main. By sunset we were sailing with the smaller jib, the double reefed main and the mizzen, and Debonair just kept flying along. The sea wasn’t up, so we weren’t surfing or pounding, we were just driving along on a rail. We did eight knots regularly, nine often, and we even saw ten a few times. That’s wicked fast for Debonair. It makes us feel a little giddy.

This is a long passage. We have to string together so many days of keeping the boat moving to get there. Sometimes it’s hard. The wind is light and flukey, or stronger but on the nose. This one day, any one day, doesn’t get us there. This day moves us closer though. More importantly maybe, it’s the spirit of a good day like this that we can hold onto and remember when we’re slogging into a headwind, or flogging around in the calms.

Editor’s note: in the 24 hour period from 6AM, 6/19 to 6AM, 6/20 we averaged seven and a half knots, and sailed 180 nautical miles. As far as we know it’s our fastest day ever.

6/20
Day 10

MADDY
Sailing during the day is everything that I am used to, and it is exciting, especially with days like yesterday when we are cruisin’ at top speed. But sailing at night! That is new and different from what I am used to, and new and different each time I come up for watch. In random and unorganized fashion, here are some of my musings from various recent night watches (warning, I get all poetical…):
-The stars populated the sky with surprising density as the bioluminescence glowed in the wake. As above, so below. The horizon warmed with the promise of moonlight, but as the near-full moon rose and shimmered off the water’s surface, so faded the glimmering specks of heaven and water, only visible under the blanketed darkness of the moonless sky.

-The full moon was bright and glorious, the clouds drifted in and out, the waves and wind whispered gently, and the night was content.

-The night wrapped its grip around the already gray swampy air that we clawed our way through. Unseen birds sang eerie tunes and foghorns from nearby ships pulsated through the thick air.

-Sail Maneuvers! Jumping and hopping around the deck and cockpit keeps the blood warm and the time passing. Now a puff, now a lift, now 5 knots in the right direction! Next a big lull and the chatter of birds, laughing at my misfortune. Now the waves lapping gently, now the soft hush of the vessel slipping forward, now a heavy silence while I wait, thousands of miles from anything, for the next something to come along.

CAITLIN
Less trash, more tankers and a lot more fog.

6/21
Day 11

ALMA
It’s the summer solstice today! But it’s not the day on which we’ll see the most sunlight. Because we are going north, we will keep getting longer days even after the solstice. I think that’s really cool! Our days have already gotten noticeably longer—when we left Hawaii the sun was rising at 6 a.m.
and now it’s rising at 4:40 a.m.

It’s also getting noticeably colder! Right now I’m down below in wool socks, fleece slippers, fleece pants, a wool shirt and a fleece sweatshirt.

ARLO
As the days have gotten longer, the weather has gotten colder. I did not fish for the past two days because of the cold—the prospect of cleaning a fish in the cold is immensely unappealing. I suppose it’s just something to get used to though.

According to the weather files, there is a front coming through in several days, which may contain some bad weather. But it’s alright—today we had some good sailing and if we keep up our current rate of progress we should be in Kodiak about a week from now. Knock on wood.

6/22
Day 12

JASON
Yesterday we saw seven ships. We only saw one in person actually, because it was so foggy. Six ships showed up on our AIS receiver. Some of them we wouldn’t have known were there if not for the AIS. They’d have passed by out in the murk and we’d have been unaware. Others though had their foghorns going, and we heard them from miles away. These loud deep tones carry over the water and penetrate through the sounds of wind and waves and even the engine. Yes, it’s spooky. The shroud of fog reduces our world to a small little circle of water around us and the low moaning horns come from some unknown ship somewhere out there.

This evening just in time for dinner, we sailed out of the fog and out from under a huge ocean of clouds. We sat in the cockpit with bowls of hot risotto. It was cold out, but we were all happy. The blue of the sky was shocking after so long without it. The sun didn’t appear much, but it’s light shone through and brought color to the clouds and sky. The pinks and oranges were sweet after the days of monochromatic gray.

6/23
Day 13

CAITLIN
Water temperature is 53 degrees, air temperature during the day is the same. It’s colder at night and almost always damp.
Anything you see at in this immense sea feels so unlikely, feels like such crazy chance. This morning two almost impossibly unlikely events occurred. First, Jason looked out at the waves to decide if we could raise sail and there, floating a hundred yards away was a perfect green blown-glass Japanese fishing float. When we maneuvered closer, Alma leaned way over the side and snagged the line knotted around the glass and pulled it aboard. It’s a big one, probably older than anyone on this boat. Jason and Arlo spent an hour cleaning it, scraping away many pounds of gooseneck barnacles and translucent tunicates.
The second random event actually happened first: sometime during the night while we were motoring across a glassy sea with all three head sails furled on deck, we were inked. Really, it’s the only explanation we can come up with for the dried splats and pools of grey-brown ink splashed across all three headsails, and especially on our spankin’ new working jib. So while Jason and Arlo scrubbed the glass fishing float, Maddy unhanked the jib and then she and I tackled it with bleach water and scrub brushes.
I know, scrubbing squid ink from sails? We’re imagining an albatross scooping up a squid, the ink falling across our bowsprit and sails as the albatross flies away. Or a squid leaping across the bowsprit and inking on its way. We have found squid on our deck along with flying fish, so it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds. Either way, it must have been a very big squid, given the amount of ink. If you have another explanation, let us know. And come see our green glass trophy sometime in Alameda next winter.

6/24
Day 14

JASON
A high pressure system has finally developed here. The trouble is it’s developed right over us, leaving us in the middle of a broad windless stretch in the middle. We managed to sail through the night last night–slowly, and not always in the right direction. Now we’re motorsailing a little faster, and in the right direction. We only have so much fuel though, and it’s still quite a ways to Kodiak, and this big broad calm spot is, well . . . broad. We’ve looked at the forecast and calculated our fuel remaining and our fuel needed, and while it’s tight, it’s OK. We’ve got to just settle in and keep going, motoring when we have to, sailing when we can, and waiting a day or two for the high to pass over us and the favorable winds on the other side to start helping us on our way again. It’s days like this we can think back on the faster days (and the warmer days!) and remember that exhilarating feeling of the boat really sailing hard, and remember that it takes all these days, faster and slower, warmer and colder, to get us where we’re going.

Current position update: 6/24 1600 hours 48* 40’N, 152* 05’W

Hawaii to Alaska, Part 2

DAY 3 6/13/19

-- Maddy, Guest blogger
The first time I went out so sea, it took 3 days. The first day I was so enamored of the shrinking coastline in the wake of our ship that I didn’t even feel it come on. I just suddenly went running for the rail, then sank sheepishly down amidships beside my fellow seasick shipmates. Day two, I was good for nothing, and dragged myself about my meager business, and by day three I could not only contemplate but actually consume food. That was 20 years and thousands of miles ago, yet I have not rid myself of the condition, and in the same way that one anticipates the initial plunge into icy-cold water during a polar swim, I had been simultaneously excited for my voyage and dreading the first 3 days.

Day one went about as expected. We set off in a glorious breeze with the northernmost island of Hawaii fading to a speck on the horizon behind us. No sooner were all the sails set when I began to feel the familiar churn in my belly. I had opted not to take any meds and promptly employed the universal cure: sleep. I woke. I ate part of a meal. I stood watch. I sat watch. I slapped myself awake. I poured myself into my bunk. Day two I awoke feeling better, but not quite with my legs beneath me. Below decks was still a struggle and as the vessel lurched my mind lurched with regret. Why am I doing this? 3 meals today. Long nap. No dishes. Watch. One more day gone, how many left?

Today I woke with more of a spring in my step and for the first time since Hawaii, humor in my heart. Day three, the first day of the rest of my voyage. I’m not quite 100%, but I’m past the worst and ready to be both a pleasant companion and a more functional member of the crew. Somewhere between the depths of yesterday and the beaming dawn of my new horizon, I questioned most everything in my world, not least of all my decision to be out here. But when I reflect on that decision, I notice that it was the easiest one I have made in a long time. The rolling of the vessel is eased by the steadiness of the crew, and I feel at home as a welcome, if temporary, part of the Debonair family. Today we are motoring, tomorrow we may find wind. Who knows what each new dawn will bring. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

DAY 4 6/15/19

--Alma
We came very close to Malie Ka Kai, a sailboat whose crew we met in Kauai!! We were so close we could shout across to them. That is the first time we have ever seen another sailboat at sea, and it was very exciting! We offered them fish, but they already had Mahi Mahi aboard. Arlo just caught a huge Ono (Wahoo), maybe 3.5’ long. Sadly, my mom had already made dinner, but we’ll be eating a lot of fish over the next few days.

DAY 5 6/16/19
Current position: 32 43 N, 156 48 W

--Caitlin
We are seeing more evidence of humans on this passage than we have on others. In our first couple of days at sea we passed two or three fishing boats and many plastic fishing buoys, presumably connected to nets. And while we haven’t seen fish boats in the last three days, we did cross paths with that sailboat and yesterday we saw a lone airplane move across the sky. But what has been most remarkable—and disheartening—is the trash we’ve been sailing through. We started seeing trash our second day out and each day we sailed by more. Yesterday it was everywhere—you couldn’t look out across the water without seeing several hunks of plastic—there was lots of netting and other detritus from fishing vessels, a few large fish aggregating devices that had gotten loose, bits of polypropylene rope, a blue plastic barrel with a whole ecosystem growing around it. Sometimes there was something recognizable from our land life, like the handle of an umbrella ora toothbrush, but most of the flotsam was unrecognizable bits of pale plastic, lots of fingernail sized pieces, lots of palm sized pieces, many bigger chunks too. We don’t know how this garbage patch relates to the much talked of Pacific Garbage Patch, reported to be the size of Texas, but we can report that there’s a whole mess of plastic in this part of our ocean. Luckily by first light this morning, it seemed like we might be out of the worst of that particular mess. Dawn is coming earlier as we travel north, and by 4:30 a.m. I could see masses of By the Wind Sailors, which look like little plastic bubbles of sails—half an inch to three inches tall—but which are really a colony of tiny organisms that live, feed and sail together. And then at our Father’s Day breakfast celebration—Arlo made poisson cru and biscuits and cut pomelos--a pod of dolphins started leaping about.

DAY 6 6/17/19

--Caitlin & Jason
In the week since we left Hawaii, the changing season combined with our steady progress nearly straight North has added about an hour to the time between sunrise and sunset. Sunset comes later now and after dinner in the cockpit we sit in the low light a while reading Margaret Murie’s Two in the Far North before doing dishes. By the time we get to Alaska there will be no complete darkness at night, sunset and sunrise will be just a few hours apart. That change in light comes with a recent drop in temperature, especially at night. Scooting along at 6 knots in a 10 knot breeze this afternoon, the cold damp air, our fleece jackets and the late low light reminded us that we are indeed heading for Alaska. Caitlin says to Jason, Isn’t it kind of surreal? Isn’t it sort of preposterous that we hoisted sails on this little wooden boat and decided we could sail to Alaska? What makes us think we could do that? Sail across this big North Pacific with its Albatross and turtles and dolphins and big winds and big calms all the way to this place called Alaska where we’ve never been and which sounds so wild? And Jason agrees.

Day 7 6/18/19
Still trying to get this blog posted!
Current position: 36 51N, 155 03W

Hawaii to Alaska, part 1

DAY 1 6/11/19

—Caitlin
Simply a gorgeous day to go to sea, though that doesn’t keep any of us from feeling a little unsettled. We weighed anchor at 1000. Arlo flaked down the chain, and libations were poured into the sea to appease Neptune/Poseidon and to ask for safe passage for Debonair and her crew. The shell horn from Mexico was blown. We all raised sail—mizzen, main and jib–showing Maddy, our newest crew member, the ropes.

Though the sailing was perfect, there was a bit of a swell running and several members of the crew were feeling seasick. By the time they emerged on deck from their afternoon naps the island of Kauai was gone. If all goes as planned, we won’t see land for another three weeks or so.

DAY 2 6/12/19

–Arlo
Today was our first full day at sea. I am feeling a little less seasick than yesterday, which is good, because we still have a lot of passage time ahead of us. I am already low on reading material so I will have to spend a lot of time fishing. In addition to fishing, I have been reading up on archery in a couple of books I have on the subject.

Right now we are motoring, as there is not enough wind to sail on. The wind died out several hours ago partway through my afternoon watch. The weather has stayed mild and we are leaving all of the port lights open, and the slightly open forepeak hatch sends a nice breeze through my cabin. The wind and seas, according to the weather forecast, should stay calm and light through the weekend, then according to one forecast model, the North Pacific high should begin to develop. The other forecast says it won’t, but you never can tell with these things.

My mom is in the galley making the next great installment to the growing list of of delicious dinners that we have underway. Tonight I believe is a Chinese noodle soup dinner, and I’m starving. It would be good with a little fish but unfortunately that is not available because I haven’t caught any yet. I’ll have to fix that.

–Jason
Last night Caitlin spotted a black footed albatross. This afternoon it was back. As Caitlin said, you know the albatross when you see it. Its wingspan of up to seven feet sets it apart from all the other birds out here. It’s giant. At the same time it’s amazingly graceful, gliding just above the water, banking and leaning and trailing one wingtip just right at the water without touching, that wingtip bobbing with each ripple and wave. The combination of great size and grace makes the bird seem so majestic (to use another of Caitlin’s words for it). Just as we were watching it this afternoon in the lowering light, one, then another, then a third giant tuna leapt from the water. They were so big they looked like porpoises, and at first my brain couldn’t figure out I was seeing. Big as porpoises, but the shape was all wrong. They came clear out of the water, their sharp fins distinct against the light behind them, then smashed back down in the water and were gone. Sometimes this vast ocean can seem so blank and empty. The sudden flash of those tuna made it feel like it was full of life, hidden from us, just waiting to leap out.

DAY 3 6/13/19

So close! Third update on the passage to Hawaii

DEBONAIR is (still) on passage from Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas bound for Oahu. This is the third update from members of our crew.

12/8 Saturday (Day 12)
Sailed due north at 6.5 kts. Retarded clocks 30 minutes to Hawaii time—UTC 10.

12/9-Sunday (Day 13)
Overcast. Continued due north to get ahead of big northeasterly sea and wind forecast. Bashing into a north sea so that we’ll be able to turn west when the forecasted big northeast seas arrive tomorrow.

12/10-Monday (Day 14)

from ARLO–
The big seas that were forecast have arrived—now mostly out of the northeast. We’ve made our westerly turn and are now steering 270*m, and we are only 670 nautical miles east of the Big Island. It is fun being in the big seas when you are on deck, watching them come rearing up behind you, and then feeling the rush of speed as you surf down them, only to have them pass under you and go roaring off. It is so cool to look out at the sea, at first only seeing 200 yards or less and then seeing for miles and miles as Debonair lifts up over a swell. Right now at 2005 (8:05 p.m.) we are under the smallest sail we have ever been under at sea, staysail and single-reefed mizzen, and we are still roaring along at 6.5 knots.

I finished my knife lanyard, and boy is it handsome. It attaches to my belt loop and then the 6-strand sennit part of it runs down to my pocket where it clips on to my knife. Tomorrow it’s back to schoolwork.

From ALMA–
Today has been a down day. There are 15’ swells and I have been seasick all day. But I had a letter [ed. note—family and friends sent us of with a sheaf of letters marked to be opened on particular days] that said, “Alma, perhaps open this after a storm or just a challenging day.” So I opened it, and it put a big smile on my face. I had been saving the letter waiting to see if a worse day was coming. It had been tantalizing me. I was so curious about what was inside. But I decided that today was the day and it really improved my day. In it was a note and a pin of a boat. The boat looks like it’s going down wind, and it’s very intricate.

12/11-Tuesday (Day 15)

From CAITLIN–
The seas are big enough to be impressive without being frightening, and Debonair, with her full keel and heavy displacement, is handling them beautifully. Our windvane steering mechanism, on the other hand, isn’t as good at handling the big following seas, so we’re steering by hand and I spend the hours of my daylight watches watching the ocean. Like fire, the seas are dynamic, always moving, but they have the solidity of a landscape. When we are on top of a sea, we look upwind across a bowl-shaped valley of water up to the next sea rising on the far side of the valley.

There are a couple of wave trains, each coming to us from its own enormous gale far north of Hawaii. At first the north swell predominated; now we are sailing on a broad reach before a northeast swell. There’s still a bit of a north sea coming through though and sometimes the two wave trains are superimposed on each other for a bigger, steeper sea.

Today is the third day of this weather; we probably have four to go until we get into the lee of the Big Island of Hawaii. That’s a lot of days of watching these seas. And listening to them.

The waves are fractal: the big seas are covered with smaller waves, each of which has miniature waves racing across its face. In addition to the splashing and rushing of water running by our hull, there’s the waterfall roar as the tops of the tallest seas tumble and break. And there’s the swoosh of small waves playing out on the longer seas. But my favorite ocean sound now comes from the white foam that streaks across all the bigger seas—it is the constant hiss of bubbles popping—zillions and zillions of bubbles, to be technical.

Down below it’s quieter, until we get a good roll, and then all kinds of items—despite our best efforts at stowing—clatter and clank. Toothbrushes in their holders, books on the shelves, a headlamp hanging on a hook—each thing makes a tiny noise and together the tiny noises are so loud. We are all dreaming of the still, quiet nights in Hawaii.

FROM ARLO–
Talk about crazy. Today I spent surfing down huge (10-15’) swells, reading up in Bowditch [ed. Note: Nathaniel Bowditch’s Practical Navigator is the classic and complete reference for all things navigational] and calculating the distance form Hawaii. (The equation 1.15√h, with h being the height of eye or height of the object off the water will give you the distance away you can see an object in nautical miles.) The top of the Big Island should be visible at 128 nautical miles away. As of 1000 this morning, we had only 585 nm to go before we get under the lee of the Big Island.

Early this morning we struck the staysail and mizzen, and raised the jib, and surfed down waves at over 10 knots. But then we decided it was too much so we switched the jib for the staysail. Remember yesterday’s sail configuration? Today we went for 6-8 hours under staysail alone, making 6+ knots. This afternoon we raised the fore t’gallant topsail with one reef. Just kidding. We actually raised the reefed mizzen to keep our speed up.

Dinner tonight was the highlight of the day, though. It was “confit de canard,” or, as I call it, duck in a can. It was incredibly good, especially when eaten over mashed potatoes and sauteed cabbage, as we had it.

Finally, this evening I saw a shooting star as I was reclining in the cockpit brushing my teeth. Ahh . . . life on a boat.

12/12—Wednesday (Day 16)

from ARLO-
I stuck my head up on deck this morning to talk to my mom, who was on watch. She asked me, “Do you have any ideas for breakfast or should I give you mine?” She suggested I make scones. We doubled the recipe, which called for 8 C of flour, and I made two trays worth of fat scones. We ate them hot with butter and pamplemousses on the side. It was incredible, which I can say even though I had a hand in making them.

We began the day under staysail and mizzen and at lunch, Alma announced that we had made our best day’s run yet of 155 nautical miles. In the afternoon we wanted a little more sail, so we raised the trysail on a broad reach, which worked surprisingly well. The trysail is made of neon orange and white stripes, and looks great when it’s flying proudly.

All in all, today was pretty good, if a bit slow. I’ve been working on a design for a tool to measure latitude. I’ve also been doing math, and I find that math lessons tend to make a day slow.

12/13—Thursday (Day 17)

from ALMA–
Tomorrow morning we might be able to see the Big Island of Hawaii. Then it will be about two or three days until we get to Oahu, but we’ll be in sight of land the whole time. Seeing land will make it seem less like we are in the middle of nowhere. Being in the middle of nowhere does have benefits, like the night being so dark that you can see a whole sky of stars—that feels magical.

But now we are thinking of going back home. It seems crazy. School, cars, internet, everyone speaking English, not so many stars. Wow.

from JASON–
Lunch today was chili soup and quesadillas. We eat so well, despite the absurd conditions. In the galley making lunch today, Caitlin had to contend with a deep roll. She could mostly predict that, even work with it, moving to starboard on a starboard roll and port on a port roll. The roll wasn’t entirely regular though, with multiple wave trains combining to make Debonair gyrate as she rolled and sometimes abruptly lurch as she came down off a bigger wave and shouldered into a smaller one. In the midst of this she had a hot pot of soup on the stove, had to ladle that soup into five bowls, and manage those bowls once they were full. Nothing was lost this time though, and she called for help to fireline the bowls, napkins, spoons and the tray of quesadillas up on deck. As the boat heaved, we passed the bowls, tilting our arms and hands first this way, then that, to keep the soup in. We held one others’ bowls to allow us to maneuver into strategic eating spots in the cockpit. We settled into our nooks, and pressed our feet against the binnacle, the mast, the opposite seat to wedge ourselves into place. Then we swayed our torsos to the swaying of the boat, and held our bowls close to our chins to try to prevent the soup from blowing downwind onto our neighbor. We weren’t entirely successful, but we were all wearing foul weather gear, so we cleaned up well enough. I risked balancing a quesadilla on my knee, and was quickly spooning my chili, when we all heard the familiar sound of a larger than usual wave swelling up to meet us and slapping up against the side of the boat. We hunkered our shoulders down involuntarily, conditioned from the last few days of bigger wind and sea. The water flew straight up and the wind caught it and blew it right over us. It caught me full in the back, running straight down the neck of my coat as it always does, spraying my chili with a salt water seasoning, and washing my quesadilla down into the cockpit well where it bobbed around like a little boat. It ended up under Alma’s feet and I called “Alma, grab it!” but of course she didn’t know what I was talking about. I got the quesadilla back before it was too soggy. It was fine.

Despite all the complications of eating, we enjoy our meals out on deck in the weather. The view of the constantly moving ocean and the ever-changing sky are endlessly interesting. Shearwaters and petrels circle, swooping and diving along the valleys and crests of the waves hunting for fish with incredible dexterity that makes me feel how out of place we are here terrestrial creatures staggering around our lurching boat with our chili bowls. When we finished our lunch, Arlo read us another chapter of Farley Mowat’s “The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float.” The humor in the book is almost as uplifting at Arlo’s obvious joy in that humor.

As much as we like making passages, we’re all looking forward to just sighting Hawaii after about two weeks at sea now. Today, in his noon report, Arlo calculated the time tomorrow when we might see the big island. Depending on our speed and the visibility we could see it as early as mid morning and as late as, well. . . I suppose if it’s cloudy again we might not see it tomorrow. We’re excited about it in any case. It’s such a massive island compared to anything else we’ve seen. At nearly 14,000 feet, the two cones of Hawaii are higher than most of the Sierra Nevada, and are about three times as tall as anything else in the Pacific that we’ve seen. In ideal conditions you could see it from about 125 nautical miles away. In addition to being a grand sight, that massive island creates its own weather in a number of ways. We’ll enjoy getting a break from the wind in the lee of the island.

Life out here very much follows routines. Arlo is on watch now. I’ll relieve him at three and will be on deck through dinner, when everyone will join me around sunset. It’s a spectacular time of day, and the dining challenges and entertainment are enhanced by the difficult visibility in the low light.

12/14 (Day 18)

From Caitlin–
The sea is somewhat diminished today, as is the wind, so we hoisted the mainsail or the first time in many days. We spent the late afternoon and through the night on a broad reach with double reefed main and staysail, making 7 – 8 knots, often making ten+ knots down the front of seas.

The seawater is still warm enough that we are all still barefoot in our foul weather gear, but we slept under a comforter last night for the first time since March. Now I’m looking forward to being in sweater weather someday again!

12/15 (Day 19)

This morning we rounded the southern point of the Big Island. As the wind wrapped around the point, it intensified and we were screaming along before a moderate sea. Arlo and Alma joined Jason on deck at 0500 and each took an hour at the helm. It was moving to see these capable sailors wrestling the wheel to steer us down the face of the seas.

And then the wind died. We’re motor-sailing in the wind shadow of the Big Island, heading north toward Oahu. The seas are smaller and the sun is out, so we are hanging damp laundry and generally cleaning up the boat after the week of boisterous weather. There’s still quite a ways to go, but it’s all in relatively protected waters. We’ll let you know when we arrive.

2nd Update from the Marquesas-Hawai’i Passage

12/2

from Caitlin:

The wind has veered a bit just abaft the beam and the sailing is easy. The seas are small, and we are enjoying all the things you enjoy in lovely weather at sea–sky, clouds, stars, flying fish, sea birds, sunsets and sunrises, phosphorescence, shooting stars galore. Seriously, until the hours I’d spent on night watch this year, I didn’t realize how many kinds of “shooting stars” we can see. There are fast ones, super slow ones, ones that seem to flare up. There are short ones and ones that seem to arc across half the sky. And there are so many—on a clear and moonless three-hour I’ll often see 6-8 shooting stars, even without watching for them.

We celebrated crossing the equator back into the northern hemisphere last night with an offering of rum to Neptune and an offering of a linzertorte decorated to look like a globe for us mortals. Near the equator here, we can see the quintessential northern hemisphere constellation, the Big Dipper, ahead of us and the Southern Cross astern.

This morning we are doing our usual stuff–washing dishes, downloading weather reports, handling sail changes, changing the rags in the forepeak that soak up the somewhat-diminished leaks. There’s always someone on watch, often someone in the galley, usually someone napping. Right now Arlo and Alma are working on Spanish and math respectively, as bigger seas and higher winds are forecast in a few days.

From Alma:

Last night I dreamed that we got to Hawai’i. We were in a wide bay with a narrow entrance. This morning we were getting the boat cleaned up when my mom said, “Alma, it’s time.” I woke up and realized I had been dreaming. We are still on passage and right then I had to go on watch. Bummer. What did happen last night though is that we crossed the equator. I didn’t end up getting up for it which is fine with me. I was really tired this morning anyway. But I was definitely awake by the time the linzertorte came out for breakfast! It was delicious. I don’t know if I have ever had one before, but it is definitely competing for the “Alma’s top five desserts” award!

12/3

from Alma:

Still sailing along.

We are more downwind today.

Days are shortening.

12/4

from Arlo:

Nights at sea are interesting. We usually eat dinner in the cockpit, and then we will read aloud from our book. Then either my dad or JT will go below to do the dinner dishes, while my sister or I will stand by to dry the dishes, because you can’t leave dishes out to dry at sea. Then I will go on deck to brush my teeth and floss. Then depending on the time, I will either read and then go to bed, or just go to sleep immediately. If I wake up in the night, I will occasionally go give the person currently on night watch some company, because I only stand the dawn watch and an afternoon watch. We are still pretty fished out, and although we had a can of mackerel for lunch today, we are still not fishing today. We finished our last bananas, and of the 100-200 that we had on board, we only lost a few. That’s a lot of bananas to eat in one week. My sister and I are cramming in as much school work as possible, because after the next few days, we will have bigger seas all the way to Hawaii.

12/5

from Jason:

0015 hours. Still on Marquesas time, ½ hour ahead of Hawaii. The wind went light and so far South of East that the roll was shaking the sails more than the wind was driving them. We looked at the weather forecast after dinner and after lots of deliberation, we struck everything but the main, double reefed the main and fired up and steamed due North. So here we are now, the wind light and behind us, the main prevented out to starboard, just barely held full by that little tailwind and running along at 2200 RPM’s and traveling five to six knots. We’re solidly into the ITCZ now. I think we were at about 6 degrees 30 minutes Norrth when we made the sail change. At 0030 hours, just now, we reached seven degrees North. It’d be great to steam straight through this ITCZ and get going in the Northeast trades.

Arlo’s done a couple after dinner readings of Farley Mowat’s “The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float.” Mowat’s way of exaggerating and making his language mock eloquent is great. Arlo’s reading of that too. He’s got good dramatic tone and gets really into it at the funny parts. His voice accentuates the characters and their emotions and he speeds up a bit as if he’s got to go faster to get it all out before he cracks up.

12/6

from Arlo:

This morning I cut up two huge pamplemousses for breakfast to go with cereal. We still have around 20 pamplemousse at least, plenty to get to Hawaii on. We have some bigger seas coming our way and some accompanying heavy winds. I mentioned this in the previous musing, but we have been watching the weather files that we get through the satellite receiver, and it still looks rough, and although I have never been in seas like that I am interested to sea (Ha-ha!) what they are like. I also will not have to do much school work if any at all, which will be nice. We just made it out of the ITCZ yesterday and luckily for us it only took about 12-18 hours of motorsailing to get through it. We got several rain showers, from the frequent squalls, and we all took the opportunity to wash some clothes, and ourselves. My sister and I have moved from the forepeak for more comfortable sleeping places in the big seas, and hopefully that should make sleeping a bit easier.

12/7

from Jason:

It’s about 2PM. It’s a popular time to try to catch a quick nap. Arlo’s on watch. I’ll relieve him in a second. We’re under double reefed main and staysail and are flying along at six to seven knots. We’re a day and a half into the Northeast trades and moving North fast now. We plan on riding North for a few more days to be upwind of Hawaii when the wind and seas increase. That will put us in position for a roaring broad reach down to Hawaii. We’ll see!

We’re at that point in the passage now, 11 days in, where the days all fly by and run together in one big memory of constant motion of sea and sky. Our only company is an occasional tropic bird circling the boat, or petrel speeding along the waves. We’ve gotten to that place where it feels like we just do the same thing again and again and eventually we’ll be there.

Homeward Bound, part I

Tuesday, 11/27
Day 1

Caitlin:
Our last day in French Polynesia we were anchored in the long, narrow Baie Hooumi. We spent the day preparing to go to sea—anchors secured, propeller cleaned, bread made. We rowed five half-mile round trips to the beach to fill jerry cans with spring water to fill Debonair’s tanks.

In the late afternoon we went ashore for the last time. Walking through the village of a few dozen houses, we admired the mangoes hanging from huge trees. We discussed the skinniness of the horses tied along our route. Arland Alma took advantage of a long hill and ran up it. On our way home, a man called afer us: “Ka’oha! Parlez-vous francais?” So we turned back and met Patrice and his grown niece and nephew, and when we left their family compound we were carrying a large stalk of bananas (it would become the third one hanging in our cabin), a bag of mangoes, a bag of limes, and a bag of guavas. These were not small bags. “It is not good to refuse, madame.” We are no longer surprised by this ubiquitous generosity.

We sailed from Nuku Hiva under gray skies this morning. This will be a relatively dark passage—the moon is about half full and waning. It won’t rise tonight until just before midnight and it will rise later and smaller every night this week. The days will get shorter as we sail due North into the Northern hemisphere’s winter. Both my watches will be dark ones.

But there will be fruit!

Jason:
Underway from Nuku Hiva! Three nap below. Arlo’s got the deck watch and the helm. I’m on the high side looking down to Nuku Hiva as we sail over her eastern, windward shore. The final northeastern point is sliding off astern. It’s all gray all around today. Ua Huka is just visible in the clouds off to the East.

Wednesday, 11/28
Day 2

From Arlo:
Yesterday, 10AM, we departed Hooumi, Nuku Hiva, Marquesas bound for Hawaii, three weeks away. This morning we caught a smallish Mahi-Mahi, which we turned into an excellent poisson cru for lunch with cucumber, onion and lime juice. Now it is 4:30p.m., and we just raised the staysail, so now we have all four sails set: mizzen, main, staysail and jib. Some large dolphins came and went. Now it is just us cooking along with just enough wind to keep us at five to six knots. We have been on a beam to close reach since Nuku Hiva, so we can keep some portlights open, but, sadly not the forepeak hatch because of the spray. There were 2.9 meter seas heading towards us from the north predicted, but so far they haven’t showed up. Knock, knock.

Today I have only eaten five bananas, unlike yesterday’s eight, and nowehere near my record nine from the pacific crossing from Mexico. I am going to have to pick up the pace. Now the sun is setting over an empty horizon, and I have to watch it go.

From Alma:
All four sails are up and we are charging along. I read for a couple hours until I was called on deck to see the dolphins. There was only ever one at a time and they all had very blunt foreheads. That was cool. I can’t believe that we will probably be in Hawaii in about two and a half weeks! I’m excited.

Thursday, 11/29. 0200 hours Marquesas time
Day 3

Jason:
We’re going to miss the Marquesas.

We’re close reaching under single reefed main and working jib and are just in a groove. All day yesterday and all through the night, Debonair has just been charging along. There’s a forecast for a big swell from the North that could slow our progress, but it hasn’t materialized yet and we’re roaring along while we can.

Friday, 11/30
Day 4

Jason:
The Southeast trades are treating us well—good fair wind on our beam ever since we cleared Nuku Hiva, and we’re steadily sailing straight north along the 140th meridian west. This morning at 10am we were at 03 degrees 02 minutes south, and 139 degrees 40 minutes west and easing along at about five knots. In the last day or so the wind has breezed up to nearly 20 knots and has eased off to as low as about 10 knots. We’ve carried all sail, in the lighter wind—jib, staysail, main and mizzen, and have reduced sail to just double reefed main and jib in the heavier wind. Through all that we’ve kept our speed between five and six knots, with the occasional runs even faster.

We caught a good sized skipjack tuna yesterday. It’s maybe a bit bigger than we can manage, but we’ve dedicated ourselves to eating it. Arlo and JT marinated and baked some last night for dinner. This morning Arlo made a great poisson cru for breakfast. (Poisson cru, the raw fish, lime, onion, veggies and coconut milk specialty of French Polynesia, became a favorite for the fish eaters aboard. Like the locals, we enjoy it breakfast, lunch, and dinner.) We’ll have fish salad sandwiches for lunch. We think we’ll take a break from fish tonight, and will cook the rest of the fish tomorrow and plan on finishing it by Sunday. With all this fish, accompanied by papayas, mangoes, guavas and bananas, we feel like we’re really having a final Marquesan celebration.

Just this moment, the wind is light enough that the forward deck has dried. I’ll go see if I can putty the seam between house and deck where water is coming in and making Arlo & Alma’s forepeak a little swampy. It’s been so wet on deck lately that we couldn’t do the work, and so we’ve been taping up towels to keep the salt water from soaking everything. Every morning we hang the towels out to dry and replace them with dry towels. Between little projects like that, and the work of just keeping the boat going, and everything working right, the days fly by. We just finished our poisson cru and it’s almost time for skipjack salad sandwiches!

Windward Passage Notes

On Thursday, November 15 we headed out the south pass of Fakarava in the Tuamotu with friend JT aboard, bound for Nuku Hiva, back in the Marquesas. Although the weather window was not ideal, we needed to get moving again as Hawaii is beckoning and she’s 2400 nautical miles or so from the Marquesas, where we plan to re-fuel, take on water, do some final provisioning, and check out of French Polynesia. And anyway, sailors’ superstition has it that you never leave on a passage on a Friday, so we had to go.

We made landfall in Nuku Hiva two days ago, after a week at sea. We thought we’d been posting updates from that passage, but learned on arrival here that our blog was down. Here are those notes.

Weather permitting, we’ll leave next week for Hawaii. We hope to keep you posted along the way, and we’ll update photos at that point. As always, it’s lovely to think of you reading our words as we write. Thank you.

11/15 – Day 1

From the ship’s log: 0800 Departing Fakarava, bound toward the Marquesas.

11/16 – Day 2

From Alma: Happy one-third birthday Arlo, we’re going to the Marquesas! Day two, we’re heading to windward, so the forepeak [ed: where Alma and Arlo sleep] is uncomfortable. I’m a little sick of the pitching. If you’re not lying down, you feel sick in the forepeak. But other than that, things are going well (knock on wood). On deck it’s nice with the wind. We are headed for Nuku Hiva (New-koo heave-uh). It will be the third island that we have returned to. The first one was Toau (Tow-aaa-ooo) and the second one was Fakarava. I enjoy being able to picture what it will be like. And I think that I will enjoy returning to Nuku Hiva.

From Arlo: JT’s back. We are currently heading from the Tuamotu to the Marquesas, where we will pause briefly in Taiohae, Nuku Hiva and then continue on to Hawaii. So far it has been all upwind, which means forepeak hatch is shut, and pounding into the seas. But at least there is no rolling rail to rail. My sister and I have changed from our watch of 6-9am, to a morning watch of 5:30-8am, and I am also taking a solo 12:30-2 or 2:30pm watch. At least I get to fish again on passage, although I have not caught anything since the Great Barracuda in Apataki. Earlier during watch, I spent a lot of time using the exercise bands. These bands are great for passing the time on watch.

From Jason: After lunch. Arlo and Alma on watch and Alma singing and chatting. The aft cabin is a greenhouse. Here in the main saloon it’s cooler with the portlights open. Sailing to windward is work! It takes such patience. The boat is so much slower when we’re close hauled. All the sails are strapped in tight and we’re just slogging into a headsea. Each drop from the peak of one wave into the face of the next feels like it stops us. We fall off and everything feels heavy and inert until slowly, slowly we gain way again. When we’re moving again, we lurch off another wave, plow heavily into the next and are stopped again. Over and over, with a leaden feeling that makes me really feel the weight of the boat. And all this slow and slogging is all in the wrong direction! Will we travel half again as far as the rhum line course? So slow in the wrong direction. It takes a whole different mindset to have that kind of patience. You have to settle into the passage and really get into that passage making mode of just doing the best you can every moment to just keep her going, and not worrying about how long it will take. You have to take the long view. I’m getting there, but I’m not there yet. Just getting some miles behind us helps, but this windward work is so uncertain.

11/17 – Day 3

From Arlo: Fish! Fish fish fish fish fish fish fish! Today around midday I caught a good sized Skipjack Tuna. We cleaned it immediately and then marinated and baked it for dinner. It was delicious. In other news, this morning while washing dishes I spilled the entire tub of soapy water across the counter after a larger than usual swell. The weather has been mostly fair all day, except for two squalls of rain in the morning. We ran out of my favorite brand of sunscreen, so now I have to use the only other kind we have. We just fired up the engine again, because the wind just died. Just like we have been since we left Fakarava 2 ½ days ago: sailing when we can and steaming it when we can’t. With Nuku Hiva still four or more days out, we could use some favorable winds, not from dead ahead as they have been.

11/18 – Day 3

From Caitlin: The eastern sky is paler as dawn approaches. It’s taken a couple of days to get back into the rhythms of being at sea. First, the watch schedule starts to feel like a natural cycle: Jason hands DEBONAIR to me at sunset, JT takes her at midnight, Jason’s got the mid-watch, and I am on deck by 2:30am. Arlo and Alma take over at sunrise, and Arlo is on again after lunch to facilitate naps for the rest of us.

Then there are the daily rituals: the “noon report,” prepared by Arlo or Alma, is a highly anticipated accounting of miles covered and miles made good in the last 24 hours. Jason and I send for weather and update our strategy at 7am and 7pm. After dinner, in good weather, I read aloud to the whole crew. We’ve gotten through half a dozen books this way over the year—right now we’re reading The Last Navigator, by Stephen Thomas, about traditional Micronesian navigation. Sometimes it’s lighter fare.

The routines are kept interesting by the constant changing of weather and by the work to respond to that weather (genoa down, yankee up, yankee down, genoa up again, shake a reef in the main), by the maintenance work and galley chores. There are also moments each day that provide punctuation: the enormous ice crystal halo around a gibbous moon our second night out. Or yesterday afternoon, when I sat on the coach roof, leaning against the overturned dinghy and looked to windward in the perfect light of the late afternoon. Arlo and Alma and JT were working below on calculating wind speed based on the rotations of a Sprite bottle spinner the kids made. Jason was below too, replacing the water filter in our fresh water system. I only felt selfish for a moment as I watched the light on the water, on the varnished wood, on the sails, on my toes. And it seemed then that not only was this a perfect moment, but that this moment had another dimension, connecting me across years to each of the other late afternoons I have spent looking at the sea in the perfect wind and the perfect light. Those moments appeared to me all at once, unbidden: when I was six on my family’s first boat, when I was in high school mid-Atlantic, and on a schooner I worked on in my twenties.

My 3 a.m. watch this morning began under a clear sky. The moon had set already and the stars were extra bright. The milky way, which is easier to see in the southern hemisphere, glowed and Jason pointed out the “Magellanic Clouds” that are actually other galaxies. And then we sailed into squall after squall, some with wind, some with rain that came down so hard I could barely see the surface of the ocean. Some with both. By the time the sun came up, the squalls were moving past us and the clouds were shot through with rainbows in every direction.

I’m tired and also tired of going to weather. But I know how lucky I am.

From Jason: Today over lunch (Skipjack-salad sandwiches for the fisheaters) in the cockpit, Arlo gave the noon report. He told us that it was 14,300 feet deep. That’s 2.7 statute miles! (Or 2.4 nautical miles.) That’s a lot of water. We all thought about all that water down there. JT suggested picturing a column of water under DEBONAIR, 44 feet long and 12 feet wide and 14,300 feet tall and imagining all the life in that column. Mindboggling.

I’ve gotten into the upwind groove. It still takes way more work and attention than all the rolling downwind we did on our way here, but we’re keeping the boat moving in the right direction. I’ve acclimatized to the slower speed, and if we can keep her going four knots I feel OK. Five’s better, but four’ll do for now. I’ve relaxed enough to see the endless beauty of the sea all the way around us, and the sky above. The sea and sky are always changing, the sun playing through the clouds and over the water. Last night it was clear. Once the little waxing moon set, the stars were brilliant.

We’ve been out sailing all year—long enough to notice the slow movement of the constellations and planets across the sky. On our way South, from the Marquesas to the Tuamotus back in early July, just after sunset Mars was rising over the Eastern horizon, big and bright orange. It was so bright that I mistook it for the light of a ship until it rose higher and higher in the sky. Now, in mid-November, heading back to the Marquesas, Mars is right up overhead at first dark. The Southern Cross that used to stand vertical at sunset now rises on its left side in the wee hours after midnight, pivoting up a bit before disappearing at dawn. Just seeing the sea and sky, watching them constantly and continually and infinitely changing every day all year has been such a surprising pleasure for me.

11/19– Day 4

from ALMA: Home seems so far away, and it is. And yet our trip is almost over. Just over a month left. It is sad to leave this place, yet it is also nice to come home. As we get closer to leaving for Hawaii from these little towns on the French Polynesian Islands,, it is seeming crazier to come back to busy civilization

11/20—Day 6

From ARLO: 9:00 a.m. Fishing line deployed. Breakfast cooked. I made eggs, toast, and pamplemousse (pomelo). Yesterday we calculated the amount of water under us as we passed over a 16,400 foot deep spot. The amount of water under us was 3,837,600 cubic feet—although it would have been more if we had calculated it at our record depth of 18,040 feet deep.

This whole going to weather thing that we have been doing this passage definitely has its downsides, such as using the engine sometimes, and a couple of now-apparant leaks in the deck.

10:00 a.m. “Fish!” J.T. yells. I come up on deck and start heaving in the 300 lb test handline. The fish has been getting dragged through the water for a few minutes, but it still has plenty of fight in it. 90 seconds later we have a 3.5’ wahoo alongside. I had the leader in my hand while JT grabbed it and swung it aboard. Dad and I cleaned it and half an hour later we had four large plastic containers and one plastic bag in the fridge, packed with fish. Wahoo steaks for dinner tonight. And the next night and maybe the night after that too.

4:00p.m. (1600) My watch again. Dolphins sighted. They played under the bow, leaping from the water, the evening light making rainbows in the spray of their blowholes. All in all, not a bad day.

11/21—Day 7

We sighted Nuku Hiva around 0700. Spent the day trying to make easting in a confused sea. Around sunset, the seas calmed as we got cover under the southeastern point of the island. We ate lentil soup in the cockpit in the dark. Eventually Alma went below to read in her bunk and then sleep. Later that evening, we nosed our way into Taiohae harbor and anchored by the light of the almost full moon.

Sharks!

We see amazing things on every passage–on our way to Fakarava, we spotted these noddies herding and eating bait fish.

–by Alma

After leaving Tahiti, we went to the beautiful atolls of Apataki and Toau, and now we are in Fakarava.

Halloween costumer preparations in the cockpit.

We arrived in South Fakarava on Halloween where some friends – a British boat and a Canadian boat – were already there. South Pacific Halloween is tons of fun. It was the first time and probably the only time we will trick-or-treat by dingy.

That afternoon, we went over to one of the boats and made Halloween decorations. Then we all got into our last minute homemade costumes. Arlo was a mahi mahi fish and I was the Greek goddess Artemis. The kids trick or treated among our three boats, plus a French boat that was in the harbor. When we told them it was Halloween they gave us candy too. The anchorage was full of sharks, and when we accidentally hit one with an oar, it splashed us. Once we were done, we went back to one of the boats and had a potluck dinner.

That’s me and my friend, checking out some coral.

While we were in South Fakarava, the parents on the Canadian boat taught Arlo and I how to SCUBA dive. I just went with their daughter Zoe in ten feet of water, but the rest of my family dove the length of the famous South Pass of Fakarava where they saw hundreds of five to ten foot sharks.

We also snorkeled the pass twice and saw a good number of six foot sharks as well as some cool fish like the humphead wrasse (often up to five and a half feet long), the Achilles Tang (one of my favorites), and many, many more.

When we first swam with sharks in the Tuamotu, I was somewhat scared. Now if a shark isn’t looking at us, or if it is less than two feet long, then I am Okay with it. But I have to admit that if it is looking at us and is more than two feet long, then I will get an uneasy feeling. After multiple dives, my dad said that he wasn’t scared of the sharks when he was diving because they seemed so uninterested in him

I have loved what we have seen in Fakarava. Next we will be heading back to the Marquesas and then to Hawai’i. I have included some additional photos from the last week or so, but first, here is a note from Arlo . . .

Hello, Arlo here, and I have a couple of updates. First, if you can recall the “Off the Grid on the Water” blog post, you will remember that we had no functional solar panels. After a visit from an electrician, we now have solar power, and I must tell you, the ice is nice.

But more to the point, I got the chance to go scuba diving thanks to our good friends on ALONDRA, and it was incredible. My second dive ever was in the south pass in Fakarava, and we were 73 feet down while we watched the hundreds of sharks swim by as we got swept along with the current. It blew my mind. Although it was hard to keep track of fish and shark species, while I was still figuring out my equipment, I know we saw at least five species of sharks: blacktip reef shark, blacktip shark, gray reef shark, silvertip sharks, white tip reef sharks. I’m totally hooked on it and I hope to get certified when we return to the States.