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