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