Last week’s desperate plea to Neptune for wind seems to have been answered and our only regret is that perhaps we should have only thrown one shoe overboard instead of two. Soon after making our offering, the wind piped up and continued to blow throughout the entire week. By Tuesday, we had 25 knots of wind and were forced to reef down the mainsail. A meteorologically inclined sailor might attribute the freshening of the wind to our crossing the ITCZ, the intertropical convergence zone that marks the boundary where low pressure from the equator meets high pressure from the horse latitudes resulting in the mythical trade winds that old salts are always yammering on about. Not wishing to infuriate the Gods and fully aware that Shakti or Mother Nature or whomever the weather people pray to is not nearly as petty and vengeful as Neptune, I will continue to believe that our sacrifice to the sea is what made the difference. Throughout the week, surrounded by an endless expanse of ocean, we derived our entertainment from reading, struggling to study foreign languages, and, most of all, from the all-too-infrequent encounter with marine life.
On Monday, we were surprised to find a squid sprawled on the windward deck. I have only the vaguest idea of how these creatures swim through the water and am mystified by how the squid managed to jump the five feet necessary to land on the boat. Even the assortment of recently deceased flying fish that lay hardening on the surrounding deck had a look of astonishment at their odd companion in death. For many of these aerial warriors that litter my deck, Audentes seems to be final resting place and a virtual flying fish Valhalla as I transport these dozens of unfortunate souls from their past home to warmer waters to the south. Our fishing woes continue, although we did manage to catch enough dorado (mahi mahi) to provide for a couple of excellent meals. However, in our attempt to catch dinner, we managed to leave a trail of maimed fish in our wake. On Tuesday, the dorado seemed to be lining up to be caught. As a result, we had the unusual pleasure of being selective and throwing back the fish that we deemed unworthy. Sadly, one small fish that we caught had lost his left eye as a result of getting tangled in the fishing hook. We cast the poor animal back into the sea and worried about his chances of survival. Two hours and about ten miles later, as we pulled in the line, we were shocked to find that we had caught the exact same fish that we had accidentally mangled earlier. We spent more time than was probably necessary debating the odds of catching the same fish twice in the largest ocean in the world before agreeing to throw this fish back once again. After sparing the persistent dorado twice, we promised that if we caught the poor one-eyed fish again, we would be forced to kill it since it was obviously too stupid to deserve to live.
Not content with this carnage alone, on Wednesday we hooked into a large dorado as the boat plowed ahead at a blazing seven knots. As the big fish struggled to escape, our forward progress dragged the unwilling captive through the water, despite its desperate protests. With the hook firmly lodged, something had to give and a slackening of the line indicated that the fish had won this battle. Sort of. As we pulled in the line to check if he had taken our lure, we found the mouth of the escapee remained firmly lodged on the hook. A conversation about how a fish without a mouth will fare in these waters ensued. Despite our regrets at the needless loss of life and limbs among the population of fish in the Pacific Ocean, we console ourselves with the knowledge that fishing is war. In such difficult times, the reality that father fish must bury their young, as opposed to the young burying the old as nature intended is a grim reminder of how devastating war can be. For in war, there truly are no victors and one cannot help but to question Socrates’ conclusion that to know the good is to practice it. Was the wise old sage speaking of the good in the sense of avoiding needless war or was he referring to the good taste of a dorado marinated in honey, mustard, and vinegar before being grilled to perfection? This is the question that has plagued humanity for centuries and will likely continue to confound generations to come. My only contribution to this eternal debate is to suggest a few teaspoons of olive oil and a dash of thyme. Although the seas have been rolly, with waves ranging from 4-10 feet, we have managed to settle into something resembling a daily routine.
For me, the day begins at 6:00 AM, when I reluctantly pry myself from my bunk to stand the first of my three hour watches. The morning watch is my favorite as I get to watch the sun rise, drink coffee, and imagine what a wonderful day it is going to be. In such an exalted mood, I am at my most productive. During this time alone, I normally read, study Spanish, try to maintain my balance long enough to do sit-ups and push-ups, adjust the trim of the sails, and generally let my mind drift as I stare out to sea. The feeling at times like these can best be described by whatever the word is for the opposite of homesickness. At 9:00 AM, I wake up Anna to let her experience her personal piece of morning Zen and I get a couple of hours of sleep before awaking to write and send e-mails. Twice a day, I report my position to my parents so that someone knows that we are still alive and afloat. Both Anna and I eagerly await word from friends and family and checking e-mail is the equivalent of opening a Christmas present each day. Such is the tedium of a passage that any message from someone other than the person we are confined to a 40-foot space with seems like the wittiest and most amusing anecdote ever told. Included in the e-mail that we receive is a daily weather forecast. Occasionally, the weather charts will accidentally be correct, but most of the time the weather they forecast shows the conditions that we experienced during the previous day. It is a nice reminder of the day before, but provides precious little in the way of useful information for the future. Following e-mail, we scrounge together something resembling lunch, although this meal is often lost in the hustle and bustle of the day.
The afternoon is spent with more reading, a healthy dose of complaining about the choppy waves/variable wind/lack of sun/lack of fish/difficulty of learning Spanish/difficulty of taking a shower, cooking, or going to the bathroom as the boat heals and pitches/just about anything else that is less than perfect. Interspersed in the complaining are frequent changes to the course and adjustments to sail trim. Since switching from the autopilot, which steers a reliable course but uses power, to the windvane, which requires no power but is intent on sailing towards Chile, constant attention is required to assure that we maintain the proper heading without unnecessarily flogging the sails. Ideally, dinner is a healthy combination of fresh fish and rice with a side of vegetables, but more often it is pasta with red sauce.
The evenings are spent discussing the differences between the U.S. and Poland, of which there are more than a few. A relaxing massage eases the tension following a stressful day and I hand the watch over to Anna at 9:00 PM so I can take a 3-hour power nap. My watch resumes at midnight, when I spend three hours atempting to stay awake while trying to remember to scan the horizon for other ships. It has now been 8 days since I have seen another boat, making it difficult to stay disciplined and to keep a vigilant watch. After performing one final check of e-mail at 3:00 AM, I once again awaken Anna for her watch and retire to bed until my day begins anew at 6:00 AM. Barring the exceptional changes in weather, the failure of some part of the boat, or the need to alter the sail configuration, it is hoped that this daily routine will keep me occupied for the remainder of this voyage. In honor of Passover, on Thursday I attempted to make unleavened bread. Actually, the fact that the bread was unleavened had nothing to do with my great admiration of Jewish religious traditions, but arose out of necessity due to a lack of self-rising flour or baking soda on board. In the absence of a functioning oven, the attempt to bake bread in a pressure cooker was met with extremely moderate success. The end product probably technically qualifies as bread and it was edible, although barely so. More experimentation is needed since I have witnessed other boats successfully use the same recipe. Fortunately, we have plenty of time to attempt different variations and hope to perfect our version of the flat bread by the time we reach French Polynesia.
Also on Thursday, the wind backed too far to the east to allow us to maintain a course for the Marquesas. In order to sail a direct course, we were forced to reconfigure the sails to allow us to sail nearly straight downwind. The new configuration, known as sailing wing-and-wing required far more effort to set up than should have been necessary. As usual, solid sailing technique and a little forethought was bypassed in favor of brute strength and disregard for bodily harm. After a couple of hours of frustration and pain, the spinnaker pole was finally set and we settled in for the rolly side-to-side ride that we can expect for at least the next week or so. On Sunday, we celebrated Easter in what must be one of the most remote places in the world. Midway between the Galapagos and Marquesas, we are about 1,500 miles from the nearest point of land. Not being much of a swimmer, the Easter Bunny did not make an appearance on Audentes this year. Instead, Anna prepared a traditional Polish Easter meal that included eggs, pate, and pirogues. As expected, the meal was excellent although the work required to make the meal a success far exceeded what any self-respecting American would be willing to endure.
Helping Anna to prepare the pirogues, I now understand why Europeans can only handle a 35-hour work week and why they eat their dinners at ten o’clock at night – they have to spend their evenings kneading their dough in preparation for dinner. The second week of this passage was far better than the first week. We still have not enjoyed a single comfortable day, but we are happy to have traded hot, rolly, and becalmed sailing for rainy, rolly, and windy sailing. Each day, it seems as if we are about to turn a corner. One more day until the wind picks up. One more day until the point of sail is comfortable. One more day until the waves subside. The comfort that we seek has thus far proved elusive. Still, conditions continue to improve and we can take solace in the fact that we are at least sailing directly for our destination and slowly clicking off the miles. Tomorrow, we expect to reach the halfway point between the Galapagos and Marquesas.
With just over 1,500 miles remaining, we hope to continue our steady progress and arrive in the Marquesas in about two weeks. Hopefully, the second half of the trip is as uneventful as the first half, although a few comfortable days at sea would be nice.