Ship’s Log Week Eighteen
Leaving the Galápagos Islands - Preparations for the Longest Leg
We left the Galápagos Islands with some unexpected memories. Preparations for sailing 3000 miles to the Marquesas led to several trips ashore by water taxi to address ‘to do’ lists that are both an inevitability and essential to maintaining the lives and souls of those on board during a long passage at sea.
Amongst the headlining issues to be resolved in the last 24 hours - a fix for Dicky’s newly-acquired-in Panama and now overheating laptop; retrieval of the towels lost in the laundry; the last-minute addition of provisions and the purchase of fishing kit up to the task of landing a Pacific Ocean catch.
The tasks were divvied up and the crew set out to apply their skills as best they could in a team effort to be as Pacific Ocean ready, as possible. I confess to having added ‘last-minute-emergency-Frappuccino and internet cafe communications’ to my ‘to do’ list.
On our return Dicky told the tale of a surprising salvation in a tattoo parlour. For those of you who know Dicky, I think you’ll agree this was at the very least unexpected and at best unlikely:
By all accounts, the expedition to find a laptop repair shop was ably led by Gerald. Having drawn an initial blank, Gerald and Dicky retreated to a local bar, ostensibly to access the internet and take a further look at Google maps to hone down their search. Refreshed, they set out determinedly in the direction indicated by the red ‘this is your spot’ dot.
No computer repair shop in sight, not much in the way of shops at all in the street, as I understand it, just a cafe on the corner.
At a loss and with not many obvious options Gerald, ventured inside to make enquiries at the cafe and was given a clear message - the computer repair shop had closed. Things were not looking promising - and, I’m guessing Dicky was thinking he might have to revert to his initial solution of placing the laptop in the fridge, when not in use.
Perhaps the woman in the cafe had a change of heart and felt sorry for our intrepid pair, in any regard, she brushed past them and pointed firmly in the direction of a tattoo parlour further up the road.
Somewhat hesitantly Gerald and Dicky followed the directions and were given a strong indication by the increased intensity of the cafe owners gestures that they should proceed in the direction of said tattoo parlour.
Once inside, Gerald pointed to the laptop and explained the problem, much to Dicky and Gerald’s surprise, without hesitation the guy behind the counter took the laptop, exited the shop and pointed to the premises next door. He stopped a few metres away in front of a graffiti enhanced security grill which he swiftly unlocked, revealing the entrance to Santa Cruz’ computer repair shop.
In a few minutes the laptop was taken apart and then reassembled as good as new. A small piece of plastic packaging had been delicately removed from the fan with a pair of tweezers. Gerald and Dicky’s visit to a tattoo parlour delivered the desired result and all for the princely sum of five dollars, a modest charge, indeed, for the skills of the multi-talented tattoo artist.
What of the remaining ‘to dos’? After an initial dead end, Gerald and Jay found a shop with fishing tackle and returned to Walrus with five brightly coloured, glittery octopus shaped lures, thick fishing line and some menacing looking hooks, more of these later. Suffice to say, their foray ashore had been successful.
My luck was more variable. Language barriers and lost towels in a laundry brimming with bulging bags and piles of other people’s clothes was not an easy challenge to navigate and I quickly realised that there was little hope of seeing the towels again. Now down to two bath size towels, I vowed to mark up the contents of bags on visits to laundries in the other countries we were to visit.
My last Frappuccino in the Rock Cafe was delicious, all the more so for knowing that future indulgences were at least three and a half weeks away across the Pacific Ocean.
The experience enhanced by seeing Reaven (an Arctic nickel miner) who I’d fallen into conversation with at the Pink Iguana Cafe on Isabella Island. Reaven was a good-looking woman with long flowing hair, an infectious laugh and a great sense of adventure - you can follow her adventures on ‘insta’ she goes by the name of Reaven Thunder. We hit it off, as you sometimes do when meeting people you would never come across in the ordinary course of events, in circumstances which throw you together.
We greeted each other like long lost friends, shared updates since last meeting a few days ago and parted with a big hug, wishing each other well and saying ‘stay in touch’ and meaning it, in the moment. Reaven returned to her table for two, where a muscular scuba diver leader (according to his T-shirt) was sitting, while I set off for the supermarket and Walrus. Peels of shared laughter told me Reaven’s vacation was going well, with the potential for a holiday romance in the air.
A kind offer of purchases in the market on my behalf, by the crew of Watersprite resulted in my wishes and final to do list task being fulfilled. Chris apologised about the over-sized nature of the vegetables as he returned my now full, green shopping bag, which I guess weighed in at ten kilos. If cabbages are kings, then I had bagged the king of green cabbages - as big as any winning entry in the village horticultural show and a smaller red cabbage to boot. The leaves of the cabbage were still adding crunch and a shot of Vitamin C to our diet two weeks into the sail.
Two final purchases, tomatoes and a 5 litre bottle of fresh water to add to our supplies, and our the preparations for the anticipated twenty-four days at sea, were complete. We were as ready as we’d ever be.
And They’re Off
On Wednesday 5th March at the allotted time we waited in eager anticipation for the sound of a yellow water taxi approaching.
The Galápagos Islands have strict regulations about food stuffs, waste disposal and anything that might influence or damage the delicate balance of the natural world, with punishing fines for non-compliance. On entry in San Cristobal, a seeming army of officials had boarded Walrus and checked the fridge, lockers and hull before approving our entry. Checking out had a similar officialdom about it.
At about 11.30am half a dozen or so representatives of the various Galapagos’ authorities (medical, agent for tourism, food inspector, amongst others) boarded Walrus, with lots of hand shaking and friendly smiles. The signal that we had ‘passed’ our inspection successfully was the move to seemingly endless document stamping. Then, as quickly as they’d boarded, the Authorities were off to the next boat.
We raised anchor and, with an air of eager anticipation on board, joined the rest of the fleet milling around the start line waiting for Rally Control’s countdown. Ten, nine, eight….. three, two, one… and we were off on the longest leg of our circumnavigation. .
Most days at sea we have a short burst of internet access, something we’ve come to take as a given on land, but the cost of which at sea, is prohibitive. As you can imagine, we eagerly await an injection of competition into the marine internet market, to disrupt the Starlink-Musk monopoly.
When connected we eagerly switch to the YB Tracker app to see our position in relation to the other yachts in the WARC fleet. Each yacht has a ‘yellow brick’ attached somewhere on the guardrail and the position of the fleet is tracked every 4 hours during rally legs, more frequently at the start and as yachts approach the finishing line.
At first glance, it looks as though the yachts are close together and even after two weeks, once the spread between fastest and slowest is a little more evident, the relative distance looks small. Unless you’re taking part, you could be excused for thinking the WARC yachts move as a fleet, visible to each other and not far apart.
After a day at sea just a couple of yachts remained in sight of Walrus, distinguishable at night by their tricolour light at the top of their masts. After five days just one boat, Samsara could be seen as a dim, distant lit up dot in the night sky and then, by day six, nothing.
Andromeda, at 2.5 million light years away, is the nearest galaxy to Earth. For nearly two weeks, we have seen no other boat or, surprisingly any evidence of marine life, bar flying fish and the unfortunate wahoo, more later. At times, with only ocean waves and sky in evidence, day after day, it has felt as though we are as distant from other human life, and our next destination.
Fish on Friday…. and Sunday Too.
In the 1830s, during his expedition aboard The Beagle, Charles Darwin spent five weeks visiting the Galápagos Islands exploring the islands’ unique flora and fauna. Nearly two centuries later, we found his legacy continued with an on-going commitment to research and evident fierce, pride in the ecology of the Islands by its inhabitants.
The marine and land-based wildlife of the Galápagos Islands must have given Darwin considerable food for thought as he developed his theories about the nature of evolution and the natural world. Maybe it was his time on the islands that inspired the words in the final paragraph of his life’s work… ‘there is grandeur in this view of life’….(The Origin of the Species, 1853). Life which is shaped by the rules of nature, life and death, survival of the fittest.
With limited fridge capacity, no freezer and more than three weeks at sea ahead of us, fresh rations depended on the ingenuity of the crew (mainly Gerald) and the team effort of all in landing a catch. A fishing line was constructed from the new line purchased in Santa Cruz’, the remaining piece of wooden pallet purloined from the side of a marina in Gibraltar or Spain, I forget which, and two wooden bungs.
After two days trailing the lurid bait and fishing line behind Walrus, a quivering and pulling told of a catch and stirred all into action. Pulling in the line, over two hundred metres long, gradually brought the sight of intermittent thrashing and splashing closer as the fish on the end of the line put up a strong resistance to the inevitable.
The fish that was landed on deck had the silvery, blue stripy colouring of a mackerel in parts; much larger though, with a long pointed head and a dorsal fin that made us think we’d caught a marlin, in the first instance. It was a strikingly beautiful creature, one minute in its own environment and the next facing the harsh reality of the survival of the fittest. The Wahoo, as we now know it to have been, was despatched and gutted within minutes.
It was hard to watch the final throes of such a beautiful creature. However, as thoughts turned to food, I can’t deny the addition to our larder was welcome. For four nights we dined on the most delicious, freshest pan-fried fish; fish stew, and fish curry that I’ve had the good fortune to taste (see Gourmet Galley - wahoo delicious).
On Sunday, when spirits were low after the list of things to fix had grown to the seemingly insurmountable and rations were limited to tinned food, fishing success struck again, just in time for supper. This time, the catch, a big eye tuna.
Perils of the Pacific
Crossing the Pacific is not an undertaking to be taken lightly and even in times of instant communications and speedy motorised vessels, not without risk. The maximum distance that coastal rescue vessels or aircraft can safely reach is between four to five hundred miles from land. We would be beyond the range of such help for close to two weeks.
I had a personal goal to survive the Pacific ocean crossing driven by family tales of the fate of great aunt Lottie. In 1918 Lottie was accompanying her Canadian officer fiancé on the steamer, Princess Sophia, he, like many others, was returning from service in the First World War. The ill-fated vessel, sometimes referred to as the ‘unknown Titanic of the West Coast’, struck a rock, the Vanderbilt Reef, shortly after the start of her planned voyage through the North Pacific. All 268 passengers and 75 crew drowned.
I have in my possession great aunt Lottie’s brooch in the shape of an anchor, handed down through the generations with the tale of her untimely drowning. I’m not particularly superstitious, but, I confess, as we set off on Leg 4, I felt a certain trepidation. For a moment I felt the weight of responsibility to make good the misfortune that had befallen my forebear and to return to wear great aunt Lottie’s anchor brooch in years to come.
As I write, we have four hundred miles, approximately three days’ to go before we reach our destination. The passage has not been without genuine life threatening peril. Our resilience has been tested to the limits at times.
About twelve days and 1500 miles into the passage, far from land, the water gauge showed empty, meaning Walrus’ two water tanks holding the 400 litres of water needed for the voyage, now contained no water. Initial investigation revealed some water swilling in the bilges; this was swiftly pumped out.
The rate at which water had drained from the system led us to suspect one of the water tanks of having a leak. Further investigation involved removing the saloon table, before taking up Walrus’ beautiful mahogany floorboards to get a good look inside the largest of the two tanks.
There were identifiable signs of corrosion. But was this sufficient to have emptied the entire 400 litres in the space of a few minutes? While it seemed surprising, without any other evidence to the contrary, we assumed this to be the case.
We made plans to continue using the watermaker to create fresh, clean water from seawater, and to fill the small, definitely-not-corroded tank, which we estimated had a capacity of 80 litres. We had a cup of tea, reflected on the situation and agreed - the plan was sound, we were safe.
And then the watermaker packed up… the first sign being the end of the regular clunking sound which accompanied the seawater cleansing and desalination process. I think it was at this moment that the seriousness of our situation started to dawn on us.
We had twelve days to go before reaching land and the only drinking water on board was our back-up bottled water supply. We checked our stock and found we had 60 litres. We established that humans need two litres of liquid intake a day. At that rate, as a minimum and not taking account of using water for cooking, we needed 8 litres per day for 12 days - a total of 96 litres.
In jest, I suggested introducing an approach I’d recently read had been tried by sailors en route to the Marquesas in the past - drawing lots to see who is sacrificed and eaten first. It didn’t turn out well then, and after brief debate (Gerald and Jay said they were too bony, which left only Dicky and me in the frame) we abandoned this plan of action.
As much as we tried to make light of the turn of events, we agreed that we were, now, in a potentially life-threatening situation.
Dicky contacted Rally Control and I messaged one or two fleet members. We were reassured by the kind offer of support of others not too far away. The capacity for kindness and generosity of spirit amongst a group of people who have come together with a shared purpose was heart-warming and, at times like this, consoling.
Over the course of the next days, when and as possible- everything is more difficult when you’re rolling and lurching in response to the wave and wind movements - work on the watermaker took place and the related system was examined and re-examined.
While this work was underway, we were on strict measured rations of 2 litres of drinking water a day, carefully poured from the stored plastic bottles into personal drinking water containers or the kettle (we didn’t consider giving up cups of tea). All washing was in seawater pumped into the galley sink by foot peddle and transported into the ‘heads’ (bathroom) in a bucket. Very basic, time consuming and grim but preferable to running out of drinking water before we reached land.
Long-distance phone calls were made to Jim McDonald (Mactra Marine) our UK based Schenker watermaker wizard. Gerald and Dicky took it in turns to position themselves in the cockpit locker, a small space somewhere between the deck and the hull, and the awkward location of the much-cursed watermaker, in order to relay information to Jim and try out his suggested remedies.
The water situation has been a veritable emotional roller coaster. Since the initial discovery that we had no water registering on Walrus’ water gauge, we established on closer examination, the water tanks were sound. Better still after much tweaking and flushing the watermaker started working, intermittently at first and then, more consistently and with less intervention needed.
At the point the water tanks registered three-quarters full, we decided our fate was sufficiently secure to risk using fresh water to wash - what joy. The sense of relief amongst the crew was palpable, we could afford to relax and enjoy the sailing.
Less than two days later we discovered Walrus’ tanks had emptied again. We were back to square one. Imagine our dismay. Further problem-solving and a broken pipe was identified as the culprit causing water to drain from Walrus’ tanks. First Gerald attempted a mend, which led to more water leakage then he had a spark of inspiration and found a way of isolating the problematic pipe. But this wasn’t enough, by then, the watermaker had become truly intransigent and had completely given up the ghost.
We’ve re-instated the, by now familiar, regime of bottle filling to ensure fair distribution of two litres a day drinking water and reverted to washing in seawater.
We get excited when it rains and now have a slick relay-team approach to collecting rainwater that runs off the main sail. Yesterday we calculated we collected between 20-30 litres of rain water, carefully poured from bucket to large plastic water bottle and from there into the small water tank.
With four days and about 50 litres of water on board we’re not in peril, but it has been a close call at times.
Blue Sky - Champagne Sailing
Every now and then we remind ourselves we’re doing this for pleasure, we opted for a life without air conditioning; a guaranteed shower or clean sheets and towels.
As champagne sailing goes, ten days in, Walrus hurtled through the waves of the Pacific at 6-7 knots, with her bright blue parasailor aloft, filled with warm south westerly Tradewinds and I couldn’t have imagined a more magical experience. It was as good as sailing gets.
Watches spent whistling along, on course and with the wind on the beam for hour after hour, to the accompaniment of the gentle, lulling swoosh of waves against Walrus’ hull, have given cause to pause and enjoy the moment - between pinching ourselves and fixing things, of course.
During the day the schools of flying fish that sweep past Walrus, like thousands of shiny butterfly catch the eye. Sometimes the sight of the full moon rising on a clear night, as Walrus ploughs through the waves, demands attention and time taken to stop, stare and take photos, which never quite do justice to the all encompassing and expansive nature of ocean sailing. Nothing but waves, the sky and Walrus’ rolling in response to the wind and rising and falling with the swell .
One evening after supper, we lowered the bimini and the sprayhood and stared mesmerised by the beauty of the southern hemisphere starry skies. Orion, the Milky Way and an upside down Plough were easily identified constellations.
As a shooting star shot across the sky, I don’t know about the other crew members, but I definitely made a wish on that star. We’ll wait to see if it comes true.