December 28, 2022

Another Day, Another Island

And Then There Were Two

The day after Christmas is known as Boxing Day in the British Empire. More importantly for us, the day after Christmas is Samantha’s Birthday! We celebrated by sailing from Martinique to the nearby island of St. Lucia just 20-odd miles to the south. St. Lucia is now an independent state, but remains a Commonwealth of Great Britain, so English is the official language. We had strong winds from the east-northeast which provided a lively beam reach under single-reefed main and full jib to our destination of Rodney Bay, located on the northern part of the leeward (western) coast of St. Lucia. We had a slip reserved at the Rodney Bay Marina, and after docking, we cleared customs and immigration and explored the local environs studded with shops, restaurants, and bars. Following a relaxing afternoon, we enjoyed pizza at a local Italian joint then feasted on homemade birthday cake sans candles but accompanied by a rousing rendition of the Happy Birthday song.

Unfortunately, our time with the kids has expired too abruptly. Yesterday, after a ninety-minute taxi from Rodney Bay to the airport, they flew back to Michigan via a connection in Miami. We are beyond sad. We look forward to another visit in the future. We have a daunting task ahead of us: a 14-month circumnavigation. We have joined the World ARC Rally which is a loosely organized armada of around 30 boats which have banded together for the journey. We feel much more comfortable knowing that there will be others nearby for help and support. Our departure date is January 7, so we will spend the next eleven days getting ourselves and Leviathan ready for the journey.

December 25, 2022

Christmas in Paradise

Each day more perfect than the last and nary a snowflake to be seen, it does not look or feel like the Yuletide season here in Martinique. Yet, our calendars reveal the chronological truth: it is indeed Christmas Day. We have enjoyed our family and friends over the last several days. Sailing, snorkeling, swimming, and hiking have been idyllic. We enjoyed a memorable Christmas Eve dinner at the Indigo Restaurant on the waterfront. Despite technological problems, our host and waiter served us a delicious traditional local meal of lamb and pork while a steel drum player serenaded the diners. Today we enjoyed a hike followed by a swim, a nap, and a quiet steak dinner on board. After sunset, we watched “A Nightmare Before Christmas” before tumbling off to bed. Definitely not the usual Christmas, but one that we will not soon forget. Unfortunately, we missed the potluck at Bob and Diane’s place, but we were worn out and wanted to spend a little more family time together; after all, we will be gone for the next 14 months circumnavigating the globe.

December 20, 2022

Arrival

Following a 12-day 2400-mile passage from Cape Verde, Leviathan made landfall in Le Marin, a beautiful and well-protected harbor at the southern tip of the Caribbean island of Martinique. What an incredible journey! All told, we sailed nearly 5000 miles from La Grande Motte, France to Le Marin in 40 days with often unfavorable winds. Quite an accomplishment for us!

Our last two days of sailing were fast and noisy. When Leviathan exceeds hull speed (this is the theoretical maximum speed of a boat in displacement mode, approximately 1.34Xsqrt(waterline-length[ft]), which for Leviathan is 9.5 knots), her hulls vibrate quite loudly. In addition, the frequent slapping of massive waves against the sides of the hulls reverberates like the boat is snapping in two. Sleeping is difficult in these conditions. If we slow the boat down, things would be quieter, but we want full speed. As usual, nights are scary. We also started to experience occasional squalls, small storms of short (less than an hour) duration which are accompanied by rain, wind gusts up to 30 knots, and a shift of wind direction by up to 30 degrees. During the day, squalls can be seen approaching from a distance, but at night, the only harbinger is a sudden disappearance of stars over one’s right shoulder when at the helm. What fun! To add to the nighttime excitement, we play flying fish dodgeball. These dervishes are constantly bombarding Leviathan and her crew, and each of us has been startled by a sudden and unexpected slap by an invader. These airborne pests have even managed to enter the boat via slightly opened hatches!

Anyway, all discomfort is washed away by the rapidly dwindling miles to our destination and the ultimate declaration of “Land ho!” The island enlarges as we draw nearer, and we see that it is lush and green. The reason for this is apparent as we get drenched by another squall. Ultimately, the skies part, revealing a welcoming sun, and we navigate our way around innumerable fishing pots to enter the harbor of Le Marin. We set the anchor in a quiet little cove away from the main basin. Hooray! We have arrived!

We tidy up a bit then load up in the dinghy for shore. You probably know the routine by this point in the blog. We go to the Port Capitainerie to check in to the country. Customs and immigration here is self-service and is performed on a designated computer terminal. Interesting fact: France (and Martinique) use a different computer keyboard. Quite annoying! Next stop: the first available bar! Here we wait for the arrival of our kids and Scott’s family who are on the same flight from Miami. Our kids join us, while Scott’s tribe heads to their Airbnb. Our visitors are nearly as exhausted as we are following their flights from Michigan. After drinks and dinner, we shuttle guests and luggage back to Leviathan. Since we parked a mile from the restaurant, navigating back to the boat at night is quite challenging. We run aground on a reef which was safe in the afternoon but barely awash at low tide this evening. Samantha rows us out of trouble and we offload at the boat. The return to the restaurant is complicated by a small squall and poor visibility. I end up at the wrong dock, and my cargo has to ambulate to my location if they want to catch a ride. The return to Leviathan is uneventful, and we all collapse. Our rest is well-deserved.

December 17, 2022

The Homestretch

At last, a couple days without drama! Our symmetric spinnaker flies beautifully from the code zero halyard which exits from a slightly lower point on the masthead in comparison to the now defunct spinnaker halyard. We are using a very nice software program called Expedition which takes weather information that we download by satellite phone twice daily and provides an optimal recommended course based upon the current wind, as well as that predicted for the near future. On a spherical surface, the shortest distance between two points falls along a great circle (this is a circle on the surface of the earth whose center coincides with the earth’s center; note that lines of latitude are not great circles, except at the equator). In the northern hemisphere this means that the shortest route actually goes a little north of where you would eyeball the course to run; you may have seen the flight path of an airplane on a transatlantic or transcontinental flight; the plane flies far to the north (again, in the northern hemisphere) of what you would expect. If you have been following our track, you will see that we have not taken a great circle path. That is because sailboats need wind for propulsion, and like the bank robber who goes where the money is, we go where the wind is (or is predicted to be). As a result, we have gone quite a bit south. In fact, we are currently about 70 miles further south than our ultimate destination. Have no fear, we are beginning to veer back slightly to the north making a bee-line for Martinique. The software predicts another three days or so. We expect to make landfall on the afternoon of Tuesday, December 20th.

We have seen neither whales nor dolphins over the last week, but we are regularly visited by schools of flying fish which resemble multitudes of perennial skipping stones. We were interested to examine a specimen which landed in the cockpit of our boat. These creatures have highly specialized pectoral fins which mimic avian wings. The wings support not only gliding aerodynamics, but they are able to flap and provide additional lift. Very cool. They are built like perfect mini-torpedoes with wings.

One final tragic note. Yesterday marked the passing of my DJI Mavic Pro drone. The drone served me well on a semi-terrestrial basis over the last four years. Despite scores of successful missions, the drone had not yet made a flight from a moving platform until yesterday. Takeoff was uneventful and some great video shots of Leviathan were recorded. Landing was then attempted multiple times, but each approach was aborted by internal collision avoidance software which I was unable to override on the fly. As battery time was shrinking, the drone controller suddenly displayed the message “Going Home.” Without so much as a backward glance, the drone turned tail and raced back to its launching point (recorded by gps). I was powerless to bring it back to the boat, and it was lost on the horizon where it presumably ditched at sea. To add insult to injury, the drone took its video recordings into its watery grave. Bummer. I should have read the instructions more carefully.

December 15, 2022

Where's the F-ing Spinnaker?

Heroics and Bruises

Yesterday was shaping up to be one of the best sailing days yet. We continued to blast along under spinnaker. We had a successful combination happy-hour-halfway-party during which we drank champagne and offered a toast to Poseidon. Poseidon must have been offended that it wasn’t Dom Perrignon, because as we were transitioning to dinnertime, we noticed that our boat speed had dropped to 2 knots (i.e., very slow) despite a 20-knot wind. I looked forward and noticed that something big and red was missing. Where’s the f-ing spinnaker? It turns out that the halyard (the rope that holds the sail at the top of the mast) had ruptured and the kite was in the water. Not good. We were able to pull the spinnaker back on board and noted that it was completely undamaged. That is good. We could see a stump of the halyard some 65 feet aloft at the top of the mast (the halyard enters the mast at the top and descends to the mast base via the hollow interior, exiting via a slot at shoulder height). We decided to try to save/replace the halyard, but this would require a volunteer to be hoisted up the mast 6 stories. Scott, Bob, and I immediately took one step backward, leaving Yong as the designee. She has gone up the mast on our little 27-foot sailboat several times, and she was game to proceed on this occasion. We use a bosun’s chair and an additional harness for safety, but please realize that this is an incredibly difficult and risky challenge given the rocking sea state with the boat pitching and diving on every white-capped wave. Imagine climbing a 65-foot telephone pole that is swinging 10 to 20 feet from side to side every few seconds. Extremely difficult. I should note that Yong is fearless and she made her way up to the top without event. Unfortunately, just as she made the apex, the stump of the halyard slipped into the mast interior and out of reach. Incredibly bad luck. The descent should be easy. Famous last words. Due to friction on the lifting line (which passes through several blocks, or pulleys) and Yong’s light weight, when we ease the line, she does not come down! In fact, she is starting to lose control and swing around at the top of the mast. We explain the situation, and she needs to bounce up and down on the harness to overcome the static friction. Success! Once she gets it going, the descent is smooth and she is soon back at boat level. It is getting dark, so we put up the code zero sail (which uses a separate halyard). Yong is bruised and battered, but she is willing to go up again to drop a messenger line for a backup halyard, but we decide that the conditions are much too rough. We will sail with the code zero tonight and put the spinnaker back up tomorrow morning using the code zero halyard. Problem solved (special thanks to Scott, our idea man).

I can’t emphasize enough how proud I am of Yong for the courage to go up the mast under those conditions. She was disappointed that the venture was not successful, but I consider her efforts to have been heroic. Incredible.

December 14, 2022

Rattle and Hum

Things were going pretty well in our last episode. We were bragging about all the extracurricular activities on board. Again, we tempted fate and karma responded quite emphatically. As we began night shifts and my off-duty head hit my pillow, a disturbing vibration began rattling intermittently behind my head every time the boat exceeded 10 knots. That’s not good. We can’t just ignore strange noises at sea. We need to investigate to rule out significant problems and fix what we can. Of course, problems invariably occur at night when investigation can be hazardous and scary. Tonight’s sky is gorgeous and star-packed, but the moon has not yet risen, so visibility is poor. Wearing my life jacket and harness, I tether myself to the boat and crawl out onto the port stern sugar scoop (the absolute rear part of the hull at water level). To keep me from washing overboard in the pitching seas, Yong grabs onto the back of my harness while I wrestle with the hydrogenator to determine if it is the cause of the vibration. We extract it from the water with great difficulty (the force from the water zooming by at light speed makes things tough). That accomplished, we learn that the hydrogenator is innocent; we are guilty of a rush to judgment. The wicked vibration continues, but only when the boat is going very fast. Next step: we need to have a look at the rudder and propeller (which should be inactive with the blades folded). This is impossible with the boat racing like a bat out of hell. Our only safe alternative is to slow the boat down and reassess in the morning when we will have light. Therefore, we take the spinnaker down and engage the starboard engine for the remainder of the night. At least we can sleep.

The dawn finally arises, and after receiving a jolt of caffeine we drop a GoPro camera below the waterline to survey the situation. Happily, we see no problems. The rudder appears well-positioned and the props are nicely folded with no foreign bodies or source of vibration. We then enter the starboard engine compartment to look at the rudder post and steering assembly. Again, everything looks good to go. Perhaps the source of the vibration has fallen off during the night. Okay, let’s put the spinnaker back up and start sailing again! This story has a happy ending (so far). The noise is gone.

December 12, 2022

Day 5

Well, we have finally done it! We have reached the storied trade winds at last! Due to the previously described weather perturbations, we needed to drive hard to the south to reach this Promised Land. What have we achieved? We are now feasting from a never-emptying trough of perfect zephyrs. In other words, our vessel is propelled by a continuous breeze of the right strength (15-20 knots) and from the right direction (east-northeast). We are flying the symmetric spinnaker alone (the main is down) as this provides the perfect engine to drive us to our destination. We will likely maintain this sail configuration for the remainder of the trip. That means no more sail changes (knock on wood). Hallelujah!

Now you may be asking, “What will you be doing for the next eight days, given that you don’t need to change sails and you have an autopilot?” Well, let me assure you that we generally stay pretty busy with gourmet meals, happy hour, backgammon, scrabble, reading, quilting, celestial navigation, napping, and movie nights. Despite this hectic schedule, we still have time for boat maintenance and navigation.

We had some excitement yesterday. Yong caught and cleaned a beautiful big mahi-mahi. That means fish tacos for lunch! We had been on a week-long losing streak until Yong requested a change in lure from the squid jig to the popper. After only 15 minutes in the water, the popper scored a big hit. That is the good news. The bad news is that since we have hit the trade winds, we are moving too fast to fish. Fortunately, the last catch should last us several days.

In summary, we have settled into a comfortable groove, and we are enjoying the passage immensely.

December 10, 2022

Day 3

Before we get started with this blog entry, I would like to include some additional pictures of Mindelo and the island of Sao Vicente in the Cape Verde Chain. The Cape Verde Islands are off the beaten path and difficult to reach, but well worth a visit.

Here we are. Two days completed on our passage. We are still searching for wind. As previously described, the typical weather pattern has been completely disrupted by a series of low-pressure systems which continue to roll towards the Canary Islands, now well to the north of us. We have finally reached what we hope to be continuous northeast trade winds which will take us to our destination. We are currently under main and gennaker on the rhumb line for Martinique. Wind speeds are 10-12 knots and should build to a steady 15-20 over the next 48 hours. Once this occurs, we will probably switch to our symmetric spinnaker for the duration of the trip. We have been visited by dolphins, who provide endless entertainment as they frolic along our bow wake. Despite our best efforts, we have not had any luck fishing, but we will persist. You can’t win if you don’t play

Today is a gorgeous 84 degrees, the sky brimming with puffy clouds, and humidity hovering around 60%. The ocean is a deep blue accented by frequent whitecaps. We have continued to enjoy backgammon, scrabble, and movie nights. Particular attention has been paid to daily happy hours. Night shifts have been very tolerable given the mild temperatures and extra crew. Overall, the passage is going very well so far. The only real tragedy has been the demise of our French press which had serviced the crew mightily during its short lifetime. Not to worry! We have alternate methods of brewing our favorite morning beverage (otherwise a mutiny might occur).

December 7, 2022

Land Ho!

December 7th, a day that will live in infamy. Also, a day that we arrived in Cape Verde. It is quite an exhilarating feeling to arrive at a tiny island in the middle of the ocean after a long sailing passage. We really seem to be in the middle of nowhere, and yet there is a group of 10 or so islands in the Cape Verde chain. We are over 500 miles from Africa. These volcanic islands were discovered in the 1400s and were held by Portugal until their independence in 1975. With a 77% literacy rate, and the lowest infant mortality rate in Africa (lower than Alabama), Cape Verde represents the most successful democracy on the African continent.

Following a successful interaction with immigration and the port police, we made our way to the first available bar, followed by the second available bar, and the hat trick was completed by a wonderful dinner at a seaside restaurant (thanks, Google). We then dinghied back to Leviathan and planned our next step. The weather gods suggest a departure time of 3pm tomorrow. That will give us time to refuel and take a taxi tour of the island of Sao Vicente before we rush off again. This time we are facing the big Atlantic crossing to Martinique. Another 2100 nautical miles. Piece of cake. The crossing will take eleven to twelve days. No more blog posts until we reach Martinique, where we will once again have access to the internet. Bon voyage!

December 5, 2022

Geronimo!

When I was a kid, we would yell “Geronimo!” whenever we did anything that required a bit of courage like jumping off the high dive at the pool or skateboarding down a steep hill. I’m pretty sure it is politically incorrect nowadays. Geronimo was an Apache shaman and warrior whose life was immortalized on the silver screen during the Golden Age of Hollywood. Paratroopers in WWII started the practice of yelling “Geronimo” when they jumped out of planes. It became a very common exclamation during my childhood. None of this really matters except that I had not uttered the term for decades until today when I jumped off the back of Leviathan in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean 280 miles off the coast of Mauritania in Africa. The ocean was like glass, windless, crystal-clear, and miles deep. We had just stopped the engines to have a swim and take a look at the portside propeller due to a new vibration we had noticed. I had attached a line to the back of the boat for safety which I heaved overboard prior to my leap. The African water was warm in contrast to the Med which was quite chilly. Once I surfaced, I grabbed my safety line and noticed the boat rather rapidly disappearing and leaving me in its wake. No worries, I will just pull myself in along the line. It was at this moment that I noticed the line which I had securely attached to the stern cleat unravel and separate from the boat. Uh oh. I am a pretty decent swimmer, but the drifting boat put my abilities to the limit. Fortunately, Yong came to my rescue and tossed another line for me to grab. Crisis averted!

After that bit of excitement, we found a large plastic bag wrapped around the port propeller. Easily removed. Another problem solved. We have been motoring for the last two days due to a near complete absence of wind. This was expected. We are still making a beeline for the Cape Verde Islands, as the weather patterns should be more settled at that southern latitude, to afford a smooth crossing to the Caribbean.

Our passage so far has been quite enjoyable. Two days of nice sailing followed by two days of motoring. We have seen numerous pods of dolphins and pilot whales. We have caught a couple very nice mahi mahi which have been delicious. We have also been practicing our celestial navigation skills (more on this later). Since Scott has joined the crew, we have enjoyed happy hours, movie nights, and most importantly, more sleep.

December 1, 2022

The Crossing

We just can’t catch a break on the weather. Yesterday we made our way from our remote anchorage six miles down the coast of Tenerife to the capital city of Santa Cruz and docked at the Marina Santa Cruz. We were surrounded by similar crazy sailors who were waiting for a good weather window to launch westward to the Caribbean. We immediately began to overhear conversations regarding the weather and certain adjectives caught our ears: terrible, horrible, worst-ever, never-seen-before, etc. So, we decided to have a look at the weather ourselves. Up to this point, we were assuming the weather would be what it typically is for this time of year and in this region. The winter winds in the Atlantic are controlled by what is called the Azores High, a very consistent meteorological phenomenon which generates a clockwise rotation of winds which whisk sailboats merrily to the Caribbean from the Canary Islands. It is one of the constants of life: death, taxes, and the Azores High. It is incredibly reliable. Unfortunately, the High is being bombarded by a series of low-pressure systems which has caused it to collapse, and our reliable winds have vanished. What to do? Option 1: wait for the weather to stabilize and then make the Atlantic crossing; unfortunately, this may take weeks which we don’t have. We would like to get to the island of Martinique by Christmas. Option 2: drive hard south out of the Canaries towards the Cape Verde Islands and then turn right; if we can make it far enough south, we can avoid the chaos and catch a fast ride to the Caribbean. We have decided to go with Option 2. One caveat: Option 2 requires that we leave as soon as possible. Therefore, we will leave tonight at midnight.

Today was a busy day. We refueled (this is important, because we may need to do some motoring to get south in the light winds we will initially experience), provisioned for 20 days (just to be on the safe side; we expect a passage of 14 to 17 days), picked up new crewmember Scott, checked out of the marina, checked out of the country (we needed an exit stamp from the local Policia), went out for dinner, tidied the boat up, and took a brief nap before our departure. Why leave at midnight? Well, we would have been better off leaving yesterday, or last week, but tomorrow will be too late according to the weather models. So off we go.

Before we sign off on this episode, I would like to mention how much we love the city of Santa Cruz here in Tenerife. Beautiful tree-lined streets, fantastic shopping and dining opportunities, and friendly people. There is a civic center on the water that looks like the Sydney Opera House. I would love to come back and spend more time here.

At some point in our Crossing, we will lose our internet connection and we will go radio silent. When that happens, you can still track our progress using the following link:

Current Position of Leviathan