We've been at sea just over three days now. The weather has been as good as can be hoped for, other than a slightly inconvenient southeast wind direction. For the first two-and-a-half days, I kept Ardea close-hauled, which was not super comfortable, but I wanted to maintain my easting so as not to get too close to the center of the big high pressure system located somewhere north of New Zealand. For Highs, the wind gets lighter toward the center, so I figured best to avoid losing the breeze.
I had a solid twelve to fifteen knots for two days; at night it would come up a bit higher and on the second and third nights I sailed under only a double-reefed main and a reefed genoa. This morning, though, the wind was lighter. I put out all the canvas I had and was still dissatisfied with my boat speed. I decided to dig the spare mizzen out of the lazarette and rig it up without batens as a staysail. I wish I had had the idea about seven-thousand miles ago, but it only came to me when I was reading Moitessier's The Long Way, an excellent book describing his passage around the three southern capes (two of them he rounded twice). In it he describes rigging bonnets, by which he means jibs made fast on the underside of his main and mizzen booms for added sail area. Anyway, I didn't have the proper setup for bonnets, but it got me thinking about adding makeshift sail area. The pseudo-staysail seemed to give Ardea a good boost and I rode it all day. I didn't want to keep it up into the night, though, as it would have been difficult to douse quickly in a blow.
So that was one activity. I also passed a bit of time whittling a pig bone from that roast we had back at Port Maurelle to fit as a fret bar on my ukulele, the original of which had broken. I glued it in so hopefully that will work out. If it's not clear, I'm a bit restless. On the one hand, it hardly seems like I've been out for three days, but on the other, the thought of another week before landfall is a bit daunting. Surely it will go by quickly, as it always does, but I'm more anxious than usual. That said, the weather outlook continues to look very good. I've now put some west in my course, heading basically southwest at this stage, so it's a fairly comfortable ride. The winds should stay southeast at ten to fifteen knots for another two or three days at which time a front will bring northwest winds, hence the choice to head a bit more west of the rhumb line. Once the wind shifts, I'll gybe and take a direct course for Opua. Until then, the name of the game is boat speed; I've even managed to lash the whisker pole, which has a broken fitting on one end, to the mast so that I can keep the genoa out better and maintain speed downwind in these sort of fluky winds. It's helping a little bit. It looks a bit squally up ahead, so we'll see how it goes if I have to get that down quick. Anyway, just under 800 miles to go.
There is a growing amount of pumice floating in the water. It started showing up yesterday, mostly pebble-sized. Today it's all over the place ranging from the same to grapefruit-sized. There is a good deal of volcanic activity beneath the seafloor around here, with two tectonic plates merging somewhere in the vicinity, so these rocks are formed way way down there and float up to the surface. They're light weight and easily cast aside by the bow wake, so don't pose a threat to Ardea's gelcoat. I haven't tried scooping any up yet. Maybe that will be tomorrow's activity.
I woke up with a good appetite today, a positive change as I had eaten little since leaving Ha'Apai. I made English muffins and ate them with eggs, fresh tomatoes, cucumber and some excellent spicy peppers I bought at the market in Pangai.
Well, I didn't really set out to make this into such a journal entry, but I suppose this might clarify to some of the inquiring minds out there as to what it's like to be alone at sea for days. Not super exciting. Put some reefs in, take some reefs out. Read a book. Listen to some music. Stare at the swell. It's good to have time to think over all of this trip, though. It's been almost ten months since Ardea lumbered away from F dock, grossly over-stocked and with a full crew, in some ways naïve but nevertheless intent on adventure. It's incredible to think about how much has happened in that time. Ardea is nearing the ten-thousand mile mark, though I'm not sure she'll quite hit it in Opua. I've learned a lot, seen a lot, tried to soak it in. It's hard to believe that in now just less than a month I'll be headed back to California to meet my nephew, buy a million beers for my brother who will soon be a fellow Cal graduate, and otherwise bask in the company of my family and friends, who have been so thoroughly missed aboard this tiny ship. And California. Berkeley. That big beautiful Bay. I do miss home. I've got the ocean in my blood, though, and no doubt I'll be stuffing my foulies into my pack for my visit to the northern hemisphere. You might see me, one foggy afternoon, wandering the docks, looking for someone putting out to sea, even if only for a little while.
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