Hot in Herre

Good afternoon from the equatorial Pacific Ocean! All is well aboard the fine yacht Flyer as the past three days have passed with lots of action, preventing boredom and keeping us on our toes. After two or so days of breezy northeast trade wind sailing between 12n and 10n, we took a minor left turn three days ago at 10n 130w to make a more southerly course towards the Marquesas. 

That left sent us into an area of greater atmospheric instability to the south. Within a half of a day we were confronted with our first squall of the trip. The dark cloud ahead also read loud and clear on our radar, and try as we might to head up and pass it from behind, the dark hovering monster only decided to grow unpredictably and envelop us entirely in its grips. 

Within fifteen minutes the breeze jumped quickly from 15kn to 35kn. Flyer took it in stride, considering we had both a full mainsail and genoa up! We quickly eased the main to bear off to run before the push, and as we unloaded the sails we furled a half the genoa. The rain was tremendous, the heaviest rain we’d ever seen on Flyer. Within ten minutes the wind moderated to about 25kn for the remainder of the squall and and hour later, on the backside of the cell the wind had further moderated to 15kn.

We had learned an important lesson. We needed to set the boat up better and more conservatively for the impending unpredictable squalls ahead. So a couple hours later, with nighttime setting in, we decided to drop the mainsail entirely as we saw another approaching dark mass. This proved a workable solution for the night, though as we soon learned, it was a bit too conservative. 

The squalls that night were mostly lighter in nature, one of which even featured a fully becalmed center. After a long night of almost constant sail trim adjustment to keep Flyer moving, we were exhausted. As the dawn broke, we raised the mainsail again but this time with two reefs tucked in, reducing the sail area by over 1/3rd. This combination proved a good one for the next 48 hours, giving us enough power in the lighter winds to keep moving, but reducing our sail area enough to ride out the big gusts. 

We’ve generally been sailing with this setup for the past two days, with eyes glued to the horizon and radar. We adjust our sails and trim accordingly, and always trying in vain to head up or down in an attempt to avoid them. We’ve found these storm cells to be very dynamic, sometimes materializing quickly in front of us, sometimes growing in unexpected directions, and always configuring themselves to be unavoidable for Flyer. 

Life aboard has also become dramatically more wet. Flyer is a remarkably dry boat compared to most sailboats, but it’s easy to make life in the cabin wet when you’ve been caught off-guard by a squall with your hatches open! The heat and humidity are oppressive here in the intertropical convergence zone. Cabin temperatures have ranged from 82 to almost 90 degrees with humidity levels between 75-85%. Every surface feels wet to the touch. Our sheets and clothes have become adhesives. Sometimes keeping hatches open is a gamble we’re willing to take given how quickly the air inside our cabin gets hot and stuffy.

Another not-so-welcome guest aboard Flyer have been the gooseneck barnacles we’re seeing adhered to our transom. These are weird looking creatures that hitch a ride on slower moving boats through the tropics. On sailboats like Flyer, they quickly adhere themselves and grow all over the hull and increase the boat’s drag through the water, slowing us down. Some have said they can cut a boat’s speed in half when they have matured and populated to a certain extent. To combat the gooseneck barnacles we are dragging a coarse, 5/8” line off the bow for about an hour every day. This line drags along the hull and (hopefully) with the motion of the boat through the water, helps to knock some of the creatures off. Time will tell if this has helped, but it can’t hurt to try, no? Rumor has it that within 24 hours of arrival in the Marquesas, the local fish provide a complementary hull-cleaning service. We are looking forward to that.

As I finish writing here in the doghouse the skies ahead are blue with only occasional small puffy clouds overhead. Flyer is sailing happily at a course of 195degrees magnetic at 6.5 to 7.5 knots under the watchful eye of Piloti, our newly trusty Windpilot. I made a few adjustments to the system and, with the right sail combination and balance, Piloti is thrilled to take the helm for hours at a time to give his robotic counterpart a break. 

It appears the next couple of days will bring more sun, fewer squalls, and, most importantly, some wind to take us across the equator, now only 198nm ahead. With 2,111nm down and less than 1,000 to go to Nuku Hiva, we’re amazed at how far we’ve come on this passage. “I can’t believe it’s been two weeks” James remarked a couple days ago. “It feels like it’s only been one!” I’ll chalk that one up for a win.