It has been blowing 25-30kts just aft the beam since midnight with seas right on the beam that roll us around. About every 90 seconds we get whacked by a wave that sends water flying across the deck to splatter on the windshield of the dodger. With just a double reefed main we're making 7-8kts. It is stunningly clear and terrifically cold. The diesel heater is keeping the cabin toasty warm while I type.
We're about 60 miles from the Golden Gate Bridge. Looking out across the bow, the mast, forestay, shrouds, lifelines, etc. are silhouetted against a glow on the horizon from the lights of the bay area.
I am looking forward to dawn, a little less wind and a hot cup of coffee.
ETA: 11:30am
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
One more day
The winds continue to bedevil us. The low off of Portland that has bent the wind to the west did not dissipate as scheduled by NOAA. We were able to sail for a few hours last night, but then had to resume motoring. This morning it's been back and forth. At the moment we've just resumed sailing and the sun is threatening to appear.
The big news today is dolphins! We've had at least two visitations by pods of dolphins this morning. Maybe 6-10 dolphins around the boat, criss crossing in front the bow, racing from astern to the bow and generally cavorting around New Morning. They look smaller than the dolphins in the Caribbean, but larger than the porpoises we've seen in and around the bay. In any case it's a really nice greeting as we approach the coast.
We have about 174 miles to go as of noon so the new ETA is noon on Friday, at the dock.
The big news today is dolphins! We've had at least two visitations by pods of dolphins this morning. Maybe 6-10 dolphins around the boat, criss crossing in front the bow, racing from astern to the bow and generally cavorting around New Morning. They look smaller than the dolphins in the Caribbean, but larger than the porpoises we've seen in and around the bay. In any case it's a really nice greeting as we approach the coast.
We have about 174 miles to go as of noon so the new ETA is noon on Friday, at the dock.
Waiting for the wind
The sun came out for awhile today which was a nice break from the gray on gray (a far less interesting version of Fifty Shades!) as we waited for the wind to clock back to the NW or N and build enough to allow us to sail. At 2am it's still just 8kts from the WNW and the double reefed main is still slatting so we're plodding along at 1800RPM to conserve fuel, making about 6kts. The forecast is for the wind to build a bit by the morning so we can start sailing (getting very low on fuel) and then build to a full 24kts by this time Friday morning. Then it's supposed to die off again as we pass the Farallone Islands, enter the ship channel and approach the Golden Gate. So we need to save some fuel for the home stretch.
Definitely more ship traffic in the last 24hrs. Probably half a dozen ships crossed our radar screen, all of them no closer than about 15 miles. Currently being approached by one that says it's destination is Vancouver (so why so far out here?) that is supposed to pass within 4.5nm.
We finished the last of the chocolate chip cookies so we must be getting close to San Francisco! I broke out of the "defrost, heat and eat" paradigm today and cooked myself a grilled cheese sandwich with some nice multigrain bread Fay bought in Honolulu and aged cheddar cheese from New Zealand that we bought in Moorea. Looking forward to Fay's pasta casserole tomorrow night.
Earlier tonight as the sun set it revealed the waxing crescent moon which produced a nice reflection off the water for an hour or two before the moon set as well, revealing a star filled sky. The sky remained clear until about half an hour ago when the overcast spread quickly after Paul went off watch and now I am immersed in darkness. No moon, no stars, just darkness with a little bio luminescence in the water, stirred up by the prop and trailing in our wake. The water temperature continues to drop, now at 61F and leaving New Morning is covered with a thick layer of condensation. The forecast says the water temp will drop to 50F, but that seems colder than the usual temperatures off the coast at this time of year so I'm a little skeptical. In any case it's cold and damp on deck, but the Espar heater keeps the cabin toasty warm.
ETA: Friday morning 9-10am
Definitely more ship traffic in the last 24hrs. Probably half a dozen ships crossed our radar screen, all of them no closer than about 15 miles. Currently being approached by one that says it's destination is Vancouver (so why so far out here?) that is supposed to pass within 4.5nm.
We finished the last of the chocolate chip cookies so we must be getting close to San Francisco! I broke out of the "defrost, heat and eat" paradigm today and cooked myself a grilled cheese sandwich with some nice multigrain bread Fay bought in Honolulu and aged cheddar cheese from New Zealand that we bought in Moorea. Looking forward to Fay's pasta casserole tomorrow night.
Earlier tonight as the sun set it revealed the waxing crescent moon which produced a nice reflection off the water for an hour or two before the moon set as well, revealing a star filled sky. The sky remained clear until about half an hour ago when the overcast spread quickly after Paul went off watch and now I am immersed in darkness. No moon, no stars, just darkness with a little bio luminescence in the water, stirred up by the prop and trailing in our wake. The water temperature continues to drop, now at 61F and leaving New Morning is covered with a thick layer of condensation. The forecast says the water temp will drop to 50F, but that seems colder than the usual temperatures off the coast at this time of year so I'm a little skeptical. In any case it's cold and damp on deck, but the Espar heater keeps the cabin toasty warm.
ETA: Friday morning 9-10am
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
The culprit
As we continue motoring east at 6kts, with 8kts of wind now on our starboard quarter (i.e., WSW) I've been trying to understand what has happened to our wind. Wind from the SW in our area is usually associated with a low pressure system, but we've been dealing with a massive high pressure system.
I downloaded the current NOAA surface analysis, as well as the 24hr and 48hr forecasts. There it is. A weak low pressure area sitting off the coast of Portland. It protrudes from the coast and into the high like a pot belly hanging over a belt. The wind follows the curve of the belly and we get a WSW wind. Fortunately it is labeled as "DSIPT" which is NOAA speak for dissipating, though we view it more as disappointing. It is gone on the 48hr forecast which is why the GRIBs forecast that we'll have a weak sailing breeze by about midnight which builds tomorrow and into a very brisk breeze (20-25) by Thursday night as the high is compressed by a low to the west.
Is this beginning to sound like your nightly news weatherman, but without the spiffy graphics, loud sports coat and bad jokes? So be it, we'll be obsessed with the weather until we arrive.
The surface forecasts also show what is behind us and it's a good thing we didn't depart a week later. There is a very deep low pressure system currently about 1,400 miles to the west which is producing gale force winds (35-40kts with 20' seas) where we were located just six days ago, and storm force winds just to the west of that (50kts with 30' seas). We will be happy to be arriving soon.
ETA: Friday morning between 9-noon (remember, it's an estimate)
I downloaded the current NOAA surface analysis, as well as the 24hr and 48hr forecasts. There it is. A weak low pressure area sitting off the coast of Portland. It protrudes from the coast and into the high like a pot belly hanging over a belt. The wind follows the curve of the belly and we get a WSW wind. Fortunately it is labeled as "DSIPT" which is NOAA speak for dissipating, though we view it more as disappointing. It is gone on the 48hr forecast which is why the GRIBs forecast that we'll have a weak sailing breeze by about midnight which builds tomorrow and into a very brisk breeze (20-25) by Thursday night as the high is compressed by a low to the west.
Is this beginning to sound like your nightly news weatherman, but without the spiffy graphics, loud sports coat and bad jokes? So be it, we'll be obsessed with the weather until we arrive.
The surface forecasts also show what is behind us and it's a good thing we didn't depart a week later. There is a very deep low pressure system currently about 1,400 miles to the west which is producing gale force winds (35-40kts with 20' seas) where we were located just six days ago, and storm force winds just to the west of that (50kts with 30' seas). We will be happy to be arriving soon.
ETA: Friday morning between 9-noon (remember, it's an estimate)
From great sailing to slow motoring
Last night and much of yesterday was really pleasant sailing. Overall, the wind has made a huge shift from ENE to WNW, while we are trying to travel East. ENE was lousy as it forced us to the south. But as the wind shifted we had about 18hrs of really nice sailing with the wind from the North and NW. A light wind of 8-12kts from the perfect direction with relatively calm seas and the sun shining. Really great.
Then the wind continued to shift until it was almost directly behind us, causing the apparent wind to decline to almost nothing and forcing us to motor again. At the same time the sky became overcast. So we're now motoring along with the wind almost directly behind us while rolling in a NW swell which causes the sail to slat (or more accurately slam) back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. We've double reefed the main so that there is not much sail area, but if we take it down entirely to stop the slatting, then we'll roll really badly, so we endure the slatting and hope it doesn't break anything in the process.
We're motoring slowly so that we get better mileage. At just 1800rpm, rather than our usual 2300, we make about 6kts versus our usual 7kts, but we burn only 1gph versus our usual 1.5gph. 85% of the speed for 66% of the fuel is a good trade off when we're low on fuel and trying to avoid arriving in the middle of the night.
During the really nice sailing yesterday, while the sun was shining, we took our last shower in the cockpit. The hot shower water in the bright sun felt great, but the moment I turned off the water - zing - very crisp air - where is my towel!
Not too much to report now. It's absolutely pitch black on deck. There is a thick overcast so the sky is simply black, not a hint of light. I'm using the masthead tricolor light even though we're sailing because it provides much better long distance visibility if anyone is looking our way. I don't think a big ship really cares if we're sailing or motoring, more important to just be seen. A couple of ships have passed far behind us, no close encounters. As I write, another ship is passing to the north of us, but won't come any closer than 17 miles. Also no tsunami debris. We did see one fishing float, but those are pretty common everywhere, just bobbing along.
It's pretty cold in the cockpit at night and we're both bundled up with lots of wool and Patagonia products. Yesterday we began using New Morning's diesel fueled heater to heat the aft cabin and the salon. In the tropics we used it for hot shower water, but this is the first time since we departed Maine in 2008 that we've used it to heat the interior of the boat.
The forecast is that tomorrow the wind will shift back to the NW and begin to build so we'll be able to resume sailing. By Thursday evening we're supposed to have 20-22kts for our final dash into San Francisco. That should make for some exciting, and chilly sailing.
ETA: Friday morning
Then the wind continued to shift until it was almost directly behind us, causing the apparent wind to decline to almost nothing and forcing us to motor again. At the same time the sky became overcast. So we're now motoring along with the wind almost directly behind us while rolling in a NW swell which causes the sail to slat (or more accurately slam) back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. We've double reefed the main so that there is not much sail area, but if we take it down entirely to stop the slatting, then we'll roll really badly, so we endure the slatting and hope it doesn't break anything in the process.
We're motoring slowly so that we get better mileage. At just 1800rpm, rather than our usual 2300, we make about 6kts versus our usual 7kts, but we burn only 1gph versus our usual 1.5gph. 85% of the speed for 66% of the fuel is a good trade off when we're low on fuel and trying to avoid arriving in the middle of the night.
During the really nice sailing yesterday, while the sun was shining, we took our last shower in the cockpit. The hot shower water in the bright sun felt great, but the moment I turned off the water - zing - very crisp air - where is my towel!
Not too much to report now. It's absolutely pitch black on deck. There is a thick overcast so the sky is simply black, not a hint of light. I'm using the masthead tricolor light even though we're sailing because it provides much better long distance visibility if anyone is looking our way. I don't think a big ship really cares if we're sailing or motoring, more important to just be seen. A couple of ships have passed far behind us, no close encounters. As I write, another ship is passing to the north of us, but won't come any closer than 17 miles. Also no tsunami debris. We did see one fishing float, but those are pretty common everywhere, just bobbing along.
It's pretty cold in the cockpit at night and we're both bundled up with lots of wool and Patagonia products. Yesterday we began using New Morning's diesel fueled heater to heat the aft cabin and the salon. In the tropics we used it for hot shower water, but this is the first time since we departed Maine in 2008 that we've used it to heat the interior of the boat.
The forecast is that tomorrow the wind will shift back to the NW and begin to build so we'll be able to resume sailing. By Thursday evening we're supposed to have 20-22kts for our final dash into San Francisco. That should make for some exciting, and chilly sailing.
ETA: Friday morning
Direction of the wind
The readers who are sailors should skip this entry.
I realized that I make many references to wind direction and these may not make much sense to the non-sailors, so here is a brief explanation.
First, I usually refer to the true wind. This is the wind as it is actually blowing as perceived from a non-moving position and is different from the apparent wind which is as perceived from the boat in motion. So imagine a car driving down the road directly into a 10mph wind at 50mph (I know - impossibly slow). The driver rolls down the window and perceives the wind blowing at 60mph, while someone standing on the side of the road (perhaps out of gas) perceives the wind blowing at 10mph. The same thing happens on the boat where the sailors perspective is called the "apparent" wind and the wind as perceived by someone on land is the "true" wind. I almost always refer to the true wind.
Then there are wind direction references which are relative to the boat. These are usually a number from 0-180, where 0 is the bow and 180 is the stern. There are also references relative to the "beam" of the boat. The "beam" is the widest spot of the boat, a point perpendicular to the long axis of the boat, or at 90 degrees. So if the wind is forward of the beam, it's in the range of 0-89, on the beam is 90, and aft the beam is 91-180. Generally speaking, forward of the beam is more difficult and less comfortable, aft the beam is faster and more enjoyable. So if the wind is at 45 (hard on the wind or beating), that's not as nice as if it is as at 120 (broad reaching). On the beam or "beam reaching" is the fastest point of sail.
Then there is the wind direction relative to compass, also known as the wind rose or compass rose. These are classical definitions dating back hundreds or thousands of years. You probably remember from high school geometry (who could forget?) that a circle is divided into 360 degrees. For sailors, the compass is first divided into the cardinal points of north, east, south and west, each 90 degrees. Then these are divided by the ordinal points at 45 degrees, and finally the half winds are inserted between the ordinal points at 22.5 degrees.
And finally, the wind is named for the direction it blows from, while the travel of the boat refers to the direction it is going to. So a boat on a course of 090 with an east wind has the wind on the bow (not good).
What we've experienced in the last 24hrs is a shift in the wind from ENE, east north east or 67.5 degrees, to WNW, west north west or 292.5 degrees. In our case, both were poor directions for the wind as we are attempting to travel east (or 090).
You should now be thoroughly confused. Just read this again 4-5 times and I'm sure it will all make perfect sense. Below is the complete table of directions with the degrees, abbreviation, and full name traveling around the rose in a clockwise direction.
0 - N - North
22.5 - NNE - North Northeast
45 - NE Northeast
67.5 - ENE - East Northeast
90 - E - East
112.5 - ESE - East Southeast
135 - SE - Southeast
157.5 - SSE - South Southeast
180 - S - South
202.5 - SSW - South Southwest
225 - SW - Southwest
247.5 - WSW - West Southwest
270 - W - West
292.5 - WNW - West northwest
315 - NW - Northwest
337.5 - NNW - North northwest
I realized that I make many references to wind direction and these may not make much sense to the non-sailors, so here is a brief explanation.
First, I usually refer to the true wind. This is the wind as it is actually blowing as perceived from a non-moving position and is different from the apparent wind which is as perceived from the boat in motion. So imagine a car driving down the road directly into a 10mph wind at 50mph (I know - impossibly slow). The driver rolls down the window and perceives the wind blowing at 60mph, while someone standing on the side of the road (perhaps out of gas) perceives the wind blowing at 10mph. The same thing happens on the boat where the sailors perspective is called the "apparent" wind and the wind as perceived by someone on land is the "true" wind. I almost always refer to the true wind.
Then there are wind direction references which are relative to the boat. These are usually a number from 0-180, where 0 is the bow and 180 is the stern. There are also references relative to the "beam" of the boat. The "beam" is the widest spot of the boat, a point perpendicular to the long axis of the boat, or at 90 degrees. So if the wind is forward of the beam, it's in the range of 0-89, on the beam is 90, and aft the beam is 91-180. Generally speaking, forward of the beam is more difficult and less comfortable, aft the beam is faster and more enjoyable. So if the wind is at 45 (hard on the wind or beating), that's not as nice as if it is as at 120 (broad reaching). On the beam or "beam reaching" is the fastest point of sail.
Then there is the wind direction relative to compass, also known as the wind rose or compass rose. These are classical definitions dating back hundreds or thousands of years. You probably remember from high school geometry (who could forget?) that a circle is divided into 360 degrees. For sailors, the compass is first divided into the cardinal points of north, east, south and west, each 90 degrees. Then these are divided by the ordinal points at 45 degrees, and finally the half winds are inserted between the ordinal points at 22.5 degrees.
And finally, the wind is named for the direction it blows from, while the travel of the boat refers to the direction it is going to. So a boat on a course of 090 with an east wind has the wind on the bow (not good).
What we've experienced in the last 24hrs is a shift in the wind from ENE, east north east or 67.5 degrees, to WNW, west north west or 292.5 degrees. In our case, both were poor directions for the wind as we are attempting to travel east (or 090).
You should now be thoroughly confused. Just read this again 4-5 times and I'm sure it will all make perfect sense. Below is the complete table of directions with the degrees, abbreviation, and full name traveling around the rose in a clockwise direction.
0 - N - North
22.5 - NNE - North Northeast
45 - NE Northeast
67.5 - ENE - East Northeast
90 - E - East
112.5 - ESE - East Southeast
135 - SE - Southeast
157.5 - SSE - South Southeast
180 - S - South
202.5 - SSW - South Southwest
225 - SW - Southwest
247.5 - WSW - West Southwest
270 - W - West
292.5 - WNW - West northwest
315 - NW - Northwest
337.5 - NNW - North northwest
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Embracing slow
The skies improved yesterday morning while we slowly motored north under rainy skies. Then the wind backed and a light breeze filled in, enabling us to begin sailing (so much quieter). We had smooth, though slow sailing through the afternoon and evening until about midnight at which time the breeze had really dropped and we began motoring slowly again. A few weak squalls have appeared on the radar and while I've been able to begin sailing again, the wind is shifting south and I think those squalls are again at work, though they look much smaller that the last two nights and the small increase in wind speed to 11kts is a good tradeoff for the shift in direction to the south.
In any case the 36hrs of lousy weather and squalls pushed us south and slowed us down. So now we have an "embracing slow" strategy. The distance to travel is too far to arrive at a reasonable time on Thursday night, and too little to arrive on Friday morning. Since we do not want to arrive in the middle of the night, we will sail slow (not a problem with such light wind), and then motor slow when/if the wind backs as the forecasts suggest. Then the forecast has a proper San Francisco greeting with 15-20kts the last day or so when we'll pretty much have no choice but to be sailing fairly fast. We'll check the forecast again in the morning to see if this scenario is still valid. The advantage at this point is that motoring slowly for 150 miles or so will stretch out our fuel (better mileage) which will help us in case the forecast shifts and there are even more light winds.
Last night and yesterday we had two interesting encounters with ships.
The first was a ship that was overtaking us from directly astern, right on our same course. It was a 900' Panamax (largest ship that can go through the canal) container ship. They didn't respond to my first call, but did respond to my second call. The voice sounded like a slightly bored Russian and after a brief discussion he assured me that he could see us and would alter course to starboard to avoid us. Later, when he drew to within six miles and had not altered course, I called again. Again he assured me he would alter course, not to worry. To our surprise, a few minutes later he called us back, asked us to switch to another channel and said he wanted to ask some questions. He turned out to be quite interested in what such a "little" boat was doing out here, how many were on board, where we were going, etc, etc. And he was indeed Russian. We ended up having an extended chat about his boat, his trip, our boat, our trip, his experiences on a Russian training ship (so he was probably an officer), his trips to Oakland and taking the "metro" to San Francisco, etc. etc. He did change course to starboard, and then turned on a whole bunch of his lights as he went by, quite a show!
The second ship was during the day and on our exact opposite course, a 1,000'+ container ship coming straight at us at 20kts. Paul was on watch and contacted the ship which responded that they could not see us on radar or visually. Paul followed regarding what they would do, and they failed to respond. He tried again and no response. It was at the watch change so when I came up we decided to take evasive action, dropped the sails, started the engine and turned away from the ship. It ended up crossing us about a mile and a half to our port side; at which time they came on the radio and told us they could see us! Didn't that warm our hearts. It was clear the guy was interested in strictly a CYA communication as he gave some information that he obviously put into his log. Paul was quite miffed and took notes so that he could complain to the company (MSC) and the international authorities, when we arrive. Had Paul not been paying close attention and taken evasive action the encounter would have been much closer.
This final 900 miles has turned out to be a real challenge with each 100 miles of progress requiring a different approach. Not just a matter of setting the sails and following the course to our destination. So we're grinding it out and adapting to each change in the weather. 525 miles to go.
ETA: Friday morning
In any case the 36hrs of lousy weather and squalls pushed us south and slowed us down. So now we have an "embracing slow" strategy. The distance to travel is too far to arrive at a reasonable time on Thursday night, and too little to arrive on Friday morning. Since we do not want to arrive in the middle of the night, we will sail slow (not a problem with such light wind), and then motor slow when/if the wind backs as the forecasts suggest. Then the forecast has a proper San Francisco greeting with 15-20kts the last day or so when we'll pretty much have no choice but to be sailing fairly fast. We'll check the forecast again in the morning to see if this scenario is still valid. The advantage at this point is that motoring slowly for 150 miles or so will stretch out our fuel (better mileage) which will help us in case the forecast shifts and there are even more light winds.
Last night and yesterday we had two interesting encounters with ships.
The first was a ship that was overtaking us from directly astern, right on our same course. It was a 900' Panamax (largest ship that can go through the canal) container ship. They didn't respond to my first call, but did respond to my second call. The voice sounded like a slightly bored Russian and after a brief discussion he assured me that he could see us and would alter course to starboard to avoid us. Later, when he drew to within six miles and had not altered course, I called again. Again he assured me he would alter course, not to worry. To our surprise, a few minutes later he called us back, asked us to switch to another channel and said he wanted to ask some questions. He turned out to be quite interested in what such a "little" boat was doing out here, how many were on board, where we were going, etc, etc. And he was indeed Russian. We ended up having an extended chat about his boat, his trip, our boat, our trip, his experiences on a Russian training ship (so he was probably an officer), his trips to Oakland and taking the "metro" to San Francisco, etc. etc. He did change course to starboard, and then turned on a whole bunch of his lights as he went by, quite a show!
The second ship was during the day and on our exact opposite course, a 1,000'+ container ship coming straight at us at 20kts. Paul was on watch and contacted the ship which responded that they could not see us on radar or visually. Paul followed regarding what they would do, and they failed to respond. He tried again and no response. It was at the watch change so when I came up we decided to take evasive action, dropped the sails, started the engine and turned away from the ship. It ended up crossing us about a mile and a half to our port side; at which time they came on the radio and told us they could see us! Didn't that warm our hearts. It was clear the guy was interested in strictly a CYA communication as he gave some information that he obviously put into his log. Paul was quite miffed and took notes so that he could complain to the company (MSC) and the international authorities, when we arrive. Had Paul not been paying close attention and taken evasive action the encounter would have been much closer.
This final 900 miles has turned out to be a real challenge with each 100 miles of progress requiring a different approach. Not just a matter of setting the sails and following the course to our destination. So we're grinding it out and adapting to each change in the weather. 525 miles to go.
ETA: Friday morning
Monday, September 17, 2012
Slowly, very slowly
The forecast as shown in the GRIBs, and our reality, continue to have little in common. It's been winter on New Morning with overcast skies heavy with rain clouds and cold at night.
Last night was another night of squalls. One particularly nasty one hit 27kts before I finally rolled up the jib and started fore reaching to calm things down. It continued with 23-25 for another half hour. I waited out the next two squalls going very slowly while they hit us with 20-25kts from the ESE. Better to slowly sail towards California than quickly sail towards Ecuador. Then the sky opened up and the stars came out, but it blew a steady 20kts from the ESE. All the while the GRIBs were forecasting 10kts from the NE.
The squalls continue this morning, but without as much vigor. None the less they cause 40-60 degree shifts in the wind. It's been impossible to tell where the real gradient wind actually is because the wind seems to always be a function of the nearest squall. As soon as one has passed, another appears. It's impossible to get into any kind of groove and sail the boat so we are making very slow progress.
And as insult to injury, there is a .3-.5kt current that alternates pushing us either west or south. Doesn't sound like much, but it's 6-12nm / day which is like losing 1-1.5hrs of progress each day
Then this morning's forecast showed that our "southern strategy" (worked for Nixon!), was not going to work because the wind was going to die out entirely. Previously the forecast had shown that the wind would clock dramatically to the WNW so taking the ENE wind to the south, then turning up when it backed would give us good speed. But now the model says the wind will die entirely if we head that way. The GRIBs say that right now we should have 8kts from 20 degrees magnetic when in fact the wind is blowing from 70 degrees magnetic. That's the difference between sailing to San Francisco and sailing to Ecuador. So we motor slowiy north.
I have no explanation for the winter weather. The surface analysis shows nothing but white space and two isobars between our current position and California. No fronts, no nothing. So where do we get two days of rain clouds and squalls? NOAA, your funding is in question. The only explanation for the wind at 70 versus 20 is that the high is further east than the NOAA computer models think it is, hence the wind is still bending around the SE corner of the high, rather than blowing north/south on it's east side.
All we can do is cope with what we've got and try to move towards San Francisco while using our remaining fuel as judiciously as possible and sailing when the breeze will let us make progress towards home. We remain ever optimistic that the wind will eventually match the GRIBs and we'll be able to point the bow towards California. At this point we've made a decision to motor slowly NE to take some time off the clock so that we don't arrive at 2am.
ETA: Friday morning
Last night was another night of squalls. One particularly nasty one hit 27kts before I finally rolled up the jib and started fore reaching to calm things down. It continued with 23-25 for another half hour. I waited out the next two squalls going very slowly while they hit us with 20-25kts from the ESE. Better to slowly sail towards California than quickly sail towards Ecuador. Then the sky opened up and the stars came out, but it blew a steady 20kts from the ESE. All the while the GRIBs were forecasting 10kts from the NE.
The squalls continue this morning, but without as much vigor. None the less they cause 40-60 degree shifts in the wind. It's been impossible to tell where the real gradient wind actually is because the wind seems to always be a function of the nearest squall. As soon as one has passed, another appears. It's impossible to get into any kind of groove and sail the boat so we are making very slow progress.
And as insult to injury, there is a .3-.5kt current that alternates pushing us either west or south. Doesn't sound like much, but it's 6-12nm / day which is like losing 1-1.5hrs of progress each day
Then this morning's forecast showed that our "southern strategy" (worked for Nixon!), was not going to work because the wind was going to die out entirely. Previously the forecast had shown that the wind would clock dramatically to the WNW so taking the ENE wind to the south, then turning up when it backed would give us good speed. But now the model says the wind will die entirely if we head that way. The GRIBs say that right now we should have 8kts from 20 degrees magnetic when in fact the wind is blowing from 70 degrees magnetic. That's the difference between sailing to San Francisco and sailing to Ecuador. So we motor slowiy north.
I have no explanation for the winter weather. The surface analysis shows nothing but white space and two isobars between our current position and California. No fronts, no nothing. So where do we get two days of rain clouds and squalls? NOAA, your funding is in question. The only explanation for the wind at 70 versus 20 is that the high is further east than the NOAA computer models think it is, hence the wind is still bending around the SE corner of the high, rather than blowing north/south on it's east side.
All we can do is cope with what we've got and try to move towards San Francisco while using our remaining fuel as judiciously as possible and sailing when the breeze will let us make progress towards home. We remain ever optimistic that the wind will eventually match the GRIBs and we'll be able to point the bow towards California. At this point we've made a decision to motor slowly NE to take some time off the clock so that we don't arrive at 2am.
ETA: Friday morning
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Squalls continue
We had squalls all last night. The morning came with a thick overcast and rain. The squalls cleared out in the late morning and by 2pm we were sailing. Very nice to shut off the motor. But we could see thick dark clouds on the horizon and now we're again immersed in squalls. At the moment we're beating into 18-20 of true wind and headed for South America.
The forecast is that tomorrow the wind will back (i.e., shift from ENE to NW) and we'll turn north.
ETA: Thursday night.
The forecast is that tomorrow the wind will back (i.e., shift from ENE to NW) and we'll turn north.
ETA: Thursday night.
Squally night
Pitch black squally night. And unlike in the tropics, these squalls don't show up on the radar. The squalls jump the wind from 10 to 20 and turn us towards Mexico, churning up the sea in the process. We have to get past the high and into a more northerly flow.
ETA: Late Thursday, looking like Friday morning.
ETA: Late Thursday, looking like Friday morning.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Farmers, fisherman and sailors
What do they have in common? They all complain about the weather. Mea culpa. It's either too much wind, or too little, or from the wrong direction, or the sea state is too rough, or…
Right now it's too little wind. We've been motoring for three days and it looks like we'll motor for another three days. We've been mostly motor sailing, meaning we have the sails up while motoring. It's normal to have a reefed main up to help stabilize the boat, but we've also had the jib up a lot of the time. We trim the sails, and tweak our course, to get as much push out of the wind as possible in addition to the motor. Yesterday's noon-noon distance was 187nm which means our efforts produced a good push out of the wind, even though it never blew over 7-8kts.
There is no going over the top of the high as I wrote a few day ago, not this trip. The high is stretched out along a 1,000 mile SW/NE axis from just to the NW of us to north of British Columbia. We are nipping across the southern edge of the high, encountering light headwinds (i.e., from the east) in the process. We could go further north to avoid the light head winds, but it's just more miles and at best a sum zero trade off with motoring into the wind. And we're using the headwinds to push us along also, changing course by a bit to have the wind hit the main at a good angle and help us, or at least not hurt us. At least that's our theory. And Paul and I are very good at inventing theories!
There are no wind waves, but we've had a variety of fairly large swells. Looking out over the ocean is like looking out over blue undulating sand dunes, except that the dunes are constantly in motion. We climb up a dune, then slide down the other side. The swells come from different directions so sometimes they conspire to present an unusual shape or slope and New Morning obliging traverses whatever we encounter.
We're managing our engine speed to stretch out the fuel consumption. We sailed 4,000 miles from the Galapagos to Tahiti and only used 100 gallons of fuel because we had reliable trade winds. On this trip I think we'll probably use virtually all of New Morning's 280 gallons of fuel; we may end up motoring over 1,100 miles on this trip. Not our first choice, but as long as we safely reach our destination then it's a good passage.
There have been a pair of albatrosses around the boat for the last day. I'm pretty sure they're albatrosses as they have a huge wing span. They swoop and glide over the waves and rarely flap their wings. They fly right on the surface of the water, their wing tips can't miss the water by more than a few inches and they go for a long time without a single flap, gliding up and down and in and out of the waves. Unlike the Ancient Mariner we will do the birds no harm, and though we are as a painted ship on a painted ocean, our water maker keeps us well stocked in fresh water.
Which is good because we need to wash down the mountain of cookies and brownies that Fay and Caitlin made for us! Last night (two nights ago as you read this) we had a near tragedy. I discovered ants (how / why we have ants on a sailboat at sea is another story) had invaded the cookie box! Horrors! I meticulously removed the offenders from each cookie and brownie, placed the deserts in a new container and killed the offending insects. Now we keep the cookie box on top of the stove where the ants never visit.
You may recall our near miss with the upside down skiff two days ago. Fortunately yesterday we saw very little floating debris, virtually none. So with luck we are past those hazards.
The water temperature continues to fall, and with it the air temperature. I was actually cold in my bunk this evening when I got up at midnight. When I grabbed the stainless hand rails on the companionway they felt cold to the touch. I got out the blue tape and covered up most of the dorade vent which was blasting cold air into the aft cabin. Then I dug out the heavy blanket that Fay had set aside for us. I checked the engine room temperature and found in that it was only 93 degrees despite running full time for three days; it used to be that hot in French Polynesia when the engine wasn't even running. But alas, seeking further validation I checked the galley thermometer and it still read 74 degrees! Apparently there is a wide gap between "cooler" and "cold".
But it really is cooler. There are no more squalls, just puffy cumulus clouds which made for a nice sunset. Not the towering thunderheads that plagued us for the first five days (see farmers, fisherman and sailors above).
Tonight is a moonless night, totally clear with a zillion stars, the milky way, etc. Stars that reach right down to the horizon in every direction. But it feels a bit like visiting an observatory as the night air is cold and the 13kts of apparent wind (generated by the boat motoring through the night) adds a wind chill. It could be well down into the 60's! But don't worry, Paul has brought all his ski clothes and I have expedition pants and Patagonia shirts and jackets. And like wimps we hide under the hard dodger out of the wind. If all else fails we'll turn on the heater inside the boat and Paul will make more tea.
Less than a 1,000 miles to San Francisco, and actually almost the same, just 60 miles further, to Seattle. That's an oddity that we explored earlier today. How could we be right at the latitude of San Francisco, yet equidistant to Seattle which is pretty much the same longitude as SF? It's the deceptive Mercator projection. In reality the distance between the lines of longitude narrows dramatically as you approach the poles so while we would have to traverse the same amount of longitudinal difference, the actual distance is much less and offsets the required travel in latitude.
Ok, I can see I'm losing you so let me cut to the chase. Seattle and San Diego are essentially equidistant from Honolulu (about 2,300 miles), and San Francisco is about 200 miles closer at roughly 2,100 miles. Isn't geography fun?
ETA: Thursday afternoon, September 20th (remember, estimated, not scheduled)
Right now it's too little wind. We've been motoring for three days and it looks like we'll motor for another three days. We've been mostly motor sailing, meaning we have the sails up while motoring. It's normal to have a reefed main up to help stabilize the boat, but we've also had the jib up a lot of the time. We trim the sails, and tweak our course, to get as much push out of the wind as possible in addition to the motor. Yesterday's noon-noon distance was 187nm which means our efforts produced a good push out of the wind, even though it never blew over 7-8kts.
There is no going over the top of the high as I wrote a few day ago, not this trip. The high is stretched out along a 1,000 mile SW/NE axis from just to the NW of us to north of British Columbia. We are nipping across the southern edge of the high, encountering light headwinds (i.e., from the east) in the process. We could go further north to avoid the light head winds, but it's just more miles and at best a sum zero trade off with motoring into the wind. And we're using the headwinds to push us along also, changing course by a bit to have the wind hit the main at a good angle and help us, or at least not hurt us. At least that's our theory. And Paul and I are very good at inventing theories!
There are no wind waves, but we've had a variety of fairly large swells. Looking out over the ocean is like looking out over blue undulating sand dunes, except that the dunes are constantly in motion. We climb up a dune, then slide down the other side. The swells come from different directions so sometimes they conspire to present an unusual shape or slope and New Morning obliging traverses whatever we encounter.
We're managing our engine speed to stretch out the fuel consumption. We sailed 4,000 miles from the Galapagos to Tahiti and only used 100 gallons of fuel because we had reliable trade winds. On this trip I think we'll probably use virtually all of New Morning's 280 gallons of fuel; we may end up motoring over 1,100 miles on this trip. Not our first choice, but as long as we safely reach our destination then it's a good passage.
There have been a pair of albatrosses around the boat for the last day. I'm pretty sure they're albatrosses as they have a huge wing span. They swoop and glide over the waves and rarely flap their wings. They fly right on the surface of the water, their wing tips can't miss the water by more than a few inches and they go for a long time without a single flap, gliding up and down and in and out of the waves. Unlike the Ancient Mariner we will do the birds no harm, and though we are as a painted ship on a painted ocean, our water maker keeps us well stocked in fresh water.
Which is good because we need to wash down the mountain of cookies and brownies that Fay and Caitlin made for us! Last night (two nights ago as you read this) we had a near tragedy. I discovered ants (how / why we have ants on a sailboat at sea is another story) had invaded the cookie box! Horrors! I meticulously removed the offenders from each cookie and brownie, placed the deserts in a new container and killed the offending insects. Now we keep the cookie box on top of the stove where the ants never visit.
You may recall our near miss with the upside down skiff two days ago. Fortunately yesterday we saw very little floating debris, virtually none. So with luck we are past those hazards.
The water temperature continues to fall, and with it the air temperature. I was actually cold in my bunk this evening when I got up at midnight. When I grabbed the stainless hand rails on the companionway they felt cold to the touch. I got out the blue tape and covered up most of the dorade vent which was blasting cold air into the aft cabin. Then I dug out the heavy blanket that Fay had set aside for us. I checked the engine room temperature and found in that it was only 93 degrees despite running full time for three days; it used to be that hot in French Polynesia when the engine wasn't even running. But alas, seeking further validation I checked the galley thermometer and it still read 74 degrees! Apparently there is a wide gap between "cooler" and "cold".
But it really is cooler. There are no more squalls, just puffy cumulus clouds which made for a nice sunset. Not the towering thunderheads that plagued us for the first five days (see farmers, fisherman and sailors above).
Tonight is a moonless night, totally clear with a zillion stars, the milky way, etc. Stars that reach right down to the horizon in every direction. But it feels a bit like visiting an observatory as the night air is cold and the 13kts of apparent wind (generated by the boat motoring through the night) adds a wind chill. It could be well down into the 60's! But don't worry, Paul has brought all his ski clothes and I have expedition pants and Patagonia shirts and jackets. And like wimps we hide under the hard dodger out of the wind. If all else fails we'll turn on the heater inside the boat and Paul will make more tea.
Less than a 1,000 miles to San Francisco, and actually almost the same, just 60 miles further, to Seattle. That's an oddity that we explored earlier today. How could we be right at the latitude of San Francisco, yet equidistant to Seattle which is pretty much the same longitude as SF? It's the deceptive Mercator projection. In reality the distance between the lines of longitude narrows dramatically as you approach the poles so while we would have to traverse the same amount of longitudinal difference, the actual distance is much less and offsets the required travel in latitude.
Ok, I can see I'm losing you so let me cut to the chase. Seattle and San Diego are essentially equidistant from Honolulu (about 2,300 miles), and San Francisco is about 200 miles closer at roughly 2,100 miles. Isn't geography fun?
ETA: Thursday afternoon, September 20th (remember, estimated, not scheduled)
Friday, September 14, 2012
Half way
The wind continues to tease us. Our choice is to either sail at 6kts, or motor sail at 8kts. That may not sound like much, but it's 50miles / day and would easily add another day, maybe two depending on arrival time, to the overall trip. I'm a total believer in Steve Dashew's thesis (cruising sailor, author, yacht designer) that the safest passage is a fast passage, so we're motor sailing. We keep trying to sail every six hours or so, but so far we're about 2kts short of the wind we need to be able to sail at 7kts.
In any case we passed the half way point today. Paul and I celebrated in the late afternoon by splitting a beer in the aft end of the cockpit while basking in the sun. Our latitude is now north of San Francisco, the water temperature has dropped further and it's definitely chilly on the night watches.
We're in the "garbage patch" and we've seen a collection of stuff. Some of it is clearly tsunami debris, other is just junk. We see lots of little bits of white styrofoam and larger pieces of what looks like insulation, usually with a lot of marine growth. Then there are a lot of black and pink balls. The pink/orange ones look like fishing floats, but we can't figure out what the black ones would be. They are maybe 18" - 24" in diameter and lots of them. My favorite so far is a tub we saw this afternoon. It looked like a plastic, terra cotta colored tub about 3' long and a couple of feet deep, sitting up high on the water just floating along. Amazing that it could float this far and never fill with water.
Then finally the big news today was mid-morning when I was below sorting through the weather and our routing choices. I had been at the computer for awhile and Paul was asleep when it occurred to me that I should go up top and take a look around. I popped my head up out of the companionway for a quick look around and about 50yds in front of us was a fiberglass skiff, maybe 25' - 30' long, floating upside down. I ran back to the helm and made a quick right turn to avoid it. Then I grabbed the little Olympus camera and got a picture as it went by which I will post later. Had we hit it, I doubt it would have done anything more than cosmetic damage, but it probably would have scared the hell out of us.
A cold front arrived in the late afternoon and is sitting just to the NW. Paul dug out his weather book and we explored the dynamics of fronts and what the possible implications would be for us. All we could figure out is that there might be some rain. We're obsessed with weather, but we're not very good weatherman.
The high is stretched out on a SW/NE axis and absolutely huge, stretching far into Canada. We are not really going around the top of it as much as cutting across the lower edge. Our arcing route, which should be beginning to take shape in the position reports, takes us up to 40N (a bit north of Mendocino) before we turn directly for San Francisco. We think of it as going around something, but in reality there is nothing but water for over a 1,000 miles in every direction. I realized today that we were about equidistant from Anchorage, Hawaii and San Francisco; we're essentially in the middle of the NE Pacific. But soon we will be much closer to San Francisco.
As we're getting closer, with "only" 1,142 miles to go as I write, I'm going to start reporting an ETA each day. Keep in mind that ETA stands for Estimated Time of Arrival; emphasis on estimated. This is quite different than a scheduled time of arrival. Our mileage can and will vary. I'll start out vague and narrow it down as we get closer.
So my first ETA is the afternoon of Thursday the 20th. It turns out the timing will be particularly important due to the currents in/out of the bay. At 6pm on the 20th the current will be at maximum ebb and a full 4kts! So hopefully we can make good progress the next few days and arrive by mid-afternoon so we avoid the big ebb.
In any case we passed the half way point today. Paul and I celebrated in the late afternoon by splitting a beer in the aft end of the cockpit while basking in the sun. Our latitude is now north of San Francisco, the water temperature has dropped further and it's definitely chilly on the night watches.
We're in the "garbage patch" and we've seen a collection of stuff. Some of it is clearly tsunami debris, other is just junk. We see lots of little bits of white styrofoam and larger pieces of what looks like insulation, usually with a lot of marine growth. Then there are a lot of black and pink balls. The pink/orange ones look like fishing floats, but we can't figure out what the black ones would be. They are maybe 18" - 24" in diameter and lots of them. My favorite so far is a tub we saw this afternoon. It looked like a plastic, terra cotta colored tub about 3' long and a couple of feet deep, sitting up high on the water just floating along. Amazing that it could float this far and never fill with water.
A cold front arrived in the late afternoon and is sitting just to the NW. Paul dug out his weather book and we explored the dynamics of fronts and what the possible implications would be for us. All we could figure out is that there might be some rain. We're obsessed with weather, but we're not very good weatherman.
The high is stretched out on a SW/NE axis and absolutely huge, stretching far into Canada. We are not really going around the top of it as much as cutting across the lower edge. Our arcing route, which should be beginning to take shape in the position reports, takes us up to 40N (a bit north of Mendocino) before we turn directly for San Francisco. We think of it as going around something, but in reality there is nothing but water for over a 1,000 miles in every direction. I realized today that we were about equidistant from Anchorage, Hawaii and San Francisco; we're essentially in the middle of the NE Pacific. But soon we will be much closer to San Francisco.
As we're getting closer, with "only" 1,142 miles to go as I write, I'm going to start reporting an ETA each day. Keep in mind that ETA stands for Estimated Time of Arrival; emphasis on estimated. This is quite different than a scheduled time of arrival. Our mileage can and will vary. I'll start out vague and narrow it down as we get closer.
So my first ETA is the afternoon of Thursday the 20th. It turns out the timing will be particularly important due to the currents in/out of the bay. At 6pm on the 20th the current will be at maximum ebb and a full 4kts! So hopefully we can make good progress the next few days and arrive by mid-afternoon so we avoid the big ebb.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
On watch, off watch
The wind has been teasing us, blowing a steady 6-8kts when we need at least 9-12 to go sailing. Occasionally it puffs up and we give sailing a try, but then it fades away and we have to start the motor again. We got in a few hours of nice sailing, but mostly we're motoring. We're not actually in the high yet. There is a ridge running SW to NE from the high and we're chasing the high up the ridge. We move 30 miles and it moves 25 miles. But the forecast is that it will both stop moving and weaken a bit, at which time we'll overtake it and then soon thereafter we'll pop out into the cold winds and currents from the north.
We're almost through with our "northing". As of 1am our latitude is about the same as Santa Cruz, we're just 1,000 nautical miles to the west. We'll probably get as far north as Ft. Bragg or Mendocino, before we turn directly to San Francisco.
For readers who are not sailors, a brief explanation of nautical miles. A nautical mile is 1 minute of latitude (60 minutes in a degree) so the circumference of the planet is 360x60 = 21,600nm. And 1 nm = 1.15 statute miles. So 1,000nm is 1,150 nautical miles and when we're sailing at 8kts, we're actually going 9.2mph - wow, feel the speed! About the same speed as a really slow cyclist, but we don't have to peddle.
So back to on watch, off watch. That's life onboard New Morning. Obsessed with weather and either on watch or off watch. I get a little outside news via email, but we're generally focused right here and now, oblivious to the mayhem in the middle east, latest Obama/Romney accusations (what happened to solutions?), or even the iPhone 5 announcement (they did, didn't they?). Here is my daily cycle of watches.
7am - noon. If all went well I was sound asleep and Paul woke me about 6:45. It's just after sunrise and I get an update from Paul on what transpired during his watch, then orient myself to the current sailing / weather conditions and sail configuration. Paul heads off to sleep and I'm alone. I spend a half hour or so in the cockpit getting fully acclimated. About 7:45 I start up the computer for some email. I send a position report (what you see on "Where's New Morning"), and then I request, and then receive, one or more weather forecasts. I review the weather and what it means to our routing (where to point the boat) and anticipated sailing conditions. But of course it's a forecast, our mileage can and does vary! Somewhere in there I make an 8am entry in the log book and I pop my head up a few times to check the radar and look around to make sure all is well in the ocean and with the sails. By 8:30 or 9:00 I'm finished and back in the cockpit. About 9:30 - 10:00 I prepare some breakfast, eat it in the cockpit and then wash my dishes (conditions permitting). Another log entry at 10:00. Then about an hour or hour and a half of sitting in the cockpit, sailing and hopefully enjoying the morning (or maybe just weaving through squalls). By 11:30 I'm anticipating waking up Paul so that I can go off watch at noon. I wake up Paul about 11:45, update him on the weather, routing, sailing conditions, systems status and any trivia which may fall out of my head that I feel compelled to communicate. I make the noon log entry and calculate our noon-to-noon distance traveled. I may linger past 12:30 to chat for awhile, but probably head off to sleep.
Sometimes I get up mid afternoon during my "off watch" and eat some lunch, or take a shower, or have an early dinner or sit in the cockpit and chat with Paul.
5pm - 9pm This is the sunset watch. Depending on my hunger, what I ate in the afternoon and the sailing conditions I may have dinner sometime during this watch; usually two out of three nights. I might listen to music or the audio version of the Economist if conditions are benign. I may write some email, then make another position report and log entry at 8pm. I put on some warmer clothes as the sun goes down and anticipate waking Paul so I can go back to sleep. I wake Paul at 8:45, update him on what transpired during my watch and I'm in my bunk by 9:15.
Midnight - 3am Paul wakes me about 11:45 and I reluctantly put on some warmer clothes and get myself into the cockpit. I get the update and Paul heads off to sleep. I use this watch to write the blog entry (like this!) and reply to any email that came in during the sunset watch. This helps keep me awake, assuming I don't have to make half a dozen sail changes which definitely keeps me awake. I make the 2am log entry and then listen to a few Fresh Air podcasts to keep me awake until 2:45 when I can wake Paul. Paul is up on deck by 3am and I'm back in the rack by 3:15.
And round and round we go. When the conditions are rough there is little or no recreational activity as everything is focused on sailing and coping with the weather.
So life is simple. On watch = sailing. Off watch = sleeping (or attempting to do so if conditions are rough). On watch, off watch. On watch, off watch...
We're almost through with our "northing". As of 1am our latitude is about the same as Santa Cruz, we're just 1,000 nautical miles to the west. We'll probably get as far north as Ft. Bragg or Mendocino, before we turn directly to San Francisco.
For readers who are not sailors, a brief explanation of nautical miles. A nautical mile is 1 minute of latitude (60 minutes in a degree) so the circumference of the planet is 360x60 = 21,600nm. And 1 nm = 1.15 statute miles. So 1,000nm is 1,150 nautical miles and when we're sailing at 8kts, we're actually going 9.2mph - wow, feel the speed! About the same speed as a really slow cyclist, but we don't have to peddle.
So back to on watch, off watch. That's life onboard New Morning. Obsessed with weather and either on watch or off watch. I get a little outside news via email, but we're generally focused right here and now, oblivious to the mayhem in the middle east, latest Obama/Romney accusations (what happened to solutions?), or even the iPhone 5 announcement (they did, didn't they?). Here is my daily cycle of watches.
7am - noon. If all went well I was sound asleep and Paul woke me about 6:45. It's just after sunrise and I get an update from Paul on what transpired during his watch, then orient myself to the current sailing / weather conditions and sail configuration. Paul heads off to sleep and I'm alone. I spend a half hour or so in the cockpit getting fully acclimated. About 7:45 I start up the computer for some email. I send a position report (what you see on "Where's New Morning"), and then I request, and then receive, one or more weather forecasts. I review the weather and what it means to our routing (where to point the boat) and anticipated sailing conditions. But of course it's a forecast, our mileage can and does vary! Somewhere in there I make an 8am entry in the log book and I pop my head up a few times to check the radar and look around to make sure all is well in the ocean and with the sails. By 8:30 or 9:00 I'm finished and back in the cockpit. About 9:30 - 10:00 I prepare some breakfast, eat it in the cockpit and then wash my dishes (conditions permitting). Another log entry at 10:00. Then about an hour or hour and a half of sitting in the cockpit, sailing and hopefully enjoying the morning (or maybe just weaving through squalls). By 11:30 I'm anticipating waking up Paul so that I can go off watch at noon. I wake up Paul about 11:45, update him on the weather, routing, sailing conditions, systems status and any trivia which may fall out of my head that I feel compelled to communicate. I make the noon log entry and calculate our noon-to-noon distance traveled. I may linger past 12:30 to chat for awhile, but probably head off to sleep.
Sometimes I get up mid afternoon during my "off watch" and eat some lunch, or take a shower, or have an early dinner or sit in the cockpit and chat with Paul.
5pm - 9pm This is the sunset watch. Depending on my hunger, what I ate in the afternoon and the sailing conditions I may have dinner sometime during this watch; usually two out of three nights. I might listen to music or the audio version of the Economist if conditions are benign. I may write some email, then make another position report and log entry at 8pm. I put on some warmer clothes as the sun goes down and anticipate waking Paul so I can go back to sleep. I wake Paul at 8:45, update him on what transpired during my watch and I'm in my bunk by 9:15.
Midnight - 3am Paul wakes me about 11:45 and I reluctantly put on some warmer clothes and get myself into the cockpit. I get the update and Paul heads off to sleep. I use this watch to write the blog entry (like this!) and reply to any email that came in during the sunset watch. This helps keep me awake, assuming I don't have to make half a dozen sail changes which definitely keeps me awake. I make the 2am log entry and then listen to a few Fresh Air podcasts to keep me awake until 2:45 when I can wake Paul. Paul is up on deck by 3am and I'm back in the rack by 3:15.
And round and round we go. When the conditions are rough there is little or no recreational activity as everything is focused on sailing and coping with the weather.
So life is simple. On watch = sailing. Off watch = sleeping (or attempting to do so if conditions are rough). On watch, off watch. On watch, off watch...
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Nice day
Writing about 1am Wednesday morning. Yesterday was a nice day as we approached the high. The wind dropped and the squalls pretty much ended. From maybe 3am on Tuesday morning until about 5pm we sailed in 8-14kts of breeze on flat seas under sunny skies while making a steady 7-8kts over the ground, very pleasant.
In fact it was so nice Paul and I both took showers at the back of the cockpit, something we won't be able to do much longer. The water temperature has been slowing dropping, from 77-78 in Hawaii down to 75 tonight. But sometime in the next few days it will take a big drop. One of the forecasts shows it dropping to the mid 40's before rising later to the mid-50's. That is going to be a real shock. We were still barefoot in shorts and t-shirts today, but when the water drops below 50 we'll be bundled up in a big way.
Today we got a routing recommendation and forecast from Commander's Weather. Then we cross checked it with the routing module in MaxSea, our navigation software. The two routes were very similar and take us up to about 39N before turning directly to San Francisco which is at roughly 38N. We expect to be motoring for a couple of days, then emerge into a breeze from the north northeast, or preferably north northwest, with a southerly setting current. The slight additional distance higher than the latitude of San Francisco (we could go as high as 40N) will compensate for the southerly setting current and give us a more comfortable sailing angle in case the winds come more from the NNE.
Tonight the water is even flatter than when I went off watch at 9pm. A star / planet rose about 12:15am. It looked kind of reddish, and still does, so we were speculating it could be Mars, but we really have no idea. In any case it was bright enough and the water flat enough that it's reflection shimmered all the way to the horizon. Even now as it has risen about the horizon there is still a reflection on the water.
In fact it was so nice Paul and I both took showers at the back of the cockpit, something we won't be able to do much longer. The water temperature has been slowing dropping, from 77-78 in Hawaii down to 75 tonight. But sometime in the next few days it will take a big drop. One of the forecasts shows it dropping to the mid 40's before rising later to the mid-50's. That is going to be a real shock. We were still barefoot in shorts and t-shirts today, but when the water drops below 50 we'll be bundled up in a big way.
Today we got a routing recommendation and forecast from Commander's Weather. Then we cross checked it with the routing module in MaxSea, our navigation software. The two routes were very similar and take us up to about 39N before turning directly to San Francisco which is at roughly 38N. We expect to be motoring for a couple of days, then emerge into a breeze from the north northeast, or preferably north northwest, with a southerly setting current. The slight additional distance higher than the latitude of San Francisco (we could go as high as 40N) will compensate for the southerly setting current and give us a more comfortable sailing angle in case the winds come more from the NNE.
Tonight the water is even flatter than when I went off watch at 9pm. A star / planet rose about 12:15am. It looked kind of reddish, and still does, so we were speculating it could be Mars, but we really have no idea. In any case it was bright enough and the water flat enough that it's reflection shimmered all the way to the horizon. Even now as it has risen about the horizon there is still a reflection on the water.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Whack-a-Squall
It's 2:30am on Tuesday morning. While I wrote earlier that the squalls had thinned out, they did not go away entirely. The last 24hrs they were very active as we played a game of "whack-a-squall". Similar to the "whack-a-mole" game, the squalls appear on the radar at random times and locations. One minutes the screen is blank and it's smooth sailing, the next it looks like pimples on a 13year old. Then they morph, grow, shift and generally flow with the direction of the wind. And occasionally they make a direct hit on us and we get a fresh water rinse.
The fresh water rinse is nice, the rest of the experience is not. The squalls are local areas or low pressure. Our "normal" wind we also call the "gradient" wind because it's speed is determined by the slope of the high pressure mountain I described yesterday. But the squalls are a local low pressure (not a low that is 1,000 miles away) so the slope is very steep which accelerates the wind. Additionally, it bends to the left (counter clockwise) in the process. So every squall presents us with a cycle that includes a couple of changes in wind direction and a couple of changes in wind speed. This necessitates changes in the sail configuration and course, basically a lot of activity just to cope with the squall that doesn't add anything to our overall progress. Sometimes the wind really jumps, like from 12 to 28, in just a minute or two which creates a lot of scrambling around to reduce sail area and course. At 76.5F, the water has not cooled much since we departed Hawaii. But soon it will drop at least 20 degrees to the mid 50's and the squalls will be gone.
When the weather was nice for a few hours on Sunday Paul and I were both able to take a shower on deck at the back of the cockpit which was a refreshing break. We hope to get another in a day or two when motoring in the high.
Tonight the moon rise was straight out of Hollywood. It was almost a caricature of the moon, something from the set of One From the Heart or a Broadway play back drop. The pale yellow moon rose right up from the ocean, leaning at about 45 degrees with a cloud nestled in the arc. It's a sight we rarely see on land because we're not usually up and outside at 3am!
When the weather was nice for a few hours on Sunday Paul and I were both able to take a shower on deck at the back of the cockpit which was a refreshing break. We hope to get another in a day or two when motoring in the high.
Tonight the moon rise was straight out of Hollywood. It was almost a caricature of the moon, something from the set of One From the Heart or a Broadway play back drop. The pale yellow moon rose right up from the ocean, leaning at about 45 degrees with a cloud nestled in the arc. It's a sight we rarely see on land because we're not usually up and outside at 3am!
Sunday, September 9, 2012
The Big Picture
First, the squalls have thinned out, the sun has come out, the wind has come down (12-16), and the seas have gone down. Much more pleasant! Time to reflect a bit on the big picture of sailing to San Francisco from Hawaii. As I mentioned in a previous entry, it's all governed by the North Pacific High. Specifically, the high pressure system which sits in the north Pacific. So first a little primer for those who are as obsessed with weather as I have become. If you already know about the weather systems in the north Pacific, you probably should skip most of this.
A high pressure area is like the top of mountain with a blower on the top from which flows wind. The wind flows down the sides of the high pressure mountain to a low pressure area, just like water. In the process (in the northern hemisphere), it turns to the right (Coriolis effect). So effectively the winds in the north Pacific flow in a clockwise direction around the high. The winds in turn push the water and create the currents to the currents that also flow in a clockwise direction around the high (this is why California gets a cold current from Alaska and Japan gets a warm current from the equator).
Now if you imagine that the high is in the middle of the eastern Pacific (say 1,000 miles west of California), then the wind is flowing down the coast of California, turns right towards Hawaii, turns right again towards Japan, right again across the Gulf of Alaska and another right to return again to the coast of California. A big circle.
We can't sail into the wind, and it's uncomfortable to sail close to the wind for extended periods of time. Our comfort zone is with the true wind about 75 degrees from the bow. Departing from Hawaii, the wind blows a little north of east (think 2:30 on a clock), so we struggle to sail a little bit east of north (maybe 12:30 on the clock). But California is NE (1:30 on the clock), how do we ever get there?
The solution is the circle. Roughly speaking, we sail up the western side to the top of the circle, then across the top so that the wind is helping us. The middle of the circle, or center of the high, has no wind so we actually need to get above it. However in our case we're happy to motor through the center and cut the corner a bit. In any case, this means we travel a lot further than the straight line from Hawaii to San Francisco. I'll be happy if we sail "only" 400 miles further. But the real problem is that the high is moving, shrinking, expanding and sometimes even splitting into two.
At the moment, we're sailing north, trying to go a little bit east (towards San Francisco) and every thing is pushing us west. The wind is from the east (our right) and the boat's hull and keel converts that push to go north, but not perfectly. We have a certain amount of leeway so that even if we're pointed north by northeast, we might actually be traveling north. And then the current is also from the east. The very water we are in is moving to the west so again our actual travel has a more westerly component than where the boat is pointed. And finally, as insult to injury, the squalls bend the wind to the north, forcing us to actually sail west of north at times, away from our goal. So for the first week or so of the trip, all the natural elements are trying to push us west, away from our goal which is to the east. Once we get to the top of the high, the winds will shift to the north or north west and the winds and currents will be pushing us south. So we need to go far enough north that we'll be able to be pushed south and still arrive in San Francisco, not Los Angeles (Hi Caitlin!).
San Francisco's latitude is about 38 degrees north. The high is expected to be centered at about 43N when we reach that area (it's a forecast and it's constantly moving) so we'll probably travel to at least 40N when crossing the high. Then when we emerge from the eastern side of the high we'll have the wind from the north north west and we'll be able to sail a straight line to San Francisco. But it's a little early to start chilling the champagne.
That said, since earlier today the sailing has been quite pleasant and we're making good speed, if not actually a great direction (barely east of north right now). But we'll take nice sailing that is even close to our goal. As Fay would say, "this was in the brochure".
A high pressure area is like the top of mountain with a blower on the top from which flows wind. The wind flows down the sides of the high pressure mountain to a low pressure area, just like water. In the process (in the northern hemisphere), it turns to the right (Coriolis effect). So effectively the winds in the north Pacific flow in a clockwise direction around the high. The winds in turn push the water and create the currents to the currents that also flow in a clockwise direction around the high (this is why California gets a cold current from Alaska and Japan gets a warm current from the equator).
Now if you imagine that the high is in the middle of the eastern Pacific (say 1,000 miles west of California), then the wind is flowing down the coast of California, turns right towards Hawaii, turns right again towards Japan, right again across the Gulf of Alaska and another right to return again to the coast of California. A big circle.
We can't sail into the wind, and it's uncomfortable to sail close to the wind for extended periods of time. Our comfort zone is with the true wind about 75 degrees from the bow. Departing from Hawaii, the wind blows a little north of east (think 2:30 on a clock), so we struggle to sail a little bit east of north (maybe 12:30 on the clock). But California is NE (1:30 on the clock), how do we ever get there?
The solution is the circle. Roughly speaking, we sail up the western side to the top of the circle, then across the top so that the wind is helping us. The middle of the circle, or center of the high, has no wind so we actually need to get above it. However in our case we're happy to motor through the center and cut the corner a bit. In any case, this means we travel a lot further than the straight line from Hawaii to San Francisco. I'll be happy if we sail "only" 400 miles further. But the real problem is that the high is moving, shrinking, expanding and sometimes even splitting into two.
At the moment, we're sailing north, trying to go a little bit east (towards San Francisco) and every thing is pushing us west. The wind is from the east (our right) and the boat's hull and keel converts that push to go north, but not perfectly. We have a certain amount of leeway so that even if we're pointed north by northeast, we might actually be traveling north. And then the current is also from the east. The very water we are in is moving to the west so again our actual travel has a more westerly component than where the boat is pointed. And finally, as insult to injury, the squalls bend the wind to the north, forcing us to actually sail west of north at times, away from our goal. So for the first week or so of the trip, all the natural elements are trying to push us west, away from our goal which is to the east. Once we get to the top of the high, the winds will shift to the north or north west and the winds and currents will be pushing us south. So we need to go far enough north that we'll be able to be pushed south and still arrive in San Francisco, not Los Angeles (Hi Caitlin!).
San Francisco's latitude is about 38 degrees north. The high is expected to be centered at about 43N when we reach that area (it's a forecast and it's constantly moving) so we'll probably travel to at least 40N when crossing the high. Then when we emerge from the eastern side of the high we'll have the wind from the north north west and we'll be able to sail a straight line to San Francisco. But it's a little early to start chilling the champagne.
That said, since earlier today the sailing has been quite pleasant and we're making good speed, if not actually a great direction (barely east of north right now). But we'll take nice sailing that is even close to our goal. As Fay would say, "this was in the brochure".
Saturday, September 8, 2012
I'm wearing socks
For the last 24hrs we've been weaving through squalls. The first night started well enough, but by 3am the squalls came in and the game was on. By mid-morning we had the staysail up as there was a lot of wind. Lying in my bunk at 2pm in the afternoon I awoke to see about 16kts and the boat felt very underpowered. While I debated getting up to drop the staysail, the wind rose from 16 to 30 and blew 25-30 for the next 45 minutes. So I decided we'd keep the staysail.
Before the trip from Tahiti to Hawaii, the staysail had only been out of the bag once, back in 2008 between Bermuda and the BVIs. Now it gets regular use. We're really not rigged for this north/south sailing. If this was a regular thing I'd have the staysail on a furler so that we could switch easily from the jib to the staysail as conditions warranted. But today it's a trip to the foredeck to drop and flake the staysail, then stow it in it's turtle (a zippered bag lashed to the deck). Running up and back to the foredeck is one thing on a fully crewed racing boat, but not so popular for a short handed cruising boat.
So we stuck with the staysail tonight and we've been underpowered most of the time. The squalls have not packed as much wind, only one has brought wind in the 25kt range. In between the squalls we've had 12-15kts. We would have been OK with the jib and would have had some nice sailing when instead we had to motor because we were just underpowered with the main double reefed plus the staysail. I'm writing about 1:30am and the squalls seem to have dissipated for now. I don't want to wake Paul, since sleep is more important than a couple of extra knots of speed, but maybe we'll drop the staysail at the watch change at 3am and put up the jib so we can sail faster and avoid motoring.
The moon made a brief appearance as it rose, then ducked behind the cloud cover and is not doing much to light up a very dark sky.
Update 8am: Wore foul weather pants for the first time since 2008. Staysail down. Speed up.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
We're off the dock
It took three attempts to get the reef lines sorted out, but we're finally happy with the way they are rigged. We've taken our leave of Honolulu, departing from Oahu through the "back door" around the west end if the island to avoid the strong winds, waves and current in the Molokai channel. It adds about 80 miles to the trip overall, but better to get off to a good start that pounding into waves in 25kts of wind.
The wind followed us around the west end of the island for awhile, but now we're motoring. We expect to motor for a couple of hours, then we'll put our nose out into the trade winds and settle down for a few days of sailing as close to the wind as we can tolerate. Don't be surprised if we're not even able to go due north in the first day or so.
We're on our way!
The wind followed us around the west end of the island for awhile, but now we're motoring. We expect to motor for a couple of hours, then we'll put our nose out into the trade winds and settle down for a few days of sailing as close to the wind as we can tolerate. Don't be surprised if we're not even able to go due north in the first day or so.
We're on our way!
Tentative departure
We got the sails back onto New Morning yesterday. North completely rebuilt the head, tack and clew on the main and the head on the jib. There were also a number of smaller repairs on both sails. Paul and I rigged all the reefing lines in the afternoon and we're ready to depart this morning, pending verification that we got everything rigged properly. The reefing lines are a real challenge to rig on the dock when we can't raise the sail to check our work.
This morning we'll depart the dock and raise the main in the lee of Honolulu to verify our work and potentially make whatever corrections can be made on the water as necessary. If all goes well we will head west around the leeward side of Oahu. The local winds are blowing very strong this week and while departing to the west adds about 80nm to our trip, it's preferable to beginning our trip by pounding into the current and wind in the channel between Molokai and Oahu.
This morning we'll depart the dock and raise the main in the lee of Honolulu to verify our work and potentially make whatever corrections can be made on the water as necessary. If all goes well we will head west around the leeward side of Oahu. The local winds are blowing very strong this week and while departing to the west adds about 80nm to our trip, it's preferable to beginning our trip by pounding into the current and wind in the channel between Molokai and Oahu.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
2081
That's the rhumb line distance from Honolulu to the Golden Gate Bridge.
This last weekend was a big regatta weekend and the North Sails team were all supporting boats racing from Maui to Honolulu on Labor Day. They were all back in the loft today so we dropped by and found they are doing a great job getting our sails repaired and healthy after 4 1/2 years of cruising and tropical sun. We expect to get the sails back tomorrow (Wednesday) and to take a test sail in the afternoon to see that everything is rigged correctly. If all goes well we plan to depart on Thursday morning.
The trades are blowing strong right now and the pass between Molokai and Oahu is very rough with true winds from 25-30 and big waves. The locals have counseled us to depart to the west and sail around the leeward end of Oahu. It adds roughly an additional 40nm to the trip and pushes us a little further west, but probably makes more sense than spending our first 12 hrs bashing to weather in 25kts against steep seas in the channel.
The Pacific high (about which you'll be hearing quite a bit) dictates the winds for the trip to San Francisco. Unfortunately right now, and for the foreseeable future, it is positioned well north and to the west. Since the winds blow clockwise around the high, this sets up a lot of adverse winds for the trip. At the moment it looks like we could be facing easterly winds (i.e. coming from where we want to go) as far north as 40 degrees. San Francisco is about 38N. Not too much we can do about it except watch it closely and adjust our route to take advantage of whatever we're offered. Delaying our departure by a few days doesn't guarantee that the high will move into a better position. At some point we will probably motor for a few days through the high itself, assuming it shifts south a bit and we go north of the latitude of San Francisco.
Despite the shorter rhumb line distance than the trip from Tahiti, I suspect we'll end up sailing a similar distance and with luck we'll have a similar time of roughly 14 days. We'll review the weather thoroughly again tomorrow night before we actually depart.
This last weekend was a big regatta weekend and the North Sails team were all supporting boats racing from Maui to Honolulu on Labor Day. They were all back in the loft today so we dropped by and found they are doing a great job getting our sails repaired and healthy after 4 1/2 years of cruising and tropical sun. We expect to get the sails back tomorrow (Wednesday) and to take a test sail in the afternoon to see that everything is rigged correctly. If all goes well we plan to depart on Thursday morning.
The trades are blowing strong right now and the pass between Molokai and Oahu is very rough with true winds from 25-30 and big waves. The locals have counseled us to depart to the west and sail around the leeward end of Oahu. It adds roughly an additional 40nm to the trip and pushes us a little further west, but probably makes more sense than spending our first 12 hrs bashing to weather in 25kts against steep seas in the channel.
The Pacific high (about which you'll be hearing quite a bit) dictates the winds for the trip to San Francisco. Unfortunately right now, and for the foreseeable future, it is positioned well north and to the west. Since the winds blow clockwise around the high, this sets up a lot of adverse winds for the trip. At the moment it looks like we could be facing easterly winds (i.e. coming from where we want to go) as far north as 40 degrees. San Francisco is about 38N. Not too much we can do about it except watch it closely and adjust our route to take advantage of whatever we're offered. Delaying our departure by a few days doesn't guarantee that the high will move into a better position. At some point we will probably motor for a few days through the high itself, assuming it shifts south a bit and we go north of the latitude of San Francisco.
Despite the shorter rhumb line distance than the trip from Tahiti, I suspect we'll end up sailing a similar distance and with luck we'll have a similar time of roughly 14 days. We'll review the weather thoroughly again tomorrow night before we actually depart.
Passage Summary
Total miles sailed: 2,482nm
Rhumb line: 2,368nm
Days on passage: 13.75
Best day: 196nm
Worst day: 157nm
Average day: 181nm
Average speed: 7.5kts
Hours motoring: 95hrs
Average speed while motoring: 7.1kts (too much time against an adverse current)
Fuel consumption: 1.6gph
Average speed while sailing: 7.7kts
The true wind was mostly just forward of the beam with some short periods when it came aft the beam. The sea state was generally very reasonable punctuated with some periods of very confused seas as we transitioned across currents and weather patterns.
Rhumb line: 2,368nm
Days on passage: 13.75
Best day: 196nm
Worst day: 157nm
Average day: 181nm
Average speed: 7.5kts
Hours motoring: 95hrs
Average speed while motoring: 7.1kts (too much time against an adverse current)
Fuel consumption: 1.6gph
Average speed while sailing: 7.7kts
The true wind was mostly just forward of the beam with some short periods when it came aft the beam. The sea state was generally very reasonable punctuated with some periods of very confused seas as we transitioned across currents and weather patterns.
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