DAY 13. Costa Rica to The Marquesas via The Galapagos
At Sea. Easter Sunday, Sunday, April 04, 2010,
Our position as at 1800 GMT/UTC (1200 MST):S 02 Deg. 19.60' W 092
Deg.20.20'; 2871 Nm to Nuku Hiva

As the lights on Isla Floreana drop below the horizon on our first night
out of Isla San Cristóbal, the sea is empty; our horizon is five miles in
any direction. No more islands between here and Nuku Hiva. The stars are
out, the Big Dipper visible low in the sky to the North, but the Polar
Star lost in the haze near the horizon, the Southern Cross bright to our
left in the South. We play with the two self-steering devices we carry;
neither one works to our satisfaction and sometimes just festooning the
tiller with bungee cords work best. Of course, while the boat might hold a
course for a while bungee cords are too unreliable; a wave can knock it
off course, and the watchkeeper has to stay in the cockpit to keep an eye
on things.

Although the Marquesas are at about S 090, the GPS calculates the Great
Circle Route and the course we follow is close to West. We move along at
about 5 or 6 knots, at first; no doubt we are being pushed along by the
strong westbound current around the islands. The wind is light and
increasingly from the SE. The huge ocean swells, however, are from the SW.
The result is that, no matter what we do, the big mainsail slats back and
forth loudly and, in the night disturbingly so, increasing our anxieties
and bothering our rest. Finally on Day 12 at about 2100 GMT (1500 MST) we
decide to drop the mainsail and run under just the big working jib. Our
rolling increases at most angles, but at least the boat is no longer
shuddering as the mainsail boom crashes back and forth.

The days and nights pass slowly and not so enjoyably if one has to sit in
the cockpit. As the night goes on, the dew is very heavy. At first you can
sit out in a bathing suit. But soon you start putting on more clothing.
Buy dawn, you can hardly keep your eyes open even if you had a sleep on
your three-hour off-watch. Your feet are cold and you wish the sun would
come up. The rolling is more noticeable below than in the cockpit.

On the portions of the day when one is awake, reading becomes the main
time-passer. Kathleen is reading about girl gangs in big American cities,
Ronald is reading a history of Lazard investment banking. Either would be
a big enough contrast to sailing the Pacific in a small wooden boat. But
the two aspects of American life are a huge contrast to each other as
well. We debate playing canasta at one point but put it off because of the
rolling.

The coq au vin I made the night before we left San Cristóbal stretches to
three days. Yesterday we boiled some potatoes and ate it with the rich red
sauce. The little bit left even after that will become part of today's
bean soup. Breakfast is usually a cupful of muesli with raisins and
whatever fruit is available. Dinner is in the late afternoon so that it is
finished before dark and the night watches begin. In between we snack;
yesterday we had tuna sandwiches made with the yellow fin tuna we caught
coming out of the harbour. The two hands of green bananas we bought at the
'mercado publico' are just beginning to ripen. We still have fresh
tomatoes and a few green (now going red) peppers. The last VERY ripe
pineapple from Costa Rica was part of breakfast this morning. Soon we
shall attack one of the three watermelons we still have on board.

Last night was annoying because we could not keep the boat on course and,
naturally, the very severe rolling. I play with the Cap Horn windvane
steering. Sometimes it works just fine and sometimes it drives me to
distraction. I do not want to be steering, one of the most tedious of jobs
on a long passage, but why can't I get it to work properly. It works
better with just a headsail; the big main tends to overpower the windvane.
But still, it tends to round up and not keep the wind on the port quarter.
This could be a real Nervensaege (nerve saw) over the next few weeks.
After dawn this morning, I attempt once more to get the Navico 5000
electronic tiller pilot to function. It works for a while and then starts
beeping accusingly. I give it up as a bad job and stuff it into the
lazarette hold. At this point fortunately the Cap Horn windvane decides to
be more cooperative. We go below and check every 15-20 minutes to make
sure, and at the same time take a look around the horizon for any ships.
(Last night I saw bright white lights off to the South and stayed in the
cockpit to make sure we were not on a collision course. Our first sign of
human existence since leaving the harbour two days ago. Eventually it
moves off over the horizon at eleven o'clock from us. I reckon it must
have been a big fishing boat.)

Kathleen is suffering from diarrhea and has started taking some
medication. I have dozens of bites on my legs and one has become infected.
I lance it regularly and clean it with alcohol and apply anti-biotic
cream. It is amazing how strategically placed this bite is. Almost
everything I do on a boat rubs against it; kneeling is particularly
painful. It does seem to be responding to my treatment. I had one just
like it on the other knee back in Islas Perlas, and our friend Ute on S/V
Lumme doctored it with antibiotics and regular dressings. It's drying up
slowly.

The windvane is holding our course to the Waypoint in Nuku Hiva well now,
but there is very little wind so we are only making about 2.5 or 3 knots.
Yesterday the breezes picked up in the afternoon, so there is hope. Our
first day out we made 95 Nm in 24 hours; the second day only 75 Nm. We
debate throwing the Lister on or dragging out the big red drifter sail in
order to make speed. But we decide to be patient. According to Jimmy
Cornell's book, we should not head south to S 30 or S 50 before at least W
1000 so that we can have a good angle for The Marquesas. At that latitude
we should find stronger and more reliable SE Trades.

Sailing teaches patience.