by Pam Graham
November 1992
In Part 2, Kapalua II‘s intrepid crew explored Portugal and the Canary Islands.
This issue they head across the Atlantic to the island of St. Lucia in the Caribbean ...
After the excitement of meeting our UK club friends and crew, Mike and Cally, we arranged to have Kapalua II hauled out for a day to scrub her bottom and do any urgent jobs that became apparent. In the end we antifouled her and she was slipped back in the water the next day. We provisioned for the Atlantic crossing, filling up with diesel and water, including a few extra containers strapped to the guardrails, bought enough fresh meat for the next three days and fresh fruit to last as long as possible.
Friday 27 November, 1992: We made our departure from the beautiful anchorage of Los Christianos, Tenerife, at 1000hours GMT. The sea was lumpy and the swell quite bad so we were getting our sea legs as we busied ourselves with stowing and other small jobs.
On day one we travelled 146 miles in 26 hours at an average speed of 5.6 knots, which was satisfactory though hardly world record shattering. At this rate we would take a month to get there! The boat sailed beautifully under reefed main and a partially reefed genoa at 6-7 knots most of the time. We gradually became used to the motion and managed to avoid being thrown around too much, especially down below.
Monday 30 November, 1992: We reached the halfway point to our first waypoint, 150 miles NW of the Cape Verde Islands. After such a dull and rainy day yesterday, it was lovely to see blue sky and wispy clouds around, and the sun through them as it rose. We still seemed to be heading into greyness, but at least it was warmer. In fact it was a beautiful day. Cally did some whipping of the reefing lines at the mast and made a quick repair to the sacrificial strips on the genoa with gaffer tape.
Tuesday 1 December, 1992: We were romping along at 6 knots in a fairly heavy swell but the violent motion made it difficult to do the simplest of things, like going to the toilet, having a shower, cooking a meal. Len filmed the meal preparation and everyone was grateful for the spaghetti and hot dogs served up … at least they were less rude than usual.
The watch system seemed to be working well, with no complaints yet, so it will continue. It was a rolling watch which provided one hour with two persons at the beginning, followed by two hours solo, and ending with one hour with another person. This enabled an easy changeover, with time to wake up and familiarize oneself with the elements, course, wind variations, help to change sail configuration or simply just to chat and unwind. The crewmember with the easiest watch on a given day became the cook for that day and there was quite a lot of interest engendered in devising tasty recipes each meal time—this was a
gourmet cruise!
We were diligent in keeping the log up-to-date, but occasionally it was only superficial as we were kept occupied. Often, many days passed between setting thoughts down and time had
to be made for reflection. It was difficult to record the actual feelings involved in ‘being at sea’ alone on the ocean. It was awe-inspiring and frustrating knowing the sea had such power and your boat was only so much flotsam bobbing up and down on the swell, taken from one place to another by courtesy of the wind, sometimes in the right direction and not at others.
The sky had been so blue and the sea deep cobalt during the sun-filled days and with the moonlight the sea took on an almost metallic blackness. We saw the total eclipse of the moon in a clear starlit sky and while we waited it reappeared again a couple of hours later.
We changed the sailing rig several times but settled for the cruising shute and poled out genoa. The sun awning was put up as the intense heat of the sun was now too much (I never thought I would ever say that); we were all going a lovely golden brown and while I was writing this, the sea was deep blue, the sky pale blue with fluffy white clouds, we were sailing along at 4-5 knots in 6-8 knots of wind and the sea was slight! Wonderful life!
One day when we were sailing at only 2 knots, Cally, then I, took a swim. We deployed the Lifesling and were towed behind the boat. The water was very warm and rather more salty than we were used to, but it was an exhilarating experience, right out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I had been wanting to test the Lifesling and this gave us our opportunity; in bringing each of us on board after our swim we used the main halyard to give the necessary purchase on a two speed winch and the height needed above the deck for getting a person on board in case of an accident.
Sunday 13 December, 1992: Tonight I was on watch from 2200 to 0200 and watched a blood red sun set and the moon rise a cool blue, making the sea oily black, almost metallic. This was a very peaceful way of life—just you, the boat, the stars and the sea. The moon made everything so light but soon we would have a few very black nights.
Once you have adjusted to the pattern of life at sea, it doesn’t really matter how many days the journey takes. We had deadlines, but they were flexible and you cannot hurry the elements. The arrival at our destination will be exciting and a relief in many ways. We had 762 miles to go on a bearing of 290 degrees. Unfortunately, the wind direction allowed us to keep only 270 degrees, so we had to spend the next few days with the swell on our beam, which was much less comfortable than having it behind or on the quarter.
Every day we tuned into our Single Side Band radio at 1300 GMT to listen to the Amateur Mobile Maritime Network for the Atlantic Ocean. We heard reports from many boats of the weather exactly where they happened to be sailing. From Barbados, we also heard weather forecasts for the Atlantic, the Caribbean and more importantly, the area we were heading for, the Antilles.
One piece of equipment we were particularly pleased with was our computer and the Weatherfax software. We tuned into Spain whilst we were in the European area and all the way across the Atlantic we were getting the weather patterns of the North Atlantic from Bracknell. Occasionally there was interference on the picture, but most often it was very clear and very helpful.
The other valuable, excellent piece of equipment was our Raytheon GPS which we used all the time. We plotted our position once a day at noon, backing up with noon sun sights using the sextant and sunrise and sunset bearings to confirm our daily latitude and longitude. What a difference from navigating in the English Channel. We kept a record of our daily run,
average speed, accumulative total of miles travelled, engine hours for making and heating water and generating battery power.
We all had a guess at our eventual mileage and number of days the journey would take. Cally was the nearest, though none of us was spot on — 24 days and 2,931 miles. Some days were full of activity, others were lazy or just plain unsuitable for doing things.
Thursday 17 December, 1992: We were suddenly hit by a fierce squall. Winds up to 47 knots were recorded and the wind direction changed 180 degrees very sharply. We had to run with it - a pity as it meant going north for a time. Sails had to come down and the genoa reefed; visibility closed in and the seas became very confused. Thank goodness this lasted only three hours, but it was nasty while it did. Needless to say, it was my turn to cook so the crew had to put up with onion soup and a bread roll, with a drink served up later when we each had a spare hand.
That night and the next two were stormy and black as the moon had waned so you never knew what or when the wind and rain would hit you. On the third night and day the weather improved a little bit but the wind died and we motored almost all day and the following night.
Monday 21 December, 1992: We sighted land at 1030 GMT and the wind picked up. We experienced the best sailing as we approached St. Lucia. We sailed into Rodney Bay only to
find there was no room so we turned around and headed for Marigot Bay. Picture a lagoon, surrounded by palm trees, mangroves and almost mountainous, steep-sided hills. Marigot Bay was a hurricane hole and very safe in all weathers. There was a spit of land with a natural beach with coconut palms, which made a delightful area for swimming and snorkeling. The local boys sold fresh coconuts, bananas and craftwork made from coconut palm. They called this paradise and we had arrived...
