Passage from the Galapagos to French Polynesia

Our 30000 mile passage from Galapagos to French Polynesia turned in to 22-days of reverie.  The undulating sea and the open sky allowed our sousl roam without constraints.  

Our bodies settled in to the rhythm of the sea, staying up for three-hour watches at night, napping during the day, and spending a lot of time looking out over the ever-changing following seas. One day blended seamlessly in to the other like watercolors.

The variety, beauty and complexity of waves and their interaction our vessel was spellbinding. Some broke in to white foam, droplets hanging in the air; some lifted us high on their crests propelling us downhill at 9 knots. Some slammed us hard on the side, making the hull shudder and the rigging screech.

We learned to live our day-to-day lives holding on, rocking from side to side and in constant motion forward. Simple tasks like dishes, personal hygiene and cooking took mindfulness and planning.  Cooking we stayed strapped in by the stove, the pots braced by metal arms and sleeping the lee clothes held us like cocoons. During night watch, alone in the cockpit we always wore our state of the arts life jackets tethered to a lifeline.

Nighttime offered everything from gliding through still silent waters, to violent squalls, sail changes, the boat crashing and banging. Having three people aboard allowed us the luxury of almost enough sleep. We watched the sails, checked for other vessels and looked in to the black star-studded sky.

We watched the moon vane and wax, and the sun rise and set. We read the clouds; their movements, shapes and color, and we looked in to the sea where the sky reflected.  Birds appeared out of nowhere, ignoring us or circling the boat for hours. Flying fish skipped across the surface, flecks of silver momentarily airborne.

Before the halfway point we never thought about how much further we had to go. It was strange enough to leave land further and further behind. At  1500 miles we had a party, ate apple crumb cake and celebrated heading back toward to land.

We read books, fished, journaled and spent hours conversing over a cup of tea or coffee. It is important to get along with your shipmates but even more to like spending time with your self at sea. The defenses and protective layers we build in our land lives dissolved over days lacking sleep, and familiar structures. There are no doors to close and nowhere to go and you spend a lot of time siting quietly encountering yourself. In that sense an ocean passage is like a retreat.

  The genoa ripped and was stitched it up, the spinnaker broke free and had to be reattached it. The wind came and went. A fellow passage maker counted to 127 sail changes during his passage, and I don’t think we were far behind.

 For days we worried about an intermittent bonking sound close to the rudder. The- what- if- scenario started to play until we realized it was just a propane tank on the loose hitting against the locker.  

At times going about our everyday activities we forgot we were on the boat.  Climbing back in to the cockpit 10-foot waves towered astern was an immediate reminder.

Once a week or every 1000 miles we set the time, moving our clocks back one hour. By the time we reached Hiva Ou Sweden was 11-½ hour ahead of us. Don’t ask me about the half hour, this was clearly a different place and time.

The excitement we felt at dropping anchor is hard to explain. We were once again connected to the earth and it felt like a major accomplishment.