Pacific Crossing - Week 2
Day 8. (Sunday 26 March)
Light winds (just above flappy) calm sea, clear skies, sunny and very hot.
We had some back and forth email chats on the Iridium with two different agents in the Galápagos - starting to feel a lot more positive about the quick pit stop now. There’s even a possibility that as well as the required diesel we may be able to pick up some fresh fruit and veg whilst we’re there.
Saw our first rain since leaving Panama City today. Enough to wash the decks, but not quite enough to fully clean off the inky remnants of the 5 suicidal squid who had chosen Serenity Now as their final resting place.
..and then all this became utterly trivial with the worst possible news from UK home. My mum has passed away overnight.
Until now, she’s been a major driver for me to keep this diary/log - I’d send her updates when wifi would allow. She’d dubbed it her ‘holiday by proxy’.
Day 9. (Monday 27 March)
Woke to Chez advising that we are now only a whisker away from crossing the equator.
As I’d mentioned before, we’d been making some plans for this occasion. These seem utterly incongruous in the circumstances, but regardless at 10am and 0 degrees we dipped our feet, gave thanks to Neptune, Poseidon and Tangaroa, had a couple of tipples (salt tequila lime) and raised a glass to my mum, who, had she still been around, would have chuckled over a silly photo or two of me dressed as Neptune in a few weeks from now.
Not exactly the crossing ceremony we’d planned - but an achievement we can look back on and both be proud of all the same.
Currently (11am) bobbing along, no wind, engine off, heading in roughly the right direction.
We were joined by boobies - one on the solar arch and two on the bow. They turned up yesterday morning when the news from home came through, and have stayed since. They are completely oblivious to our presence - I’ve been chatting to them, and thought about giving one a little stroke, but their beaks are vicious looking, and I value my eyeballs, so I’ve given that a miss.
This log… I thought about calling it a day after Mum’s passing. I still might ease up a bit on the number of entries after this passage, but a day like today really does need to be recorded..
The wind is it’s usual (for now) weak nothingness, Chez has popped down for a nap, and we’re rolling a bit in the flattish, but low frequency swell.
When she rises, I suggest yet another attempt at flying the spinnaker - more for something to do to take my mind off things than with any real hope of success..
Well… I think we may have actually cracked it!
I’m writing this some three hours later, the spinnaker is up and breathing in a very satisfying way.. and we’re making close to 3knots towards the Galápagos in almost zero breeze. That however, is not the big news of the day.
As the spinnaker began ballooning up, I glanced astern and saw a pod of, what I believe to be, pilot whales bearing down on us. There followed an amazing couple of hours as the shiny black giants surrounded us and curiously came within centimetres of the boat. Close enough that we both got a blowhole spray as they came up to breathe (awful breath: like rotten sardines). I couldn’t guess how many - they seemed to be spread over miles - upwards of 50 maybe(?). Chez sat on the transom gleefully chatting to them. At one point we could hear them singing - so grateful that they stopped by - I can’t think of a more amazing encounter with wildlife since our journey began.
Spinnaker stayed up all day - looked gorgeous, and possibly foolishly remains up as the sun goes down. There’s no forecast wind overnight so all being well she should sail us through the night.
Decided a few hours later not to press our luck, relenting and dropping it, at least for the hours of darkness.
Day 10. (Tuesday 28 March)
Torturously hot - zero wind, glass sea, constant roll.
Woke a little brighter than the last few days. Still find my bottom lip wobbling and I’m blubbing in waves here and there, but that’s to be expected.
We’re only 60nms out from Isla San Cristobel in the Galapagos now. That said: at current speed that’ll take us another 3 days - that’s fine: thankfully the diary is clear at the moment. No chance of re-raising the spinnaker just yet, but we live in hope.
In the flattest of flat calm waters, I braved the deep and went in to clean the hull - lots of little bits of leachy/mussel type things which came off easily enough. The water is bath hot for the first 5cm then refreshingly cooler below that. Other than the little devil in my brain shouting ‘SHARK! SHARK! SHARK!’ it was quite pleasant to spend half an hour in the purest of clear blue seas.
Around lunchtime, I’m staring out across the blue at the nothingness. I see a sight (thankfully also confirmed by Chez or I might have doubted my sanity) that turned me full Ahab:
“White whale! White whale!”
Some way off, sure enough, there is indeed a large white (or very pale) whale. Possibly 3 times as big as the pilots we’d encountered yesterday - it came up for air three or four times then disappeared. The pilot whales yesterday would dip down and resurface every 30seconds or so. Mr. White however did not resurface anywhere within vision. …and I can see for 20miles in all directions. Bizarre.
While we’re on bizarre occurrences.. the second night out from Panama, I saw something that I didn’t note down, but has played on my mind since.
Back then, there was no moon to speak of, the light of land had faded, and all I could see in the darkness were the stars above and the phosphorescence below. I’m facing forward looking out on the Port side and see a large ( 3 or 4 times the size of the boat ) glow coming from the water - it’s no brighter than the usual life we see, but it’s either some sort of massive creature glowing, or something has made a lot of the smaller creatures glow. As we pass by the glow intensifies, and then slowly fades. I will never know what it was, but thought I’d note it down regardless. (Chez rolls her eyes and ironically says “Great anecdote!”)
A possible curveball came flying towards us mid afternoon: We received an email from Becky. She’s a really nice knowledgeable sailor, previously on Ollie’s boat Mai Tai, and has had to jump ship, and is (we think) looking for a berth down to the Marquesas. Obviously not something we’d usually consider, but she’s in a bit of strife by the sound of it, and we’d all got on when we’d met previously. We emailed her a sounding out message and we’ll see what happens.
Day 11. (Wednesday 29 March)
No wind, very hot, dead calm - Roberting (like bobbing, but in it’s longer form)
Not a good night just gone : uncomfortably rolly boat, both tired and snappy. We’re now about 50nms out from San Cristobal. We’ve got sufficient diesel to get there, but will wait until this evening to make the journey as we have advised the agent that we’ll be arriving tomorrow morning. So today: we bob.
Heard back from Becky - she’s now made her way to Ecuador, so that won’t be happening. Glad to have been able to offer, and I suppose a little relieved that it didn’t pan out - me personally not the best company for anyone at present.
The merest hint of breeze wafted our way at 11ish, to try and use it, I needed to turn the boat - did this with an oar paddling off the back of the transom. Probably not the recognised RYA nautical method, but did the job (at least initially)
Chez popped down for a nap after lunch - not overly noteworthy in itself, but the conversation prior was worth a mention:
Me: “Do you want to be woken for any wildlife activity?” (I’m thinking dolphins, whales etc.)
Chez “Kraken, but only if you can see the whites of it’s eyes!” 
She only disappeared for half hour or so, that was long enough for the breeze to grow to a sailable level. If it continues to blow at the same rate for another hour… we’ll be back to the same position West as we were when my shift started last night! (No joke)
The beautiful breeze remained with us until sunset, when land had started to grow on the horizon.
..and it’s now just shy of midnight. We’ve got a swelling half moon lighting the way, and we’re motoring towards San Cristobal - due to arrive around 8ish in the morning.
Day 12. (Thursday 30 March)
Little cloud, slight breeze and Land-Ho
I woke to a swathe of green to the Portside - it’s an island. It’s quite densely vegetated, but far from Caribbean or South Pacific looking. In fact, with the grey clouds above it, it looks more like an English forest in for a wet afternoon than anything more tropical. We’re heading down the West coast of Isla San Cristobal to the port town of the same name.
Arrived into the packed anchorage there - the 40 or so boats of the ARC rally having turned up a few days prior. A fraught couple of hours followed. Firstly we had to make a few attempts at anchoring, the anchor refusing to set and repeatedly jumped on rocks below. Once we’d eventually set, we hailed a water taxi to get to shore. The taxi boat has the name ‘El Sapo’ on the side (‘The Toad’ an apt description) He pretended not to understand I needed change for a $20 (the fare was $2). Luckily a generous Frenchman helped us out - we said we’d buy him a beer in the Marquesas. Next stop the bank: tried withdrawing the fuel money from a Spanish only speaking ATM with little success. All this under darkening skies. Gian Carlos (the agent) found us pulling our hair out at the ATM. He helped us, then took us to his little office to collect the cash. It all feels a bit sus, but we have no choice really, we’re running on fumes by now. Once fleeced at his office, it’s off to the local fresh produce market - which wasn’t terrible by any means. A few fruit flies, but given the number of bananas, hardly surprising. Also managed to find a rather nice bakery on the way back down to the jetty. Back to the boat in another water taxi (not Toad), dodging the numerous lounging seals along the way. ..and here we now wait for the diesel to arrive, which I’ve paid for in cash and got no receipt for.. hmmm.
Despite my misgivings.. It turned up - in four heavy 60lt containers which we proceeded to syphon into the jerrycans and tank, spilling a liberal quantity onto the deck in the process as the boat rolled around. We are then supposed (as repeatedly stressed by the agent) to immediately leave the country - or be fined (put in jail, boat impounded, hung drawn and quartered etc.!) What actually happened was we then sat around for three hours waiting for the diesel containers to be collected by water taxi before we could depart. By the time they were eventually taken away, the sun has nearly set, and Chez is not in the mood to depart. However: depart we must.
So… neither of us in the best mindset, we upped anchor once more and headed out.
Within half an hour, the sails are up, and the mood is slowly lifting. Hoping for a night of engine off, sails up to gently glide us away from these islands. Islands, which I must stress, would be very well worth a visit had the sun been shining, and our current mood, circumstances and finances been slightly better.
9pm ish, wind came round to the nose and the sails flapped then backed. After correcting back on course. I headed us further NW (directly towards another island) - by doing so we’re sailing much better making 3.5 - 4 knots.
Plan to hold this line until just before midnight then tack before reaching the island. We’ll then head in a more SW direction (probably to the South of our next waypoint marker.) Hopefully if the wind remains with us in both direction and strength we should be able to successfully sail on the other tack too .. fingers crossed.
Well that didn’t bloody work. It’s midnight: we’re now motoring WSW.
Day 13. (Friday 31 March)
Cloudy grey, breeze to sail, less than 1m swell.
Woke to a happy boat.
Other than the little blip where I lost the wind for a few hours before Chez’s shift, we’ve sailed through the night.
Avocado and eggs on toast for brekkie.
The clouds burned off, the wind is perfect for our sail to the next waypoint. As I say: a happy boat.
Spent some of the morning scrubbing the teak deck to try and remove the remnants of yesterdays diesel spillages - it came up pretty well. Seen a few curious seals popping their heads up to see what’s going on this morning.
Time for another ‘where are we’ round up:
To the North: Guatemala
To the East: Ecuador
To the South: still Antarctica
To the West: Papau New Guinea
Visited by more whales at lunchtime - not pilot whales, these are really big ones, black and shiny. They rise to take big gasping breathes that leave a cloud of vapour in the air for a moment. At least two, but no idea how many. Lazy afternoon, me napping, still sailing up until 6pm when the wind dropped with the setting sun. Disappointed to have to put the engine on - it’s been a good day, not fast, but nice to have a full day at sail regardless. …engine back off at 8pm.
During one of my watch look arounds, I came across a boobie who made his overnight home on top of the Hydrovane sail. Doesn’t look overly comfortable as it wiggles backwards and forwards, but didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving anytime soon.
The sailing tonight is slow and a little flappy from the side on swell. Tolerable - but only just. Bit of engine required before Chez’s shift - plain sailing from then on.
Day 14. (Saturday 1 April)
Enough wind to sail - bit rolly, but the sun’s shining and it’s all good.
Today is two weeks since we left Panama… April Fools! (No.. it really is, but it’s also April 1). As with our Atlantic crossing, we’ve longed for slightly more wind - but I try and content myself with what we have. Taking a cautious ‘careful what you wish for’ mindset. I prefer too little to too much - the latter I still find utterly terrifying at times. By lunchtime, the wind has increased to somewhere close to perfect - a comfortable glide for us at around 4.5knots. Made some soup for lunch: Butternut squash and ginger - very nice. Had the lures out the back again today - I’d taken them out when there were so many seals around. No luck though regardless. Still sailing quite nicely at sunset. Plump, well over half moon for us tonight.
That’s the end of week 2.
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