Passage to the Galapagos

We’ve written about night passages before, but they still remain a source of trepidation for us.  Meryl usually takes the 7:00 pm to 10:00 pm watch and then promptly passes out down below. I take the 10:00 pm to 1:00 am watch and usually have enough alertness to listen to a good audiobook (Nelson DeMille this time) to help pass the time. Luckily we had a full moon for this passage which helps tremendously in giving the normally pure black space some form and definition. You can’t see a thing forward given the layout of the boat, so we just hope and pray we don’t hit anything. Every 20 to 30 minutes we’ll do a visual scan of the horizon looking for boat lights, then check the AIS for any ships (fishing boats aren’t required to use AIS but they are usually lit up like Christmas trees at night while they are working), and then check the radar to pick up anything else that might be out there, like a big rain squall. We’ve been very fortunate to not have experienced any night squalls so far, but we certainly will on our passage to the Marquesas.

Amazingly we had fairly good winds the first day, around 12 to 15 knots from the port quarter and were sailing at about 7 knots.  At that speed that boat makes all sorts of noises. The watch person’s job is to learn these various creaks, squeaks, and clanks and discriminate between the normal ones and the abnormal, making sure everything mechanical on the boat is functioning as it should. Naturally, things always seem to break at night, usually between 2:00 am and 3:00 am. We got lucky this night with no surprises and Meryl woke me up at 4:00 am for my watch.

Getting woken up at 4:00 am is not a pleasant thing, and neither of us is usually in a pleasant mood when this happens. The boat is bathed in a reddish glow from our night lights and usually moving at unusual angles so getting up from a sound sleep and having to wake up, dress, go to the bathroom, and get a quick snack, is all done in a form of mental haze. Even trying to stand up and get your leg into your shorts is a challenge with the boat rolling back and forth. Only once you are topsides and starting your watch do things fall in place. You still can’t see anything, so you try to get used to the boat noises, you check AIS to make sure nothing huge is about to run you over, and you wish more than anything that you could go back to bed. At 7:00 am I wake Meryl, a very dangerous thing at this point, but at least the sun is up and we can physically see things (although its just a 360-degree sweep of deep blue ocean as far as the eye can see. Even something like an unusual cloud is enough to catch my attention for awhile.

This was our view for nine days.

For the subsequent days of our passage (our longest yet) the wind gets lighter and lighter, causing us great frustration because a sailboat needs a certain amount of wind to stay on her lines and not rock at erratic angles. In very light wind there is no pressure on the main sail and it “slats” back and forth as the waves rock the boat. Also in light winds come wind direction changes, which means sail changes for us. We’re down to the main and the lightweight Code Zero sail, which will keep its shape in very light winds. Unfortunately we only have it rigged with one sheet, so every time the wind changes I have to crawl up on deck and rerun the line from one side to the other. It’s got lots of little do-hickies (a technical sailing term) that it needs to be led through and doing this on a rolling and pitching deck is not fun.

Also with the lighter winds comes heat. The wind plays a strong role in keeping us cooled off during the day, and without it the temperature skyrockets. A pair of shorts is about all the clothing you can handle. I’ve heard of women sailing in slips (or less), the light nylon and open design seems the perfect sailing gear for heat (though probably not very socially acceptable). Luckily we have a good dodger and bimini so were protected from the sun’s direct rays.

We read a lot, look forward to lunches and dinners, and sleep as much as possible. It doesn’t do much good to look around a lot since the view seemingly never changes. If you ever want to feel alone, forget about the wilderness and go out on an ocean-crossing sailboat. Serenity now.

We do check in on the Magellan Net at 8:00 am and 5:00 pm everyday. We really look forward to this because we get position and weather reports from other boats and pick up bits of gossip and other info. At this point anything will get you excited, like Australia beating India in a test cricket match. At least the Aussie’s seemed excited.

One of the famous Galapagos finches.

Another drive-by from my friendly red-footed boobie.

No matter how I tried to reason with him, he did understand the importance of his vacating his perch.

About five days out from the Galapagos we started seeing more birds circling the boat. We had a little finch hitchhike with us for a day, just sitting on the rail trying to catch his breath and figuring out what in the hell we were doing. The next day we were “blessed” by a red-footed boobie, a sure sign we were getting close to the Galapagos. He would perch on our bow pulpit like he owned the place. I would walk up on occasion and talk with him, getting as close as about two feet away. He would always cock his head and stare at me. I can’t image what was going through his mind. After several visits I discovered he was leaving us little presents, as our anchor resting just below him was now a bright white color. Knowing how corrosive the bird poop was, I decided he had worn out his welcome. I would shoo him off, he would circle the boat (they are magnificent flyers) and as soon as I went back to the cockpit he would land on the bow pulpit again. For awhile we played this little game where I would hide behind the genoa and just before he would land I would pop out and go “Boo!”  I know, this is childish behavior but I was very irritated at this point. He would just make a couple more loops of the boat and wait for me to go back to my roost. Finally he left for good, and I think we both felt a little bad for chasing him off. He was kind of a cool bird in many respects.

On March 6th we crossed the Equator, a historic event for most sailors. There is an old British Navy ceremony where pollywogs (those sailors who have never crossed an equator) are initiated into the Solemn Mysteries of the Ancient Order of the Deep and become revered shellbacks. I researched the various rites of passage and settled on one appropriate for our boat and two people.

A pollywog about to become a shellback after crossing the Equator.

 I played the role of King Neptune Rex, who is traditionally dressed as a women (you will understand why there are usually no photographs of these ceremonies) and held court, with Davy Jones in absentia. The ceremony typically involves a recitation of past sins, a verdict by the court, then a punishment that can include noxious substances, humiliation in front of crew mates, and some form of flogging (fans of 50 Shades of Gray are most likely getting interested at this point). After the ceremony the pollywog is pronounced a shellback and a toast of rum is drunk, with a libation offered over the side to Davey Jones. It was an interesting afternoon, to say the least.

The flat, volcanic landscape of San Cristobal Island.

On March 7th we finally shouted “land ho,” (not sure why we did this but everyone on sailboats seems to do it) and began our approach to San Cristobal. Since the wind was very light at this point, I suited up in a wetsuit and a harness (so Meryl wouldn’t take off without me) and jumped overboard into 936 feet of water to do a quick touch up of our bottom. It wasn’t too bad but being under a boat that is rocking up and down in the middle of an ocean known for it’s 15-ft. plus sharks, made for a very quick bottom job.

The famous Kicker Rock in the channel outside of San Cristobal. Some boats actually sail through that narrow crack.

Meryl was just glad to have arrived.

As we approached Kicker Rock, a huge monolith out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, a large school of bottlenose dolphins rushed over to the boat as our official welcoming committee. We both went up to the bow and marveled at this magnificent mammals and their pure joy in darting back and forth across our bow wave. I swear they turn slightly and look at you with a sly smile on their face. That was definitely a bucket list moment.

The anchorage at San Cristobal.

As we rounded the far corner of the island we came into the port of San Cristobal. The one disconcerting thing was when I looked down at our electronic charting software and it showed us on land. Not good. We have four major navigation systems on board: 1) MaxSea running on a PC computer at the nav station, 2) OpenCPN running on both my MAC and the navigation PC computer, 3) Garmin BlueCharts running on an iPad, and 3) Raymarine running on a chart plotter at the helm. Each of these systems needs fairly expensive electronic charts to function. I had just spent $600 for MaxSea charts of the South Pacific, only to find that the Galapagos is included only on the South American chart, at an extra $300. The OpenCPN had charts that are free, but also not very detailed in certain locations. We had opted not to buy the $200 South America chip for our ancient Raymarine system, leaving our Garmin as our only up-to-date chart of the Galapagos. Now here’s the kicker, the CMap charts used in MaxSea and Raymarine, and the Garmin BlueCharts, are all “off” by about ½ mile in the Galapagos. Not sure why, but that’s the deal. Also, many boats have reported substantial errors in their GPS systems and autopilots (run by GPS’s). So the bottom line is we quickly steered more to the right and kind of navigated by the seat of our pants into the harbor. Luckily it was deep enough and we were not entering on the side that has all the reefs.

We managed to find a free anchoring buoy that we tied up to, had a congratulatory beer, and then promptly took a long nap. Our agent was supposed to come out to the boat with all the welcoming committee (this will be in a subsequent post) but they called it a day early, which was fine with us. We were just very, very glad to be here, alive, and in one piece.