And We Are Off!

We were sailing on a broad reach, doing about eight knots with 12 knots of wind coming over our port stem. The seas were as calm as a lake, and there were flying fish everywhere. We were about 20 miles off Cabo San Lucas. We’d left at 5 a.m., and the crew had all gone back to sleep. John and Andy had a rough night trying for one last romance before setting sail.

Anyway, we had left for the first leg of our crossing, and I really don’t see how it could get much better.

Clarion Island is the farthest island from Mexico and the only stop between North America and French Polynesia. We anchored there during the night. Now there’s an adventure, anchoring in a strange port at night with breakers all around. We caught a wahoo on the way and ate like kings.

In the morning we tried to go ashore, but the coast was too rough and there was nowhere to land a dinghy. We finally gave up and decided to stay on the boat. Then we heard some idiots on the radio saying they had taken nine days to sail from Puerto Vallarta (all of 100 miles!), and they wanted to buy fuel and cigarettes on the island on their way to Hawaii. We told them there was no one on the island except about six Mexican Navy personnel, but they kept trying to get them to sell cigarettes and gasoline. They were so obnoxious we decided we would rather head out to sea than chance a visit by these guys, so we bid adieu to Clarion Island. Our next stop should be Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas, French Polynesia.

It started with a bang. I was down in the main saloon spreading out our chart to plot our position. It was noon and the wind was blowing a little over 30 knots. Andy had just gone on watch and asked John what our course should be. Before he could answer, the squall hit us faster than Elizabeth Taylor can down a Twinkie.

The boat veered 60 degrees to port, and our mainsail jibed. As it swung across, with the wind of a full squall, it ripped the preventer and the deadeye on which it was mounted clean out of the deck. It had been held with four ¼ × 20 6-inch through bolts to a stainless mounting bracket on the inside. The sail whipped across the deck with the full force of the wind, and as it hit the end of the main sheet it separated from the eye that attached to the end of the boom, ripping it off. The tension of the sheet ripping apart shot the block back into the solar panels and shattered the one it hit. In a matter of seconds our main was whipping free of any sheets, and we had to run into the wind to drop the sail. As we did, with the full 35 knots of wind on our nose, the boom broke free and knocked Andy off the roof of the storm room. Luckily, Jody was there and as he fell she grabbed at him and they both fell to the deck, just inches from going overboard. We jury-rigged another eye to the boom and put tape on the broken glass of the solar panel. Then the adrenaline started to subside.

The next night we were hit with no less than three squalls, but everything seemed to be holding up. In the morning I awoke to clearing skies, the winds down to 15 knots, and, generally, it was a cleanup day after the previous day’s disaster. We were exactly halfway from Cabo to the Marquesas, 1,332 miles in either direction to hit land.

We were 300 miles above the equator and other than a bunch of squalls around us we were having a pretty good crossing. Actually, a couple of days ahead of schedule, but that could change at any time. During the midnight watch we were hit by something I’d never experienced before. We were doing about seven to eight knots under 15 knots of wind off our stern quarter, when all of a sudden a squall came up. After a few minutes, Andy had to get up and help with the wheel, as the autopilot wouldn’t do its job. Anyway, about 30 minutes into this screaming meanie something grabbed a hold of the boat and knocked her flat on her side. All of a sudden we were looking at the world from an all new perspective—lying on our backs. No “Excuse me” or “Hey buddy, would ya mind?” just a full-on knockdown with the boat lying over on her side for a couple of seconds.

Of course the sleeping crew below was real happy about this. John was buried under a pile of porno magazines (strictly for trade with the natives, he claims), and Jody had about a hundred books pile themselves, not so gently, on her head.

I wound up lying against the inner wall of the storm room, and Andy ended up atop the steering wheel. During this little two-second knockdown we lost a couple of jugs of fuel over the side, but they were tied on so we retrieved them. We broke a couple of lines that held the dinghy in place, the chart tubes on the upper saloon bulkhead took a walk, and a coffee cup was broken. But we lived through it. Once again, we’re on our way south.

As we were about to cross the equator, the weather was perfect. It was so beautiful, I almost felt guilty. On the midnight watch there were more stars out than at the Academy Awards, and sunup was the most beautiful sunrise yet. We would soon stop at the equator to start a new LOST SOUL tradition.