Early this morning I sailed west of 122.5 degrees west longitude which is not important except it’s the approximate longitude of my house on Bainbridge Island. At this point I’ll recognize any scrap of progress, no matter how insignificant.
There have been many movies with a scene of an 18th century sailing ship becalmed in an ocean somewhere, drifting around a dead flat sea, its canvas sails hanging limply from the yardarms in forlorn anticipation of new wind. The crew sits around on deck in whatever hint of shade they can find, or construct with spare sails, as an intense merciless sun beats down on them. Though there’s no breeze to be found on deck it’s better than being in the stifling, rank atmosphere below deck. Some kill time whittling or scratching scrimshaw while others sit with their backs against a bulkhead, sweat dripping down their faces, eyes closed, as they try to fill their thoughts with images of home. Some occasionally dip a ladle into a wooden bucket of seawater and pour it over their heads, the brief cooling lasting only a minute.
One seaman happens to notice a bird fly by, barely flapping its wings to gain loft. He looks to the top of the mainmast where a pennant is gently stirring. No, it can’t be, it’s just another tease from Zephyrus. But as he watches the pennant begins to lift and slowly wave. Others notice him and also look skyward, each with a flicker of hope their windless oblivion is ending. Then the topmost skysail sail fills with a resounding “whap”. Now everyone is looking up as the sails begin to fill with wind from the top down. The crew is on their feet, a cheer rises as the ship slowly begins to move through the water. The officer on deck steps up to the helmsman who simply nods that he has steerage. The officer gives an order to turn the ship to take best advantage of the rising wind. The crew gladly scrambles up the masts to adjust sails. Their long drifting nightmare in the doldrums has come to end.
That was me for a couple of days as the wind speed fell below 5 knots and its direction wander over a 50 degree range. The SE trade winds at this latitude, even much further south, should have been fairly steady in direction and speed. But this is an El Nino summer, renowned for lighter, variable trade winds. I have first-hand evidence of that. I’ve had to work my way progressively further north than I ever expected to get around a large patch of dead air hundreds of miles across encroaching from the south. Of course, unlike the 18th century ships I have “iron wind“, an engine I can use to keep making progress. But the engine is loud, and its heat adds to the already 32+C degree temperatures outside. It’s even hotter in the cabin.
As I write this some wind has returned, at least enough to work with to get this boat moving again under sail.
I’m about 1000 nm from Nuku-Hiva, expecting to arrive there on August 20 or 21, depending , as always, on the winds.
