Mother ocean teaches me a lesson

We rest in Turtle Bay for two days. We listen to forecasts on the SSB and download our Grib charts. Our next destination is a 250 mile journey and my Captain figures it'll take around 48 hours if we average five knots. Predict Wind says it should be blowing an average of 15-18. Timing is everything when trying to make landfall during daylight, so we decide to weigh anchor at 12:00 noon the next day.

The day breaks cold and windy...perfect.

We say good bye to TB and head out to sea on a broad reach. Pura Vida loves a good reach and she dashes at 7.5 knots over the whitecaps. The swell is up a bit from the predictions but once we get out to our to our rumb line and can shape our course for Mag Bay, we will fall off and head South. We figure the wind will be behind us and the seas will mellow and the boat will still speed along. It's a stunningly beautiful day.  I make afternoon tea and shortbread and Hunter and Daddy have a dance party to Scissor Sisters in the cockpit while Kai draws yet another arsenal of medieval weapons. I am now incredibly well schooled on the many vile and terrible ways one could die back in the day. Kai and Hunter spend a great deal of time drawing "shops" which sell things for various amounts of dollars-or pesos. Hunter's shops always sell wigs and posters and lipsticks and Kai's sell maces and two-headed axes and...cellphones. When we asked him about the cell phone plan he had listed for 8 million dollars, he said, "it's for life. Like it or not." which is ironic, because that is exactly how I feel about our cell phone plan. He also told us he planned to "false advertise" so he could get more customers! I don't think Kai needs school at all,  he's got a pretty good handle on the whole free market thing.

The wind is picking up. Its blowing 24 knots. We are now clear of the headland and are heading South but the seas are getting bigger- when they're coming from behind, they usually seem smaller- these don't. They are very steep with a short period in between sets and very FAST. We have trouble finding a good balance for the boat so she doesn't rush down them too quickly. We adjust our headsails but our poor old girl, who is usually steady in the troughs is rolling around and no amount of sail trim seems to solve the problem-because we also have this weird beam sea coming at us from both sides.

Few things are more uncomfortable on a boat than a confused sea. None of us get sick but it was a tosser.  Pura Vida soldiered on, through fourteen foot seas that seemed to come from everywhere at once. We got a chance to see what things were not stowed properly. The tea kettle finally had to be stashed away in the shower under some laundry because it seemed to launch itself across the cabin from anywhere else.

It was sloppy and cold, gusting 30 and the sun was starting to set. I could feel my jaw clenching and my teeth starting to hurt already. It was going to be a long night. I called Jon up form his off-watch rest-knowing he wasn't getting any anyway and we decided to put in our 3rd reef for the night.

I called down to the kids to hang on as Jon brought us into the wind. I could hear them below shrieking with laughter as they were flung around the cabin when Pura Vida rose and dove over the big waves coming straight at her bow. I was suddenly grateful for the vast menagerie of stuffed animals we have aboard, knowing that wherever the kids landed they would, most likely, hit something soft.

We reefed and readied for a tough night watch.

I make us a quick dinner of chili I had made ahead- I always make a few meals up before a crossing. Just in case its too rough or I'm too busy to make something good. Food is paramount to crew happiness, so there is no skimming or wussing out. If you don't feel like spending an hour in the galley getting tossed around like a rag doll, make something delicious that heats up quick and some homemade bread the day before. It goes a long way to improving morale on an arduous trip.

I wash up from dinner and come on deck to look around at the seas. They're still icky and still coming from all directions. Is it refraction from the coast? We are thirty miles out!  Jon checks the depth on the charts. Seamounts are everywhere on this route, so maybe it has something to do with the swell hitting the shallower rises. The waves don't scare me, they're not so big, 12-14, but I know that with this long fetch and it blowing upwards of 24 for the last 12 hours- they will get bigger.  I just wish they would organize themselves into something that Pura Vida could settle into. She's tough and all. She has a short mast for her size and we have her reefed down but still, she's an old girl and we don't want her bashing around like this. It's feels like you pushed your grandma into a mosh-pit, or something.

Jon sends me to bed, tells me to get some sleep. It's my duty to find some no matter how impossible it is in this bucking, rolling sea. But I will have to serve my watches and be alert, so you have to make it happen. I brought earplugs for all of us and they help. Also wedging yourself between sleeping babies helps. The kids will not be allowed on night watches tonight, as it's too rough.

Jon will take an extra long watch because it's spooky out and it's also a dark moon, so there will be no friendly moonlight to comfort us out here in this pissed off ocean. I can't see short distances without my glasses on and with no ambient light, I won't be able to see far away either- so I am pretty much blind on deck. I crawl into bed with the kids and think about Jon on deck in the wind and the black waves hissing by him. I know he is clipped in. Cardinal rule of the on-watch person is clipping in so the off- watch person doesn't have to get up every five minutes to make sure their soul mate wasn't washed overboard. I snuggle the kids and close my eyes...

I don't sleep. No one can. The kids and I go back and forth between their v-berth and our bunk but unlike Goldie Locks, we just can't find a bed that works. Our bunk is directly over the self steering arm which is noisy and working like crazy as Pura Vida yaws around on the huge rollers and their berth is like trying to sleep in a washing machine. I pull on my Helly's and head on deck to see how Jon is making out up there. I open the hatch and Jon is looking down at me with eyes like saucers.

"Hey, baby..." I say.
Jon looks like he just ate a giant bag of magic mushrooms.
I notice TWO empty cans of Redbull in front of him.

"everything okay?" I ask- I only ever want ONE answer to this question. Jon gives it to me.

"Yup.  Everything's cool. Nothing to worry" He says.

I see something huge and metal lying on the deck behind him.

"what is that?" I can't really see the thing very well in the pitch black.

"The wind generator." Jon says. His eyes are wild. "snapped in half and then slammed into the deck and was hanging off the boat."

"Holy shit",  I say

I clip on my harness and climb out to have a look. A six foot tall, three inch around, galvanized steel pole and the 20 pound wind turbine that sat on top of it are now duct-taped to the stantions.

"Holy shit", I say again.

"It must of sheared off with all the torque from all the crashing around. Lucky it didn't hit our solar panels or the dingy."Jon says this last bit seeming kind of amazed.

I think about what kind of forces induce metal fatigue and look up at the rig... and wonder.

Apparently, Jon spent the last two hours wrestling a hundred pound pole and the turbine back on board, a moving deck, in the pitch black and howling darkness. I feel badly for him but am grateful it wasn't on my watch, because if that thing came crashing down next to me, I would have had a heart attack and died.

I don't want to go back to bed but Jon insists I do. He is strict about the watch thing and I know he's right. I go below. Kai and Hunter are awake, they don't complain but I know they are nervous and uncomfortable. I tell them to turn on a light in the berth and wait for me. I make my way through the thrashing roller coaster of the main salon and rip off the settee cushions and root around in the storage lockers. I dig out two boxes of animal crackers and some strawberry milks, treats i have stashed for occasions like these. I return to my cabin and Kai and Hunter's small pale faces light up. I give them the goodies, climb into bed and stick my head under the covers. I listen to them giggle and whisper as pretend I to sleep. At least they sound happy. Thank God for sugar.

An hour later Jon pokes his head in. "you're up" he says.

 I pull on all my gear, make a thermos of tea and head on deck. Jon shows me our position. We aren't even close to halfway. The seas are still awful and even though I can't see, I can hear them hissing in a nasty way. It's so pitch dark outside that the phosphorus in the water seems extra bright. You can tell how steep the waves are as they rise up behind us just by looking at our wake.  It looks like a huge green ribbon floating in the air above the dingy. Judging by the height of that green ribbon, I guess the waves to be about 16-17 feet now.

I tell Jon i'm fine and wish him some rest. He goes below and I am alone.

Night watch is dark, dark, dark. My eyes just can't adjust. There are optical illusions everywhere. Phantom ships twinkle on the horizon and phosphoresence float by my nose. I keep busy, checking for (real) ships and trimming sails. When the wind dies down, the boat bucks around even more because she's making no way. We need to charge our batteries, so I kick on the engine and hope Jon and the kids can find some sleep with the comforting rumble of old Perkie. I go below to find some music. I consider Donna Summer's "i will survive" but I just don't feel like a party. It's too scary for disco. I opt for comfort tunes and find some James Taylor and Mumford and Sons. I grab a stick of incense i brought back form Tibet last fall. It was from a monastery in the province of Ganden, that sat at 16,000 feet. I don't know what the folks up there in the Himalayas know of the ocean but I liked their style. 

I go back on deck and look out at the cross sea. James Taylor sings steam roller blues and i face away from the wind grip the incense between my teeth and toke on it to light it. I say a prayer, conjuring every arcane sea diety I can think of and toss the little joss stick into the raging blackness. Just to prove she isn't religious, the sea spits a salty wave in my face. I mutter that I am a fool and have no right to be out here in the middle of the ocean when she is so obviously in no mood for mortals and their peevish wishes. I busy myself with survival and sailing the boat as well as I can.

Time flies when your scared shitless and before i know it, it's been three hours and Jon is back on deck.

We come and go in three hour watches and they are all gnarly, all cold, all intensified by the motion and the darkness. The night is as hard as any i've ever had at sea but like all nights, it eventually passes.  

The sun rises on my watch and the morning is cold and grey. The kids poke their lovely faces through the hatch and I know they haven't slept a wink but they give me a chipper "'Morning, Mummy!". They are so, so good at sea. I go below and make everybody grilled egg and cheese sandwiches and hot cocoa because it's the least I can do for them.

 I set the water to boil and I notice how bone tired I am.  Even in the light of day, I'm shaking like a chihuahua from cold and anxiety. I can't even imagine how Jon feels. He shows no signs and makes no complaints but I know how much rests on his shoulders. The safety of his boat and it's most precious crew all lies with him. He vigilantly checks on our old engine and re-checks our  course and position and studies the charts and we both look out for chafe on our gear. Pura Vida held up wonderfully-except for the wind generator and that's not really part of HER, exactly, more of an IT.

I pass out breakfast on deck and we ignore the thrashing, moody sea and Hunter turns on Lady Gaga full blast so she can have a dance and get her morning "monster" on.

Jon takes the watch and the kids and I go below and the three of us wedge ourselves sideways in the v-berth and barricade ourselves with stuffed animals to minimize the rolling and somehow sleep manages to find us.

Four hours later Jon shakes me awake. I take the next watch and the sun has the decency to come out. The seas are still rather large, 12 feet or so and steep but they are somewhat more organized. I really want Jon to get some sleep and the since the breeze is fresh, I alter course slightly so we can ride a more comfortable point of sail.  Pura Vida falls into a nice beam reach and I can keep her on this just a few degrees off our rumb line. A couple of hours later the kids come up. We decide to play Uno but just as the game gets good, the wind shifts. I move the preventer to tack but in my exhaustion, forget to move it back outside the shrouds. When I readied to tac, the wind gusted as the sail moved and it slammed against the shrouds and the jib sheet tangled and suddenly what had been all smooth and controlled seemedchaotic and crashing about. I was too tired at that moment to figure out what was wrong. I hollered at the kids to move and i leaped to  free the tangled jib sheet from the winch. My hair caught in the sheet as it flew out( rule number 2-tie back long hair) and tore our a good chunk of hair and scalp. I yelped at the kids to "go get dad!" and a moment later Jon appears on deck, looking utterly exhausted and bleary eyed and says "what's wrong?"

" I was moving the preventer and it snagged on the shrouds and the jib was tangled and..." I think I was hyper-ventilating.

" what's WRONG? "Jon asks, again.

" I don't KNOW" and I'm furious for some reason.

Jon is blinking, trying to figure out why the hell I woke him up for this. The wind is calmer now and 

nothing seems out of control-except, maybe ME, i guess...He's shaking his head.

" I don't know what you want me to do..." 

"well you SHOULD" I scream at him. "it's your fucking boat!"

And with that, I flee below deck, crawl into the shower stall ( inexplicably) and sob for ten minutes.

When I  get it together and go back on deck, Jon is sitting at the wheel looking beyond tired. I sit down beside him.

"I'm sorry"I say.

He puts his arms around me and I sob for another ten minutes.

"look at my nose" I say.

Jon touches a black bruise across the bridge.

" I smashed into the dodger last night."

"poor baby" says Jon and kisses it.

"I'm okay," I say. "Go get some rest"

Jon goes below.

I sit there for awhile, feeling like a cow.

I look around at the ocean. She has calmed down completely. The waves are smooth, spaced well apart and coming from one direction. The wind is twelve knots. Pura Vida is running comfortably on the swell.

The ocean rolls over, opens one dark eye and looks right at me.

"Little sister...", She slurs, in her salty voice. "there only be room for ONE crazy-ass bitch out here".

And I know she is right.

I vow to make Jon and excellent dinner and rub his feet in coconut oil when he wakes up.

fishing outside turtle bay

clipped in.