Getting to the Azores from Zurich is not that easy. Ok, it's not like getting to the end of the world, but it can be an exercise in patience that gets you ready for the "island time". Irina, Peter and I spent a weekend in Lisbon before getting on a 6:50am flight to Horta. We had a great time in Lisbon! In the afternoon the air would heat up to 35C, but it was dry, so that was generally ok for walking around and exploring the city.
The joy of taking an early flight was having a whole day ahead of us. As the plane was descending, we were on the right side to see Mt Pico being hugged by clouds. The plane then made a loop to land into the easterly wind. Seconds before landing we could see water to our right and volcanic rock to our left. And then all of a sudden the landing strip. Welcome to Horta!
The taxi dropped us of at the marina at 8:30, just in time for breakfast. We walked through Horta while looking for a place to eat and then back to the boat. We picked up the laundry, stowed away our personal belongings and started to get the boat into a ship-shape condition. Irina's sense for what a livable boat should look like is very different from that of 4 salty sailors! And of course we will be 7 this week, not 4, so using the forward cabin as a storage place where all unnecessary things are piled up is no longer an option.
For lunch we walked to the other side of the town. We found an open-air restaurant Ah! Boca Santa, which was running on "island time", but the food was great. The nearby supermarket was closed for lunch until 14:00, so Irina stayed back to see if she could stock on fresh groceries. There were 2 reviews on Google maps for the place: one that said that the produce is great and a second one that claimed that the shelves were empty. To Irina's dismay, the latter one turned out to be correct.
In the meantime, Peter and I headed back to the boat through Mid Atlantic Marine Services (our boatsitter) and the Horta marina. We got a replacement line for the outhaul, ordered a replacement line for the boom lift, and secured a different place in the marina where we would actually have water to fill up the tanks and finally give Salty Ginger a rinse after the crossing and the month of sitting idle in Horta.
By 6pm Irina was done with the messages she had to send and in that time Peter and I reran the outhaul and tightened the stanchion that was knocked out of its balance by the spinnaker pole falling onto it early during the crossing. We were now ready to get groceries!
The Continente supermarket was nothing spectacular until we got to the fish department. I understand that for the locals this is "just a fishmoger", but between moray eel, some other eel, and the variety of fish, half of which I have never seen in my life, I was blown away.
We talked to the woman at the counter through Translate app, and got her recommendation for fish that would be good for grilling. She cleaned the two different groupers that we picked with her help and with a few full bags of food we called a cab and got back to Salty Ginger.
Even though our friends' plane ended up being delayed, they arrived just after we stowed all the food. After a short tour for Natasha, Assi, Galya and Adam we were off to dinner.
Getting ready
The day before, the attendant in Horta called the harbormaster in Pico, who said that he could accommodate us on the outer wall. Not the best place, but in the predicted easterly, that will be more than fine. Given the tiny marina, having a spot was already great!
Peter woke up well before 7. I asked him to sit down and read a book, but I had no luck with that. His footsteps were heard throughout the boat and shortly Adam was up, so now it was 2 boys running around, jumping onto the concrete wall, back onto the boat. Finally, I heard Peter stomping towards the bow. This time I couldn't be upset: he was there to close the hatches since it started to rain. Fine, fine. I will get up.
Coffee, eggs, melon, cheese from Faial, sweet bread was a tasty but a rather bizarre mixture of foods that we had for breakfast. How Galya ended up sleeping through all of that until 9:30 is incomprehensible to me, but teenagers have their way when then need and can.
All 7 of us showed up to the marina office for check-out. We were quickly informed that only the skipper and the passports need to stay. Assi stayed with me while the others went in search of something tasty (didn't we just have breakfast?). I only expected to talk to the marina office since we had no intention of leaving the Portuguese waters, but no, one has to follow the procedure in the same order: settle the bill with the marina, get a stamp on the form (very quiet this time around!) from the National Guard, get a nod of approval from the customs. This time around the same customs officer whom we saw a month ago was not as talkative. He found the original record of us checking in and wished us a good sail to Pico.
Off to Pico
I'm no longer confused by the wind doing the thing that it does as opposed to what the weather forecast predicted. Instead of a southerly we had a northeasterly that made it easy to get off the southeast wall to which we were tied. We unrolled the main and pointed the bow toward the southern side of Pico.
Soon enough the wind decided to take a break. Since it was lunchtime, and it was relatively calm, we decided to cook rice and grill the two fish. While Irina was making a salad and the fish was grilling, the conditions changed. The persistent easterly of the past week created waves that Pico was blocking while we were between the islands, but were very well felt when we were south of it. The appetite of our guests evaporated.
Arguably, it was a bit weird to be putting down food while 4 crew members were not going to touch it, but the captain was very hungry. Irina and Peter less so, but were also happy to have food in their tummies.
The wind continued to build, and while it was a lovely sailing weather, we continued to motor. We were maybe 10 degrees shy of being able to sail close-hauled. Rather than extending the passage, I let Galya and Adam sleep. Soon enough Irina and Peter were catching z's.
By the time we were ready to pull into Pico Lajes, the wind was almost 15 knots, but we were now sheltered from the waves by the protruding landmass. Natasha furled the mainsail and we motored into the narrow marina entrance. I tried calling a number I found on the web, but whoever answered the phone hung up on me, so we didn't have much choice, but to go in.
Since we have the dinghy tied to the starboard side, we had to tie up on the port side. A couple of guys on the dock showed us to the place where we could tie up, and I put Salty Ginger in reverse while the wind was pushing us off the concrete dock. The stern dock line was tied right away, but we did have trouble with the bow line. Luckily, Irina was able to hand the amidships line to the guy on land and we straightened out the rest. The guys turned out to be French, from a boat tied up right next to us. They explained where the office was and looking at our American flag, assured me "on peut faire un deal, un grand deal".
The harbormaster saw me walking with the boat documents and correctly figured out that I must have been the skipper from the boat that just docked. He apologized for not coming out sooner to help us. "You were so fast!" He also showed me where the whale watching boats were, so maybe, just maybe we will have a chance of seeing a whale or two on our way back to Faial in a couple of days.
There are five characters in this story. 4 humans: myself, Alice, Frank, and Mark, all experienced sailors seeking an adventure of an offshore passage. We also have James, a mechanical autopilot, known as self-steering wind vane built by Hydrovane. James also has a few offshore miles on his rudder, and while he excels in some conditions, he is an apprentice in others.
The shorts & T-shirt attire that we enjoyed in Newport clearly would not last for long. As we started to sail, everyone was adding layers. While the southerly wind made the exit from the harbor quite a bit longer since we had to tack back and forth, the wind was there and we could sail. The general consensus is that sailing is preferable to motoring. We will make it there eventually.
With that we will take official departure time from Newport as 16:00 boat time on June 13, 2025.
The wind slowly shifted from southerly to easterly, which wasn’t unexpected given the forecast. However, that made it impossible to point at the waypoint, where entering the Gulf Stream seemed most favorable. The choice was made for us by Poseidon: we sail offshore where a) encountering other vessels is less likely, b) we avoid Vineyard Sound with its currents, and c) it is a more favorable course to hit the stream.
The shift arrangement worked itself out quite naturally: Mark was sleepy as of 6 or so and badly needed a nap. It didn’t make sense to have him nap for an hour, so he would then come on shift at 10pm. Alice felt fit enough to stay up until midnight, so I would then follow Mark’s lead to take a nap after dinner and stand the watch as of midnight. Thus Frank would stand the shift until 10 and then relieve Mark at 2am. This staggered shift schedule ensured that 2 people were always in the cockpit and only 2 cabins were needed for sleeping.
When I came out of the cabin for my shift, the moon just rose and its red shimmering light dispersed by a thin cover of clouds created a perfect atmosphere for night sailing. We were way off course, making a huge loop around the offshore wind-farm next to Martha’s Vineyard. The huge “monsters” with rotating blades were all synchronously blinking in the distance. Once we covered the last windmill, we resumed our close-hauled course which was still 40-50 degrees off the ideal course. During the night the wind kept strengthening and built up waves that started to make life aboard somewhat unpleasant. Towards the end of my shift we got to regular spikes above 20 knots apparent, so I figured it was time to reef. Just in case. Salty Ginger did not lose any speed.
In the morning there was fog. Nothing terrible, about 1/2 mile visibility. The water was clear, gentle blue, but only if you look close to the boat. The fog and the clouds made everything grey. The wind dropped and shifted so that we were pointing due south. That seemed to indicate that we could tack and now point to our destination. No such luck. A current was pushing us west, so the tack had a 150 degree change in direction rather than about 100 as I would have expected. Fine, we keep our southerly course.
We are quite content to be alone. We’ve seen a few shearwaters, a couple of sunfish, a few ships on AIS, and lots of grey. We are 104 miles away from Newport and 1933 miles from Faial.
Day 2
Sunday, June 15
As soon as I set the computer aside and went to the cockpit to relieve Alice, we got rain. It rained earlier in the day while I was napping, but this time around everything was wet. A hatch that I thought had drops of water while Mark was washing the boat leaked, water was flowing around the companionway and wind eddies blew it into the cabin. Mark had a project: save the boat from flooding. He plugged up some of the holes in the zipper of the dodger and continued to wipe the moisture from the floor. The heavy rain lasted some 45 minutes, then switched to a drizzle and stopped. The only fun part of it was a temporary wind shift that allowed me to bear off and Salty Ginger sped directly toward the desired waypoint at 8 knots.
Frank cooked chicken breast and potatoes, but by the time dinner was ready, my body was not in a mood to eat. I bit off a piece of chicken, and a small piece of potato, forced myself to chew up a tiny piece of bread and hoped that all of that would stay inside while I’m sleeping. I was not the only one looking at food with suspicion.
About cooking and Frank. He was in the galley while we were being thrown around by the waves. Mark and I kept shortening sail to make the living conditions more acceptable to the crew, but there was nothing we could do about the waves. Frank looked exhausted when he was done cooking. In fact, a good deal of life when the floor is at an angle is about exertions in parts of life which one takes for granted. Making it to the bathroom takes time and requires physical strength, sitting on the toilet, one has to brace against the walls. Dressing up for the shift requires assessment of the boat movement to pick the right time to put on an article of clothing.
For some unknown reason I woke up at 11, a good hour before my shift and was lying with my eyes closed, getting mentally ready to come up to the cockpit. Then I realized that the boat just went through an unexpected tack. Alice and Mark are good sailors, they’ll sort it out, no rush. And then I hear “oh, shit” while the sheets are violently beating up the mast and the standing rigging. I rush up to find out that one side of the spinnaker pole is off the mast, the pole is bent and the solar panels are flopping around. I told Alice to heave to and ran to put on pants, shoes, jacket and life vest. The wind was howling.
The order of priorities was pretty clear: 1) check that everyone was ok and not hurt, 2) remove the pole to ensure that it cannot damage the boat, 3) tie down the solar panels so that they cannot flop around. Mark and Alice were a bit shook up, but not hurt. Frank came up into the cockpit and I had to send him back down to get his life vest on. I clipped into the jackline to ensure that I can’t go overboard and made my way to the mast. We just mounted the pole with Mark and Frank 2 days ago, so I knew what needed to be done. I just forgot to take pliers to undo the shackle. Mark quickly brought me a pair, I removed the shackle, removed the pin and with a sigh dropped the bent pole into the dark. There was no way to salvage it, nor do we have a good place to stow it somewhere where it wouldn’t get in the way. In the meantime, Mark prepared a few pieces of string to tie down the panels.
At 23:35 everyone was in the cockpit. A gust of wind rounded Salty Ginger up, as James with his tiny rudder could not react in time, and in the pitch black of the night Alice and Mark didn’t immediately realize what happened. As they tried to tack back to resume course, the sheets were flying out of control and caught either the pole or its mounting bracket, the rivets broke off and the pole got beat up by the violence of the lines. That all happened very quickly.
Even though the wind was only 18 knots (it felt a lot stronger when I came out), we made a decision to furl the jib and go forward under mainsail alone. That was excruciatingly slow, so ultimately we opened up a sliver of a jib and proceeded. Alice looked tired, being sleep deprived and seasick, so I told her to go down and sleep.
The rest of the night was uneventful. Frank came up for his shift at 2 saying, “can you believe it, how long it takes to get dressed!” Both he and I were quite sleepy. I did squats to wake myself up, which helped to bring me back into an awakened state for a few minutes. The wind kept dropping, so the jib was unrolled some more to give us a bit more speed.
At 8 I found Mark together with a very sleepy and tired Alice. She didn’t feel like going down below to sleep, so we let her rest on one of the seats in the cockpit. Alice knew that she needed to eat something, but couldn’t figure out what her stomach would hold. She opted to try a banana and was munching on it with her eyes closed. When we were discussing provisioning, Alice made it known that coffee is not an option. Here she was, not interested in coffee and contemplating taking a painkiller instead.
About coffee. Mark asked for a cup, so I ground up the beans and put the coffee on the stove. I wasn’t interested since the day before, when I spilled it after pouring a cup to Mark. I wasn’t intent on cleaning up again, so I carefully placed the pot where it should stay. Mark peeked in and said “hey, that pot is leaning, is it empty?” It was not empty, but not spilling. I put it onto a different spot on the stove, and 2 minutes later a wave bumped the boat and the entire thing spilled once again.
When Frank got up we used his Iridium to get routing information and weather. By that time, I added more points on the chart for key bends in the Gulf Stream, so I had a pretty good idea what the routes could look like. The weather report confirmed that we have to deal with easterlies for another 3 days, and the proposed routing was in line with what I envisioned and warned us about the potential wind-against-current discomfort while sailing.
Day sailing turned out to be great. We have some large, mostly soft waves coming from the north, but the wind died down and Salty Ginger is moving us forward at a comfortable pace.
Mark fixed up the leaking hatch. We are 209 miles away from Newport with 1847 miles to go.
Day 3
Monday, June 16
Unlike the day before, everyone had appetite during the dinner. A few hours of calm seas allowed all stomachs to settle and we had our first dinner all together outside.
The plan remained the same: we take advantage of the easterlies to push us south until we hit the stream and then make up our mind on the next action once we get there. The outside of the stream was lightly pushing us in the right direction, and it felt good to no longer be fighting a knot of current.
There were no surprises through the evening shifts. There was a remarkable difference compared to the night before: it was not cold. The water was getting warmer and warmer since the first night: from 16C it was now up at 22C. It was not until 2am, when Frank joined me in the cockpit, that the water temperature started to go up dramatically fast. Within an hour or so it went up to 24C and then over 1.5 miles, the temperature went to a balmy 26.7C.
The wind started to build again, and it was clearly time to reef. Both sails were partially rolled in and I went to sleep. I woke up at 6 because the motion of the boat was very violent. Confused seas were tossing the boat in all possible directions. Alice and Frank reefed the sails further to try to make the motion more comfortable. At 8am the crew were already awake: Alice and Mark were on shift and Frank couldn’t fall asleep given the boat motion.
Coffee preparation was a success this time around. I found the rail guards to hold the coffee maker and despite Salty Ginger being tossed around not a drop of coffee was spilled. Alice was a bit seasick, but she was very happy to get a cup of black coffee. Frank was the only one who abstained.
There was a puzzling thing about our speed: even though we were clearly inside the stream, the speed over ground was lower than speed over water. It dawned on me that since we were still pointing southeast, the current must have a northerly component which canceled our southerly component and thus slowed us down. We tacked to align our course with the current and the boat speed went from 5 to 8 knots.
The simple forecast I got on my Garmin device forecasted a wind shift from easterly to ESE winds over the course of the day. That sounded great, but there was a catch. We downloaded a GRIB file using Frank’s Iridium, which more or less aligned with the forecast I got. But the proposed routes had 2 options: either continue heading northeast or tack and head southeast. Initially I didn’t understand why that would be a good idea, but then Frank and I looked at the winds we would be likely to encounter. Going south 20-30 miles from where we were would potentially put us on the same latitude as a low pressure system, thus exposing us to somewhat weaker winds overnight. In addition, there was a predicted rain cloud that would catch up with us if we continued to push northeast. The decision was made in favor of creature comfort and we tacked.
Alice came up into the cockpit from the cabin and was not feeling well at all. The most practical solution in such cases is to have the seasick person do something so that their mind is engaged. Alice took over the wheel and in the strong winds she got a work out sailing Salty Ginger at over 8 knots. She was happily driving till she got blisters on her fingers, as the waves and the wind gusts required constant attention and adjustments of the wheel. The big black cloud was now visible on the horizon, and it was clear that we will outrun it. Half hour later we saw impenetrable sheets of rain in the distance. We could have been there, but we were enjoying partly cloudy skies.
Given the forecast, the expectation was to ultimately encounter much lighter winds, which was indeed the case within a few hours. There was just enough wind for Salty Ginger to sail, but the waves were a lot milder, so it was a great opportunity to take showers. Within 15 minutes of us being done with hygiene the wind started to build. By then we were sufficiently far south to tack and resume our northeasterly course.
Our wildlife sightings have been quite modest so far. Alice and Frank saw a pod of dolphins in the morning, we saw a few flying fish, and presumably a couple of Portuguese-man-of-war heads. Alice saw a fish swimming by the boat, we see birds now and then, and that’s about it.
We are 320 miles out of Newport with 1763 left to go to Horta. We really need 100+ mile days.
Day 4
Tuesday, June 17
The plan to use the westerlies of the low pressure system failed miserably. We tacked too early and instead of pointing east, where the proposed route expected us to find favorable winds, we were close-hauled pointing northeast. Dinner was a bit disorganized. I cooked pasta, but Frank was not yet hungry and Mark went to take a nap before his shift.
The wind was already quite fresh and continued to strengthen. Everyone expected to keep the same shift arrangement, except Alice didn’t get any sleep during the day, so we agreed that I would come an hour earlier to let her sleep a bit more. I woke up at 9 hearing Frank say “we’d better get Andre.” The wind was howling, it was already dark. 25 knots steady, gusting to 30 made the boat difficult to handle, and while Alice was on top of it, she was happy to hand the wheel to me.
We still had a furled jib and a furled main up, so the first question was whether any of the sails should be further reduced. Salty Ginger was controllable, but the motion of the boat was very violent as she jumped over the building waves. After a bit of consideration, I decided to fully take down the genoa. This made the motion of the boat a bit nicer, and I was hoping that the others would ultimately be able to sleep.
It started to rain. Hard. Luckily, it was warm. Conditions like this in the Gulf of Maine would have been absolutely brutal. There were two types of water hitting us: the warm and salty waves that Salty Ginger splashed and the colder rain drops. It was so dark that we only saw the reflection of our navigation lights in the foam of the waves. The waves themselves were pitch black and one would see them towering over the boat at the very last moment. The sight of a couple hundred liters of salt water being flung at the cockpit was unforgettable. Most of it would be caught by the dodger, but plenty would reach the helm.
I managed to get the boat into a stable position where she was barely making progress, essentially heaving-to under main alone. The mainsail provided some power to drive the boat forward, the rudder made her turn into the wind but the windage of the bow was so high that she couldn’t tack. This ensured that the waves were slipping under the hull only rarely flooding the windward rail with seawater. We were still making 4-5 knots, more than half of it provided by the current.
Mark came up for his shift, but there was not much he could do, so I asked him to go back to sleep, so that at least someone would be in shape the following morning. Frank and Alice tried to find drier and less windy spots in the cockpit. Alice declined to go down to sleep. It made her queasy earlier in the day to spend any significant amount of time in the cabin, and under these conditions it would have been way worse. Both of them were dosing off and my main concern was that they wouldn’t hit their heads on something as a wave would have thrown the boat in an unexpected direction.
The waves kept building and while it was hard to judge their height in the dark, some of them were at least 3 meters high. They rose and dropped the boat and tried to turn her broadside to the wave direction, which would have been very unpleasant. Ultimately Frank descended into the cabin, took off the foul weather gear and fell asleep. Alice persevered staying in the cockpit and dosing off, not wanting to leave me alone.
Some time after midnight, I decided to try sailing instead of just keeping the boat in place. This was prompted by the changed direction of the waves, so just staying put was no longer that attractive. Sailing sped the boat up a little bit. I was hoping that by pushing further north we would be able to leave the low pressure system behind. Checking the forecast in the morning shattered that hope.
The moon came out, then up above I saw the big dipper and the polar star. In the distance there was lightning. The moonlight made it possible to judge the size of the waves. Indeed, some of them were at least 4 meters high. They were towering above the boat and if I took the steep ones head on, the boat landed on the other side with a loud bang. The mainsail alone did not provide enough power to be able to maneuver and ensure that I could slide down the waves at an angle.
By dawn I was quite sleepy, but I also didn’t want to leave Alice alone in the cockpit. I was counting on Mark to wake up early and come up. Just after 5 he was in the cockpit. By then we already unrolled a bit of the jib so that steering became possible and I figured out how to softly go up and down most waves.
Frank already downloaded the latest forecast, and the routing information proposed 2 alternatives, like yesterday: go back south to catch the westerlies or continue beating into the easterlies. We were way north of the stream, so the possibility of sailing in fair non-easterly winds by the evening was way more enticing than to endure another 24 hours of beating into 20 knots. That didn’t come for free. Alice was steering and cursing at the waves. She agreed with the argument that without the jib the boat didn't have enough power to handle the waves, so Salty Ginger continued to jump up and down the waves while I slept.
It rained. It rained again when I took the wheel from Alice. And then the wind started to subside. “Give it 5 minutes”, said Mark. The first time around he was spot on: the wind came back a few minutes later with the same ferocity. The second time around it was clear that we needed more sail. All of a sudden we were sailing with full sails, the sun came out, the storm was over.
The cabin was a big mess, so we had to clean up. Alice finally got her coffee. We replaced a line that wasn’t working well. We went for a swim! What a glorious feeling after 20 hours of being thrown around!
With a new forecast and a pleasant wind not from the east we are riding the Gulf Stream towards our ultimate destination.
We are 399 miles away from Newport and we have 1655 miles to Horta.
Day 5
Wednesday, June 18
Where are those southerlies?
The forecast was indicating that overnight the winds would finally shift from the easterly. Instead, a breeze continued to blow from the east and even northeast, causing us to deviate significantly north and ultimately leave the Gulf Stream, which is clearly indicated by the water temperature of 22.5C.
The quiet night allowed for a good sleep, with one exception: the loaded genoa block was squeaking. The first thought I had while lying in bed was “I won’t be able to fall asleep with that noise”, but that was also the last thought before I fell asleep. Alice was able to get very much needed sleep. Both in the night and then later in the morning.
Frank downloaded the forecast after his shift, which was very optimistic, but completely deviated from reality: the prediction was SSE wind, but we were clearly observing easterly. We had the choice of heading of 030 on the starboard tack and 150 on the port. Starboard was definitely closer to our next waypoint with bearing of 070. In the course of the day, our anticipation for a wind with a stronger southerly component was hanging in the air.
James was driving the boat, Alice and Frank were napping, so Mark and I were busy doing projects. The spinnaker pole while falling down stretched the lifelines which Mark tightened. We wanted to fly the code-0, and since I discovered its roller being dragged through the water after the storm, it needed some attention. While on the foredeck, Mark noticed that the genoa was rubbing against the bow pulpit. We added a shackle at the bottom and properly tensioned the halyard.
I also realized that the furling loop of the code-0 was too long, making it hard to furl the sail, so I wanted to take advantage of the calm to redo the splice and make the loop shorter. It was redone on the third attempt! First I forgot to untie a knot that made the loop unusable. Then I forgot to run the loop through the block that tensions it. Every time I was quicker getting the splice done, but redoing it 3 times still took a lot of time.
Our menu today was outstanding. Not that we were starving on any one day before, but this time Frank took advantage of the calm conditions and cooked an omelette for breakfast. For lunch he prepared chicken with chickpeas over rice and a salad. We are being totally spoiled with excellent food. And of course, over lunch with the 4 of us in the cockpit, we talked. But what’s discussed on the boat stays on the boat.
The code-0 passed all tests: we were able to run the halyard up and down, unroll and roll up the sail. With all of that done, we’re flying the sail, and that persistent not-SSE wind is forcing us to go further north than we would like.
My initial hopes for a 120+ mile day were not realized thanks to the “SSE” wind. We are 447 miles away from Newport with 1549 miles to go.
Day 6
Thursday, June 19
The forecast for the night was 6-8 knot SSE winds. This implied that leaving the code-0 overnight would be the best sail plan: we’re moving controllably and fast. That decision backfired because at 9pm the wind picked up to 12 knots and the boat was overpowered. Alice and Frank woke me up to help douse the sail. Luckily it rolled up perfectly and we could just roll out the genoa and continue sailing without taking the code-0 down completely.
During the night the wind varied from practically nothing to 10-11 knots, but by 3am it was clearly dying down and in went the genoa, out went code-0. The current was carrying us forward all through the night, which is part of the reason I wasn’t keen on turning on the engine, but we did pay the price for that by being much slower than I was hoping we would.
At 7:30 the wind was practically gone and the sails were flapping uncontrollably in the remaining swells. It was not the nicest way to wake up being shaken right and left, but as the saying goes, “you get what you get and you don’t get upset”. We’ve seen worse a couple of days ago.
When I came up into the cabin, I found out that I missed the dolphins, but then Alice yelled “Big fish!” We saw a couple more tuna breach out of the water chasing their prey, and that got Mark very excited to try to catch one. We respooled all the fishing rods and dropped the lures, but the fish were not interested. The birds circled around us, but then even they disappeared.
The water became practically flat. With not much to do at the helm or with the sails, it was time for projects. We reran the sheet for the code-0 so that it wouldn’t rub against the rail. Mark cleaned up the electric connections to the hydrogenerator, so that we wouldn’t lose power. I did two splices to replace the lines for the fairleads (that line turned out to be to thin for the outhaul) and Mark polished the arm that is supporting the chart plotter. Alice read and relaxed. Frank cleaned up the stove so that it looks like new and then started digging through PredictWind app to see what other information he could find about the weather and the ocean. Just a quiet sunny day at sea.
The Portuguese-man-of-war are everywhere. At one point we could see 4 of them at the same time. Maybe that’s why the tuna are not here…
Our fresh meat supply is coming to an end. We also put a pretty good dent into some veggies and fruit. Most importantly, the desalinator works, so we can take showers and not think too much about water consumption.
We are 539 miles out of Newport and 1433 miles separate us from Faial.
Day 7
Friday, June 20
The evening ended up being very similar to the one before: at 9:30pm I was summoned on deck to roll up the code-0. This time around it didn’t roll in that nicely, so when the wind died down and I came on shift, the sail had an hourglass and would not unroll fully. Most of it was unrolled, so it seemed usable, thus for the next 8 hours we were sailing under 3/4 of the area of the code-0. We still made quite a few miles towards our goal, so one cannot complain too much.
Actually one could complain, but the events of the day overshadowed the unpleasant experience during the night. Half way through the overlap shift I had with Mark we started to see lightning. Clearly, eventually we would get hit by rain, so we removed the cushionsto keep them in a drier state and kept drinking tea and sailing. The rain came when Frank came onto his shift. And it rained hard. The lightning seemed to stay in the upper layers of the clouds, so we were just wet. James continued to hold course pretty well, with minor adjustments needed once in a while.
Just after Frank came off his shift, Alice and Mark saw a pod of dolphins playing around the boat. Somehow Alice has the most luck seeing marine mammals this trip.
When I got up, the first thing Alice said was “it’s time to fly the spinnaker!” I knew it’d be more than 5 minutes to get that going, because I wanted to roll up code-0 properly before hoisting the spinnaker. The 3 of us had breakfast while Frank was still sleeping and proceeded to undo the damage. Amazingly enough, everything happened much faster than I expected. As soon as we relieved the tension on the torsion line in the luff of the sail, the roller did what it was supposed to do and the sail was back to its full shape. Mark hoisted it back and this time it rolled very nicely before going into its bag.
I started to set up the spinnaker and one of the thing I wanted to do was to get the code-0 roller block out of the way. There was this nice attachment… Why don’t I remember it before?.. Oh, my: the roller furler of the jib was lose, off its bottom bracket. While it wouldn’t be any use while flying the spinnaker, and the forestay was intact, this was a major issue for flying our trusted jib, and had to be dealt with. But first we need to start moving. Up went the spinnaker, inflated without ado and we were back to 7 knots of speed over water, which we haven’t seen since sailing in the storm.
I let Mark and Alice enjoy the moment and then announced the bad news. Mark went to inspect the situation and was not happy. We started a brainstorming session to try to figure out how we could secure the furler back to its bracket. We didn’t have any large enough bolts for the job. The mounting had a keyhole like opening with the bottom of it about a centimeter wide. Mark took out some big washers we found and said “this could work: we tighten the washers together and squeeze them into the big hole.” That looked dubious. I found a piece of marine-grade hard plastic and we tried to see how we could cut that into shape so that it would work as an interim support. While going back and forth between ideas, Mark took a look at the ratchet set that he already brought up from the cabin. Eureka! We have imperial sockets that are of little use and they are very strong, so if we can figure out how to secure two sockets of the right diameter in there, we’d be all set. The ultimate solution we went for were cable ties. Once the sockets would be under load, there is no way they would give, so they just needed to be secured so that they couldn’t fall out.
We ran a line forward that allowed us to pull the whole assembly down with the help of a winch in the cockpit. Mark was sitting on the bow, getting his feet wet by occasional dips into the water as Frank was sailing Salty Ginger under the spinnaker. I slowly started apply pressure on the line with the winch, hoping that everything we put together would hold the tremendous tension that the winch could exert. Mark guided the furler into its bracket and soon yelled “it’s in!” Wow, what a relief! It took him a few minutes to get the ratchets secured by the cable ties, we removed the pressure from the line and our fix held. The furler is rotating and we can use the jib when we will need to.
With the latest weather forecast I decided that we should do our best and make the most we can of the SW winds, so rather than aiming directly for the waypoint we set up a couple of days ago, we are pointing the bow due east and doing over 7 knots steady.
We are 660 away from Newport with 1302 miles to go.
Day 8
Saturday, June 21
It was clear to all that the fast sail under spinnaker must come to an end before dark. The wind kept building and it became quite difficult to control Salty Ginger under the giant sail. Every now and then we would get hit by 17 knot gusts that were rounding the boat up into the wind. When Alice got up for her shift, the spinnaker was doused and we were doing decent pace under the main and genoa.
In the middle of the night the wind built up further, so that Alice and Frank had to roll the Genoa a lot. The state of the sea was very confused: waves coming from the southeast from some large weather system and from the southwest with the wind that was moving us forward. All that rolling motion made sleeping quite difficult.
Weather permitting, I like to have tea at the beginning of my shift and Mark happily joins in. Down I went to get the water boiling and feel something at the toe of my shoe. A flying fish! The rascal must have flown past the crew on watch and landed on the floor in the galley rather than into the next wave he expected to find. Mark was quite excited about the find: “Now we know what our tuna lure should look like!” As Frank was retelling the story to Alice four hours later, I joked from the cabin, “Salty Ginger can fish better than us.” Alice responded, “you took words out of my mouth!”
All through the night the wind was strong, so we were finally putting some miles behind us towards our destination. Since early evening the air was very humid, but this time around the thunderstorms stayed behind us and we didn’t get any rain. Frank came up and said “you know, this humidity makes it so hard to put the pants on.” I acknowledged the hardship, even though I can’t say that it was my experience.
The dawn was at 3:30 — after all we have made it quite far to the east. By 4am boat time, when there was already a lot of light, we see Alice pop her head into the cockpit. The expression on her still somewhat sleepy face carried a mix of anger, bewilderment and a tight smile in the corner of her lips. “Is one of you wearing my pants?” Frank’s face was like that of a boy caught doing something he is not supposed to do. “Oh, that could be.” Alice retorted, “I’m amazed you could fit into them! They are women’s XS!” I burst out laughing. “I’ll be up for the shift when I get my pants on,” finished Alice and went down to the cabin. To be fair, other than the size, the pants that Alice and Frank own are of the same brand and color, and much of our foul weather gear is in the salon so that it can be easily accessed by the crew. In the darkness on the bouncy boat funny things happen.
My morning beauty sleep lasted a couple of hours. Some time after 6 the motion of the boat started to be even more rolly as the wind died down. In my half-awoken state I heard someone say “the GPS stopped working.” Then Mark saying “oh, it could be software, but maybe a faulty cable.” Then Frank, “we have GPS on my Iridium and this screen has GPS”. At 7 I was fully awake. My bet was that software restart would bring GPS back to life, and fully cycling power on the navigation electronics did the trick.
Given the light winds and their direction, it seemed logical to fly the spinnaker, so while Frank was making another pot of coffee, Alice, Mark and I raised the spinnaker. As I inspected its shape, I saw a rip at the top near the leach. We spotted a couple more small holes and brought the spinnaker down into the forward cabin so that we can then tape up the tears on the salon table. The repaired sail went back up which may have yet again interfered with Alice’s attempt to fall asleep. Frank got into the grove driving with the spinnaker and had a huge simile on his face as he stood behind the wheel.
By 10 we had a new forecast and a new routing model. The high pressure system that we thought we would have to leave to the south now moved significantly further to the east, which meant that we could and should sail directly towards Horta rather than 15 degrees to the north as we had been doing for the past couple of days. That meant that the spinnaker had to come down: we needed a sail that could point the bow ever slightly into the wind: code-0. There was still a lot of power in the sails and were making very fast progress!
Frank was delighted that finally all 4 of us were awake and ready to have a meal together. He made an excellent shakshuka and while James drove, the 4 of us enjoyed a meal together for the first time in a couple of days.
Taping up the spinnaker was too little of a project for Mark. He disassembled the cup holder I quickly made a few years go, filed down the inside of the holders to a smooth finish and reinstalled it.
There is no other way to describe our fresh water situation as luxurious. I have been running the water maker every day, so not only do we not have to be super economical while washing dishes, we can take (boat) showers on a regular basis. It felt nice to wash off the sweat (and even shave) before hitting the bed for an afternoon nap.
We had our best run of 159 miles in a day. We are sailing in fog some 817 miles away from Newport with 1143 miles separating us from Horta.
Day 9
Sunday, June 22
Frank started the evening shift fully dressed up for wetness. Just like during the trip to Nova Scotia last year, we had thick fog, water was precipitating on all surfaces and was dripping down from the Bimini and the stainless steel frame. There was one huge difference: it was was not that cold and the sea was quite flat.
The wind was forecast to change from southerly to northerly, but it that had not yet happened when Alice came up for her shift. She actually did sleep and looked a bit more rested. We rolled up the code-0 to avoid surprises during the night and with that I went down to get rest, but couldn’t fall asleep. Just after 9 I heard the wind generator go from a steady spinning noise to a slowing down hum, hum, hum and then silence. It was still.
Anticipating an hour or two of no wind, I popped my head into the cockpit and suggested we motor while the wind comes back. Alice and Frank liked that suggestion. They turned the motor on and started to roll in the headsail so that it wouldn’t interfere with motoring. Before they were done, the wind picked up. In the dark it was very hard to figure out where it came from. The boat got turned around and the northern wind arrived. Just like so. There was no need for the engine, but it wouldn’t turn off fully until we put the transmission in reverse. Then Alice and Frank could resume sailing in the same direction, but this time on port tack.
The wind built up quickly, so ultimately the headsail was fully rolled in. At midnight I found Alice and Mark chatting in the cockpit, the boat doing just under 5 knots in the right direction. Mark and I unrolled the Genoa to the size of a jib and picked up speed. The entire duration of my shift the sailing was excellent: strong wind, flat state of the sea. Alice acknowledged that it provided for the best night sleep she has gotten in a while.
By the time I woke up at 8 the conditions were quite different. Over the past 10 hours the wind built up seas, so the boat was now jumping from wave to wave under reefed sails. Frank poured me coffee, but getting breakfast together was quite a challenge.
Alice was glad to have a break, but then I realized that my attire was too optimistic for the weather: I didn’t put on waterproof pants and I was wearing shoes instead of rubber boots. It started to rain quite hard. Within minutes Mark and I were soaked. The rain didn’t last that long, and before it subsided we saw blue skies right above us and the sun warmed up the transom. In the strong wind the amazing sight was a shearwater that used the airflow to turn 90 degrees while looking for food between the foamy waves. It performed a few pirouettes having one wing up, then the other, and then disappeared.
Alice had a sandwich for lunch and came into the cockpit. She was still minimizing the amount of time she has to spend in the cabin, especially when things are bouncy. She sat down in the wind shadow and exclaimed, “my hip is so sore; I have bruises that haven’t yet healed that are getting bruised.” Indeed, everyone has boat bruises. It’s practically inevitable to misstep and end up being tossed by a wave in an unexpected direction. We all try to move in a calculated fashion, but even then it’s very easy to be caught by surprise in these conditions.
Frank came up into the cockpit saying that he figured out where to lookup the conditions in the ocean, including wind and current. “We should have 14 knots of wind,” he said. “Nope, we have 18 (yes, the difference is significant!).” He paused, “and the current direction should be 137.” That also didn’t correspond to our observations: the current was coming from the northeast, not northwest. When the forecast does not correspond to reality, we have no choice but to listen to the ocean.
“Ok, there cap’n,” said Mark. “What’cha doing?”
“Just watching waves, James is steering.”
“Aha, you’re the wavy-sitter!”
In these jolly spirits we’re continuing our bouncy path east, anticipating another “interesting” shift for Frank and Alice when the winds are predicted to do the same trick they did last night: suddenly switch from northerly to southerly.
We are practically equidistant between Newport (955 miles) and Horta (1009 miles).
Day 10
Monday, June 23
The forecast of another wind change in the evening created a sense of anxiety. It was clear that it would happen in the darkness, and nobody knew if it would be as sudden as the night before. The strong northerly wind continued to diminish and by 11 it stopped. We motored until a whiff of the forecasted wind came from the south. That also didn’t stay long and disappeared by 2:30, so back to the motor it was.
As the dawn lit up the skies in the east, I was lucky to have a glimpse of the waning crescent before it hid behind the clouds. It was overcast and the clouds didn’t look particularly friendly. But the intensity of the rain was totally unexpected for me. Frank and I had to seek shelter behind the dodger (the autopilot continued to drive Salty Ginger east) as the sound of the raindrops was almost louder than the engine!
Despite the rain, it was the first night since the storm that we haven’t seen a thunderstorm. While we were in the middle of the Gulf Stream, thunderstorm cells would start to gather around sunset and start to rumble in the upper atmosphere. Had the Greeks sailed through these waters, we would have had another myth about Zeus fighting monsters every night. Not once have we seen lightning strike water — the action was always up above.
At 5 I woke up because the engine was turned off. It’s quite curious how the body reacts to monotonous sounds. The first and the last thought as one lies down to try to fall asleep is “this is louder than the airplane, I will never fall asleep”. As soon as the sound stops, the brain wakes up. There was one funny thing about the voices coming from the cockpit: there was Mark’s voice. Turns out, he woke up some time after 4, totally convinced that he slept through his shift. It took Alice a while to convince him that he was at least an hour early, but then being already awake, he relieved Frank and stayed up. I didn’t think I was strict in setting the shift schedule, but the evidence might point to the opposite…
The morning was absolutely gorgeous. Pleasant breeze from the south, Salty Ginger making easy 6 knots directly towards Horta, the sea practically flat. Of course it meant perfect time for projects. The one that I have been eyeing for the last 48 hours was the wind vane at the top of the mast. It was replaced this year, but after 12 hours of sailing, the arms were turned sideways. After the storm we noticed that it was tilting sideways. The nightmare scenario of it falling down onto the deck was too real. At the same time, the line that is supposed to support the boom lots its shackle (which was not properly secured) and seemed like a good candidate to be used to haul me up. I replaced the line many years go, but never looked at its state since, so it seemed more than prudent to check its state before trusting my life to it. What I found astounded me. Somebody put tape around a point where the line was chafed! And it had to be a professional rigger either in Rhode Island or Maine! How? And in what state of mind should that person be not to advise the owner that a line is partly chafed through?
Now the project was to find a suitable line. The first one was a couple meters short. The second one was just long enough, but I would have to climb onto the boom to tie myself in. Suboptimal, but a working solution. Half hour later I was dangling at the top of the mast, some 20 meters above the vast Atlantic Ocean. What a view! But I diverge, it was not for the view that my crew winched me up. I did the best to tighten the nut that supports the vane and then to set the arms. The danger of it falling down was very very real.
As if one project was not enough, Mark and I did a little load of laundry. I’m definitely running short on non-smelly long sleeve shirts, and my 2 jackets are totally salty from all the spray of the past days. Of course, it was naive to think that even with the blazing sun the laundry would actually dry hanging a meter above the sea level. It’ll get there tomorrow…
I can’t say why, but my expectations for seeing wildlife in the Stream were much higher. The daily companions are Portuguese-man-of-war, shearwaters and dovekies. The latter are quite amazing. The size of an adult’s palm, they spend most of their lives offshore. In this case, almost 1000 miles from the closest land. How do they survive storms? Alice started a list of things she wants to Google when we’re back online. That’s definitely one of them.
Today we were honored by curious dolphins. First a couple of them crossed our bow and disappeared, but then a pod of some 10-15 dolphins came by and were playing in the bow waves. To our delight, a couple of babies were accompanied by their mothers, having no trouble keeping up with the adults. And then some 20 meters away from the boat one of the dolphins surfaced straight up showing his entire body vertically. What a show!
We are 1090 miles out of Newport and 873 miles separate us from Faial.
Day 11
Tuesday, June 24
Yesterday’s sunset was gorgeous. The first spectacular sunset since we left Newport. Alice was resting, Mark was getting ready to do the same and Frank was putting his foulies on when I noticed red color on the clouds in the east. I looked back to see even more red and yellow hues to the west and called the guys into the cockpit.
We were taking pictures, ooh-ing and ah-ing until Mark yelled, “sail in the water!” The shackle of the code-0 at the top of the mast broke and sent the sail swimming. We stuffed the wet and salty sail back into its bag, and I stowed it on the transom so that it wouldn’t bring all that salt into the interior of the boat. A rather unpleasant surprise since I do not have an adequate replacement shackle aboard. On we sailed on with the main and the Genoa.
When I went downstairs, the wind was on our staboard and the sail was quite comfortable. However, over the next couple of hours it shifted and was now coming from behind. The lack of wind-induced heel made the rolling in the waves rather unpleasant. Some time long ago I had this perfect vision of a quiet sleep under sail with the waves gently rocking me to bed. That ideal has been largely shattered. It is quite rare that one gets a quiet sleep while sailing. Last night it was just awful. As the waves would roll the boat, the sails would lose power and would flap. Once the wind would fill them again, the strain on the sheets came as a powerful vibration, and the jib sheet in particular would hit the side of the boat as a short drum roll. A moment of quiet. Repeat.
As a result of this noise, I got up an hour earlier than usual. Mark and Alice were having breakfast in the cockpit and when I said we should be flying the spinnaker, Alice said that she had already been waiting for an hour for that. “Ok, let’s do it!” “Oh, but I want to finish my breakfast.” The spinnaker was hoisted and now we had a conundrum: the main was shadowing the spinnaker and was not letting it inflate fully unless we were 40 degrees off course. We rolled in the main and tried flying both the spinnaker and the Genoa. The latter was flapping helplessly, and was not helping at all. Once we rolled it in, our sail under spinnaker alone allowed us to point dead downwind, exactly at Horta!
This not particularly fast, but quiet sail plan gave me freedom to make bliny***. Something I just got craving for this morning, but also something that went well with the crew. We were enjoying the peace and quiet in the cockpit as the wind was decreasing. Then the wind practically stopped and within seconds the waves and the wind wrapped the spinnaker around the forestay. Luckily, not very tightly, so we brought down the spinnaker and then hoisted it back up in the sock in hopes of flying it later. With no wind in sight, we turned on the motor — there was no point hanging around waiting for the wind to pick up without motion. In the last 48 hours, the weather has given us a lot more windless hours than in the week before, so we have covered quite a bit of distance under the diesel engine.
Today we were very lucky watching the dolphins. First they came at dawn while Frank and I were on shift, but didn’t stay long. Then they came in the late morning and did play around the boat. And late in the afternoon they made their appearance yet again. A large pod that jumped around, inspected Salty Ginger and went on their merry dolphin business.
The afternoon brought another surprise: we saw a whale! To be honest, we mostly saw where it was, as the animal just barely surfaced to breathe and stayed under water otherwise. We remained in the spot for a little while, but it never surfaced.
We had another decent day that put us 1223 miles away from Newport and left us 743 miles to Horta.
Day 12
Wednesday, June 25
The shift when it happens. That’s the evening 2-hour shift of Frank and Alice. That’s when 6 knot predicted winds become 15, when the easterlies start their full blow, etc, etc. Last night that was when the wind strengthened, then shifted and died, then came full force from the southwest while the rain drenched the two. Frank anticipated a “quiet” shift, so he didn’t wear his foulies and was totally wet. As Alice put it, the question she asks herself is not if she should wear foul weather gear, it’s which: lighter or heavier. She opted for lighter and then ultimately switched to the heavier.
That wind switch happened at 21:30, so by the time Mark came to relieve Frank, it was already dry and the sails were reefed. That did not preclude the wind from building and having them to reef yet again. When I relieved Alice, the boat was perfectly balanced for the strong wind abeam and Salty Ginger was making rapid progress. Within a couple of hours that progress became too rapid. It was time to reef again. We were now sailing in 27 knot winds with two tiny sails and still making 8+ knots.
As soon as I started to doze off, Frank called me into the cockpit. With a loud bang the lower bracket that was holding James popped off. The heads of the two stainless steel bolts that were holding it simply popped off and the rudder was hanging at an odd angle in the water. That was a very unpleasant discovery. Our trusted fifth crew member was out of commission. I removed the rudder to reduce the pressure on the remaining two fixtures, put a little bit of sealant around the two bolts and went back to sleep, which I needed badly.
An hour and a half later I woke up and heard water sloshing just aft of the cabin bed. In my worst case scenario, we were taking on water and it wasn’t getting fast enough to the bilge pump in the center of the boat. The bilge under the salon floors was dry enough. I dressed and went to the cockpit, overhearing Mark and Alice discussing whether or not now was the moment to fly jib alone. Indeed, the wind was directly aft of the boat, so carrying the mainsail made little sense in the strong winds and waves we were experiencing. I opened the center locker in the cockpit, where the ripped bolts enter the hull. The floor was dry. What a relief. In went James’ rudder and the salty code-0 that used to ride on the transom after it went for a swim.
12 hours of persistent strong southwest winds built up significant waves. In the morning they were still smaller than what we encountered in the storm a week ago, but by early afternoon we regularly saw up to 4 meter waves. At least this time from behind. Throughout the day we took turns steering the boat, trying to figure out the best strategies for handling the waves which frequently came from two different directions.
Frank got the latest weather files. We were sandwiched between a low and a high pressure systems which together produced the difficult conditions we have to sail through. And the forecast calls for more of the same for at least 24 if not 48 hours.
The unfortunate fact is that the hydro generator is on the same mount as James, so we lost a significant source of power. The wind generator barely keeps up with the demand of one fridge and electronics. But we have enough fresh water, so running the desalinator is not a must, and we always have the engine should we totally run out of battery charge. Such are calculations of life at sea.
We are 1379 away from Newport and 585 miles from Faial.
Day 13
Thursday, June 26
Wind in the 20-knot range and rolly Salty Ginger is the new normal. One kind of gets used to it. Some activities are precluded, but most just take more time and potentially more bruises.
Driving in these conditions is kind of like walking a slackline. So long as you are on top of keeping the boat balanced with the waves, deviation from the desired course is minimal. As soon as you lose that balance, the wind and the waves throw the boat 20-30 degrees off course, the boat rolls even more and it takes a lot of effort to get back to a stable balance. Frank and Mark do not have as much experience steering in such waves, so Alice and I try to give them hints on how to keep the boat balanced better. And then in the night it gets even more interesting since one doesn’t see the slope of the wave. Everything has to be done by feeling how the boat reacts to what is coming from astern.
Sleeping is also not easy for most of us. Except for Mark. He didn’t set his alarm correctly and Frank had to wake him up. It took a bit of shaking to get him woken up for his shift.
Luckily, the night did not bring any surprises. It was overcast, so that for the first time in days, Venus was not there in the morning skies an hour before the sunrise. It has been a great companion in the past few mornings which provided guidance in the shift that I had with Frank.
Mark and Alice were happily chatting when I got up in the morning. The “new normal” was here and they alternated steering the boat. After breakfast of English muffins and sunny side eggs it was time to think about repairing the mount for the Hydrovane and hydro-generator. We knew that we don’t have enough hardware onboard to get back to having James steer (although it would probably be impossible in these conditions), but we definitely want the power from the hydro-generator, so that the batteries stay charged up while we run the two fridges. Mark and I developed a step-by-step plan and once Frank woke up we were ready to execute.
Frank came into the cockpit to announce that there are stronger winds coming on the horizon, so we should be prepared for that. Looking at the weather in more detail, we saw that there is a front that is forecast to move through towards the Azores on Saturday evening kicking up 25+ knot winds and rain. It would definitely be nice to be somewhat sheltered from that, but where? We still have 500 miles to Horta and there is no way we can do that distance in 2 days. However, there is the westernmost island, Flores, which is 320 miles away, and we might be able to hide in its lee an hour or two before the front goes through. The crew quickly reached a consensus, that it was worth a try. In any case, the urgency of repairing the bracket was only higher.
We slowed down the boat a bit by rolling in part of the Genoa. Even though the seas were still running behind us, the swim platform was much less likely to get flooded with water.
Objective 1 was to position the bracket onto what remained of the 2 bolts. Clipped onto the boat I leaned over the transom to loosen the screws that were holding the shaft and after a few attempts we managed to get the bracket positioned into the right place and secured it with a line so that the waves couldn’t detach it.
Objective 2 was to get everything out of the locker so that Mark could climb in to tighten the nuts from the inside. Out came the extra anchor, grill, fenders, life raft, etc and took up all the room in the cockpit. A pleasant discovery was that one of the bolts was very long, so we could use it as a rod with a nut on each side.
Objective 3 was to secure the single bolt that Mark found in the hardware onboard. Mark took out the remnants of one of the bolts and urged me to plug the hole with a bolt as soon as possible to avoid seawater going inside. Done.
Objective 4 was to secure the rod. With the bolt holding the bracket, that was quite easy.
All the bolts tightened, we cleaned up and rolled out the full Genoa to put us on the fastest track possible towards Flores.
The crew were hungry and the conditions were not going to get better, so after a short break I cooked borsch. Now the question was, can all 4 of us eat at the same time. We have power to run the electric autopilot, but how will it behave? The initial test seemed encouraging, so we left it running and enjoyed a meal together. We got sprayed a bit since it was very keen on holding the heading even if that meant exposing Salty Ginger’s beam to waves. When we were done eating, everyone went down below while I stayed up to keep watch. A huge wave was taken broadside by the autopilot, the boat heeled a lot and I turned it off. It can wait till better conditions.
Our wildlife sightings today included a long fin (orca?, whale?, shark?) and dolphins. One dolphin jumped out of one wave and was fully in the air until it dove into the next one. But alas, they didn’t stay long.
We are 1531 miles from Newport, 305 miles from Flores and 428 from Faial.
Day 14
Friday, June 27
It was happening again during the 2 hours when Alice and Frank were on watch. Until then Salty Ginger was happy with a full Genoa, but closer to 10pm the winds rose and furling the sail was necessary. When Mark came to relieve Frank, the sail was shortened further. We were still making good progress, but the waves continued to build now that the winds were in 30-35 knot range. In the complete darkness the big waves were not visible, but we did feel them. They frequently took the person on the helm by surprise throwing the boat in one direction or another, creating huge splashes that landed in the cockpit and making life inside a lot less pleasant.
Other than that, life went on as usual: breakfast, downloading the weather GRIB files, napping when one could.
By morning the conditions were settling down, the 35 knot gusts went away and the “old normal” returned with 20-22 knot winds. The waves take a lot longer to settle down, of course. Typical waves were not that high, perhaps a meter. Every now and then there would be a sequence of 2 or 3 waves that were a lot larger. At the crest of such waves one could see white caps on the ocean for miles in every direction. Then the bow would lean downwards and Salty Ginger would start to ride down the slope. Either the back of the slope would catch up and even the boat out or we would accelerate down creating lots of foam and hissing noise. In either case, the boat would then start to climb the back of the monster, slowing down considerably. Occasionally we would overlook these waves and encounter them broadside. That would exacerbate the heel angle and make it impossible to stand without holding on to something sturdy.
In the pitch black of the night, one doesn’t see the waves, one has to feel them. As a result the sensation is that everything is happening very quickly. As Frank put it while he was driving, “I fee like Mario Andretti!”
A side effect of these waves is that the entire boat is covered in salt. One can swipe a finger on any surface and find the finger white from the salt deposited by the spray.
The dolphins came for a short visit, but just like many times before, as soon as I pulled out my camera, they would disappear. Unexpectedly camera-shy.
The cold front that we are trying to seek shelter from is slowly moving from west to east. If the forecast is correct, we should be able to pull into the southernmost harbor on Flores a couple of hours before it arrives there. Then we spend a night waiting for the rain to stop and sail on to Horta. Sailing in strong winds with lots of rain does not sound appealing to anyone.
Today is our fastest 24-hour period with 169 miles travelled towards the destination of our choice. We are 1691 miles away from Newport, 136 miles from Flores and 261 miles from Horta.
Day 15
Saturday, June 28
We have been flying the Genoa on the starboard tack for 4 days now. We cannot handle more sail: the boat would be overpowered. And in any case with the wind almost directly behind us having 2 sails is complicated: the Genoa sits in the wind shadow of the mainsail and starts to flap helplessly. So we opted for an uncomplicated sail plan.
After the end of my shift I wanted to check messages and while I stood next to the navigation table, a wave heeled the boat suddenly and very strongly. Not having a good handhold, I flew across the salon, some 2 meters and landed with my thigh on the bar of the galley. That hurt! Now, this is not the first time that someone takes a fall there: Frank fell during the big blow and Mark lost his balance a couple of days ago. Alice was sitting on the cushion at the salon table, putting on her foul weather gear and a particularly steep wave got her to slide with the cushion all the way down. I should invest into a good handhold to prevent such accidents in this open space.
By early morning the conditions started to change a bit. The wind shifted so that it was more abeam and the waves followed suit. First it was kind of fun because we could actually surf down those waves, but then the rolling motion became much worse, and waves started to go over the windward side of the cockpit. One particularly large wave swept Frank off his feet (I bet Mario Andretti was buckled-in to prevent that). I was on the leeward side and with horror was watching as Frank is quickly sliding towards me. Luckily he was able to hang on to the steering wheel. A bit shook up he was happy to take a break from driving.
We partly rolled in the Genoa, since the double heeling effect of the wave plus the wind was rolling the boat way too much. The lower center of the wind force did magic: the boat was still rolled by the waves, but not nearly as much, so life was less dangerous. Ultimately we unrolled a bit of the mainsail to pick up speed since steering a slow-moving boat is very difficult.
When I woke up, Alice and Mark were happily laughing in the cockpit. I found her in foul weather gear and Mark in a light jacket and swim trunks. The sight of him sitting behind the wheel, hands far apart grabbing the opposite sides of the wheel and naked ankles sticking from the swimming shorts is unforgettable!
We were now less than 30 miles from Flores and the anticipation of landfall was in the air. The cruising guide said that the island could be seen from 40 miles, but is frequently covered in mist. Indeed, we could not see anything but clouds on the horizon. When we were 12 miles away, Mark said, “I think I see it. There is an outline of the cliff in that cloud!” Indeed, for the first time in 15 days we could steer by sight rather than only by the compass!
We entered the harbor and saw two boats anchored outside in the bay. It didn’t look particularly enticing there. There was not much room and the depth was quite large, so squeezing us in would be a challenge. We took the risk of going further into the inner harbor. A guy sitting on a boat yelled to us that there was space next to a wall. On the one hand it looked a bit scary to pull up to a rough concrete wall, but it seemed like the best option.
At 12:30 boat time we were tied up to a concrete wall with help from a woman from the Swiss boat who turned out to be from Geneva, but now is living aboard with her family. She told us that the national guard (GNR) come around 5pm and 10am and they will likely check the documents, but as we already knew, we wouldn’t be able to clear into the country on Flores. And she assured us that we can leave the boat without having to wait for GNR to show up. “You have to stay here a for few days! It’s the prettiest island!” Had we not gotten held up by the easterlies in the first 5 days of our trip, we would have gladly done so. She also told us about Club Naval bar that is overlooking the small harbor. “The beer is very cheap!”
Everyone was excited about touching LAND! And walking on a surface that does not move all the time was a novel experience! We were also looking forward to getting a beer. Frank immediately made a move on that: in 3 minutes he was out of the cabin in nice pangs, a short sleeve shirt, a pen sticking out of its pocket. Alice was shocked. We haven’t even taken a picture of the four of us!
Everyone wanted to have a shower before heading up the hill. We had 2 options: the boat showers or the ones on land. Since we have plenty of fresh water, it seemed easier to jump into the shower on the boat. Salt and sweat washed off, we were ready to go.
As we stepped off the boat we saw a guy moving containers from one side of the port to the ship onto which they were to be loaded. The speed at which he was driving was impressive! He was zooming back and forth, not even considering slowing down on 90 degree turns. Clearly he wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible.
At the bar we found a few locals who welcomed us to the island and also said that we had to stay at least a few days to see the entire island. The beer was indeed cheap 1.20 per bottle. Ok, they were “mini” bottles, but still.
As soon as we got the second round, we saw a GNR car driving up to the pier where Salty Ginger was. Obviously, we have to be nice to the authorities, so I walked down. They wanted ship’s papers and all passports. Then I had to walk back up the hill. Frank’s passport was in his pocket, but Mark and Alice had to come down to find theirs. The guys were very nice, didn’t ask any questions about what we had aboard since they were not clearing us into the country and once they took all the information down we were free to do what we wanted to.
For dinner we had turkey chili that Frank cooked and froze in his NYC apartment. With mashed potatoes it was a great meal. We ate in the cockpit which was not moving! And as we were finishing up it started to rain. The skies opened up and poured a lot of water. We were very grateful that we could wait it out while tied up to a pier rather than out in the ocean when the rain would be accompanied by 25 knot winds!
We have just 130 miles left to Horta now that we’re 1822 miles away from Newport.
Day 16
Sunday, June 29
Uninterrupted night sleep! What a concept! We woke up early without any alarms. Everyone was in great spirit after a sleep that did not involve rolling to the lower part of the cabin, that was not interrupted by sheets slamming on the boat nor the hull banging on the waves.
Mark went fishing and was successful at getting a small mackerel, but nothing large enough for food. We had a leisurely breakfast with all four of us in the cockpit. That hasn’t happened in a very long time!
At 10am local time we tied off and left Flores. Maybe some day we will come back to actually explore the island.
The wind was behind us, perfect weather to fly the spinnaker. Frank was driving and an occasional gust forced him to be focused. Until one of those gusts was way stronger, we reacted just a second too late and the boat almost broached. I quickly released the sheet, and then the shackle that was attaching the sheet to the sail released itself from the flapping canvas. Once the boat was stable I ran forward to douse the sail into the sock and we took it down since it was not clear if the wind will continue to be that gusty.
As it frequently happens, that was the last gust of such strength. The wind died down and we tried different sail plans Genoa plus mainsail was unstable since we were on a run in waves. Genoa plus code-0 was better, but the latter is not cut as a downwind sail. We really needed to get that spinnaker flying again.
While we were picking and choosing the sails, we got a couple of visits by the dolphins. As always, they would play around for a while and then disappear. And then there was a round rainbow around the sun. I don’t remember seeing a rainbow like this before. A halo, yes, but a full colorful rainbow was something new!
Ultimately we did get the spinnaker up. Flying it without the main is a bit precarious since taking it down without the wind shadow of the main is almost impossible in 15 knots of wind even with the sock. When making changes we would unroll the mainsail, but then to get us on a run we would roll two thirds of it in so that it wouldn’t interfere with the spinnaker shape.
When I took over from Alice, the wind kept building and got to a steady 17-18 with some gusts just over 20. While it was exciting to surf down the waves at 10 knots, I was a bit concerned about “what-if”. But then, like many times before, it became the new normal. The boat was steady and we were clicking off those miles towards Faial.
The dolphins seemed to like us better under the spinnaker. They came for many more visits so that we ultimately lost count. Mark saw one of them jump vertically out of the boat. Maybe it was curious to take a look at the spinnaker colors.
At 16:00 boat time we were 60 miles away from Faial.
Day 17
Monday, June 30
Before the nightfall we had to douse the spinnaker. Mark wanted to pull the sock on and something went off badly. The spinnaker wrapped itself and it took a good half hour to take it down.
Now that the wind was down we had to find the right sail plan which is not that easy on a run. Ultimately, instead of pointing at the southern tip of the island we changed the course to point at its northern tip which allowed us to head up just enough to fill both the headsail and the mainsail. In light winds there were no surprised during the night shifts.
By midnight boat time (4am local) we could see the lights on the island and for the first time in more than 2 weeks we had the luxury of line of sight sailing. The compass was still useful in the darkness to ensure that we were indeed pointing at the right lights, but one didn’t have to steer by it.
By 3am we were sailing by the northern cliffs with the wind steadily dropping. Once the boat speed dropped to 3 knots, the engine went on. Alice came on her shift and I went down to get another hour of sleep.
At 6am we were anchored in Horta. I thought Newport had a large boat density. Horta takes it to a different level. Lots of anchored boats, plenty of boats tied up to the docks, up to 3 boats rafted together tied to the outside wall. The harbor is fairly well protected and looks like sailors’ paradise.
We didn’t hurry while eating breakfast. There was no reason for us to rush.
The dinghy was in the water and the Torqueedo was ready to go after getting its electrical contacts cleaned. Finally we got the boat papers and our passports and went motoring around in search of the dinghy dock. We followed one dinghy, but there wasn’t much room for us to tie up. The guys from a diving boat told us that we can use their slip for a few hours, which we did.
All four of us had sea legs. Terra firma was moving under our feet. In the marina building it was even worse. Perhaps it was due to the fact that we didn’t sleep much, but the feeling was much more intense than it was on Flores.
The marina building houses all the offices for clearing the formalities. The order in which the offices are visited is very important. First check the boat in, then passport control, then customs.
The marina official looked at the boat papers and asked what the displacement of the boat was. He was well aware of the fact that the US Coast Guard documentation number exaggerated the number and 27 tons was wrong. I joked that the officials consider the boat to be a box. My request to get the boat tied up as soon as possible and leave the boat for a month was met with “Oh, this week is going to be difficult. Very difficult. We are full and we have a French regatta coming in.” We acknowledged the difficulty without saying much. “Do you need electricity?” No. “Do you need water?” No. He called his boss and after a short conversation told us that there is a spot at the far end of the harbor where we can raft up to another boat. But before we leave, we have to arrange a boat sitter. He recommended we get in touch with Mid-Atlantic Yacht services.
We were then directed to the passport control office just across the hall. A woman took our passports and started entering the information into the computer. When she was done with a passport she handed it to a guy who had the big stamp. He found the first empty page in a passport, carefully arranged the stamp and with a loud BANG stamped the page with full force. The table shook, but the woman seemed to take no notice of it. Clearly she was used to the table tremors.
The customs officer, neatly dressed with a well-trimmed mustache and in glasses waited for all of us to step inside his office, looked at me and said:
You sailed from Rhode Island.
Yes
Where in Rhode Island?
Newport.
Uhm…
He held a pause after this “uhm”. I was looking at him awaiting what was wrong with us having sailed from Newport.
Do you know any Portuguese in Newport?
No.
Uhm…
Now I was starting to be concerned.
I work with a Portuguese guy, but he lives in Zurich.
Uhm…
And after another measured pause.
Do you know that Rhode Island has one of the largest Portuguese communities outside Portugal and Brazil?
Really, that’s what those uhms were about?! Mark happily told him that of course he knew that and one could even get radio stations in Portuguese in Rhode Island and parts of Massachusetts. The only other question the officer asked was whether or not we had liquor. He was not interested in the fact that we had wine or beer aboard, having learned that we don’t have any strong spirits, he handed me a form to declare that we didn’t have arms, drugs, 10,000 in cash, etc and once the form was signed said, “Welcome to the Azores!”
We found the big French aluminium boat to which we were supposed to raft and headed to Cafe Sport, an iconic cafe decorated with boat pennants from all over the world. We didn’t have a pennant to share with them, so we just enjoyed a beer and excellent food. The octopus was tender and delicious. The tuna steak consisted of two huge, perfectly cooked slices of meat. It was an unbelievable feeling to relax in a restaurant (yes, it was still moving, but only for us). We completed the passage, we cleared the formalities, that beer was well deserved!
Everything comes to an end
During our walk through Horta we found Mid-Atlantic, I arranged everything with them and dropped of the signed form at the marina office. We got back to Salty Ginger, pulled the anchor, rafted at the assigned spot, did a few projects and chores and went back into town for dinner. We were the last to leave the restaurant and continued to chat till midnight when we were back on the boat.
The passage was a success. But why? We are four very different individuals, each with decades of accumulated mental baggage, each with different dietary preferences. Yet we spent more than 2 weeks together, at most 13 meters away from one another, sharing about 40 square meters of living space. Everyone had their frustrations during the trip, different ways to cope with the conditions and sleep, but everyone cared for everyone else. The goal of reaching the Azores together safely, with nobody getting hurt and the boat remaining intact created an atmosphere where everyone worked together and contributed to the success of the passage. Each contributed differently — after all we have different skills and different ways of thinking about solving problems. We listened to one another, we did not rush into decisions. Everyone went into the voyage knowing that there is no way to get out until reaching the islands. And yet nobody felt “stuck” with the other three.
We were trying to find a single adjective that could adequately describe the experience. I do not believe there is one. Was it fun? Yes, at times it was just fun. It was intense, it was fully consuming our attention. At times it was difficult, especially when the conditions made it difficult to sleep. Sometimes it was relaxing. Were we scared? I do not think so. There were times when we were concerned about the boat or other crew members, but there was no room for fear.
Each person had their own motivation for doing the trip. Of course all four of us like to sail, but we can get plenty of that on the Hudson, Long Island Sound, hopping harbors in Maine or chartering a boat in the Mediterranean. This passage is different. It was not just about sailing. It was the longest offshore experience for each crew member, so everyone was curious to see for themselves how it feels. There are many boats like ours that cross the oceans every year and we were not sailing into the great unknown like Columbus or James Cook. But it was our personal discovery of the vastness of the ocean, it was our sense of purpose that led to a sense of achievement and meaning.
We are grateful to our spouses for their understanding and support. Neither of the four of them would consider such an adventure, and they had their own fears and frustrations that we were out there, fully dependent on Salty Ginger and ourselves. We may be the weird black sheep, but then maybe that’s why they love us.
